Dolores (circa. 2012)

I’m in grandma’s dining room, watching Jesus stare back.

Fingers interlock and clench as whispered words transcend.

Grandpa’s cold and stiff. He wears make-up—

my grandpa never wore make-up.

Hearts lose beat like off step dancers. No one smiles.

Those grey faced men dug, dug deep

to anchor a frigid framed casket. It holds my once warm abuelo,

drained of his garnet blood, my blood.

Carnations glow like red candles as his casket keeps him.

Pictures, wooden crucifixes, and a rose beaded rosary.

How can I bring you back from the ground?

Crying by your tombstone, won’t you come back into my life?

I stand by your garden now, once vegetables now weeds,

once soil now dirt. I will enrich your earth, I will grow you back.

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