By Maia Elsner
Some things remain. The sunlight crowding out
the trees. The jacaranda shaking itself
lover by lover. Tears fall as violet rain.
At the family gathering, there are tortas
& frijoles. We fill a space discussing anything
else – Jorge’s friend, beaten and bled, found
dead in his departamento
after reporting to the police.
And Raquel who fainted
at 7cm dilation and again
when forcing her placenta out.
Mami sits frail in jacaranda-filtered light.
I do not know how to say goodbye.
I eat my feelings up.
I leave one Sunday morning and arrive
a day later and it is still
Sunday. The layover in Miami is full of
rehydrated chicken, jade-apples polished
by beetle mucus. Between Departures
& Destination, I receive
blessings: bout of sneezing, blocked
nose. I count pennies.
I read the Florida papers –
another man sitting on death row.
I pass the gate, wait, wonder
what remains beyond
this unfinishedness. Someone coughs.
Another clears his throat.