Mother breaks underneath el Espiritu
Santo. She sings with holy panting.
Her body bruises while skin
blossoms red and white.
Mother makes love every morning
with Death and God raw. She likes
the balance of getting lost
between the two.
She rinses herself before starting
her daily routine and walks
downstairs to make breakfast.
It’s simple. Tacos con limón
y sal y un aguacate partido.
She sprays Lysol in the living room
to forget about her skin cancer
when she thinks no one is watching.
When the dishes are cleaned
she irons the laundry quietly
sin espanto.
Mother doesn’t know La Muerte, Dios,
y yo hover over her in the same manner.
We all want something from her.
Sniff the air out for her.
The difference between them
and me is I just want her to love
herself as her health declines,
as her body changes.
I want her to learn how to roll up
el Espiritu Santo and el Diablo
in the same tortilla and take
a mordida out of them.
She’ll know then they both
taste bland, both deserve to be
spit out, and that there’s no sin
in living for yourself.
© 2017 RAQUEL REYES-LOPEZ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
