¿Quiénes mi luna? ¿Mi sol? ¿Mi vida?

When I was little, you’d ask me that

Every day before school.

I knew the answer

because there

was only one:

Yo. Yo. Yo.

 

But then you would turn around

that night and mock me

to make me cry so hard

my nose would go red.

Then you would laugh and

taught me with “Rudolph

the Red-Nosed Reindeer”

so often I hate that song now.

 

The echo of your singing rings in my ears,

except you now sit in your blue-green urn

on the kitchen counter.

No longer nestled in your

fancy leather recliner,

watching Jeopardy! and challenging me

to respond before the contestants

could even think of the answer.

​

You are gone somewhere

I cannot reach, no matter how I try.

But still, I have to tiptoe

to reach over you,

for the fluffy bouffant hats

like lunch ladies wear.

​

Today I will make your frijoles charros,

the ones you stopped making

for my mother’s family,

when your father poisoned you

against accepting honest love.

​

I pity the fact that you never got

what you wanted from your own dad.

¿Alguna vez te dijo que tú fuistes su luna, sol, vida?

I wonder if he had, could that

have changed the way

you treated me?