Chillóna II

Mateo Lara
Featured image: Amazon River 2 © Guilherme Bergamini 2019

 

for my mother

so much for easy talk
[                       ] mom omits years before age seven
omits her drunken father’s hands       [                       ]
[                       ] remains silent or tsk-tsks memory away
she only remembers Papa                     [                       ] like we all do
[                       ] hand over mouth she tells me only fools will not pray
this is sunflower seed opened and swallowed  [                      ] I pray for her
we don’t cry about it we              [                       ]
so days drag dust under her feet, drag weighty sentiment across her face
[                       ] she wants to say why she                 why she                             [                       ]
no amount of water will purify this thread
generational chain on our wrists, hanging & clinking.
she possesses glimmering       [                       ]           she knows what lacks
drips from a scattered & dry lip, sways from a bruised hip, she knows.
this is only rented time, like those trips from Delano to Bakersfield
our brown skin blinking sign for omission to who we were in a new town
Oildale didn’t bid us well, our cats went missing, we were existing in
trial form. Mom tried. She tried. She’s trying. the eyes are wet with
need and more of something grief only takes and cannot give.
Mother, holy father will run supreme in your veins, but my god
this sky is void, full of scales balancing your children on your hand
she moves effortlessly through space but still cannot speak on
if she cries, she will disturb her eye with my false wish
her diamond-husk turning golden right before our very eyes.
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