Friday, February 24, 2012


his BlogLinked From HereHER UPANISHAD

If it were here and whole, the heart/ would think this was a nest. ---Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 02-22-12

Abuela*, dear soul and headstrong,
Asked me to bury her sitting down:

Must be where the limestones met
With the road, so I could take the bus.

The bus to where? To meet with Jose
Who has been waiting all this time.

When he left with the conquistador*
On the galleon, he would sew for them.

Even today was no different. She must
Answer her own questions. No one.

No one knows how long I waited.
There is a bench at the iglesia.* Ours.

We met there on a Misa de Gallo,*
He promised we would have Pascuas.*

As long as the pew was there. Burned.
They came, los barbaros *, burned it.

No one built the church again. No one.
I will not be buried there, hijo. Nunca.*

No lying down for me. Must be ready
to move when Jose will take me home.

She turned a hundred-three that day,
but reminded me to bury her sitting.

Lest I forget. If I kept my word, would
grandfather really have taken her home?

Would the bus have stopped for her,
terno, panuelo,* and all, quietly sitting?

On a stone grave among the limestones?
She would insist: It is my nest, Don Jose.

--- Albert B. Casuga
My Blog Reading ListHER UPANISHAD


The Web

Top of Form
Bottom of Form

No comments:

Post a Comment