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
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
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.
As long as the pew was there. Burned.
They came, los barbaros *, burned it.
No one built the church again. No one.
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,
She turned a hundred-three that day,
but reminded me to bury her sitting.
Lest I forget. If I kept my word, would
Lest I forget. If I kept my word, would
grandfather really have taken her home?
Would the bus have stopped for her,
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
02-23-12
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