Thursday, May 7, 2015

To a Ghost Not Gone

In the wake of PoMoSco and sharing with all of you my favorite poems I've written for the project, it seems fitting to also share a poem that is fully Monica-written--as in, not a found poem from someone else's words. Papi (my grandfather) died five years ago today, and this is a poem I wrote in his honor. It remains one of my favorite poems I've written.

To a Ghost Not Gone

El Señor es mi Pastor. Nada te faltará.

I search for ways to say goodbye,
fumbling through the moments I remember best.
You kept me in a safe, your little treasury,
and left me with piles of pocket change and your voice,
scratchy Spanish on an old cassette,
dust that hasn’t found a place to settle.

Me guiará por sendas de justicia, por amor de su nombre.

You tried to sweep
the broken bits beneath the rug,
but now they cut our feet and we cry,
not for the ache of your absence,
but for the things you left behind.

Mi copa está rebosando.

I watch little ones pluck petals
and drop the tattered stems on the dirt.
I want to kiss your cheek
to give you one final farewell,
but I don’t know how to reach you,
or what language will carry my voice
across the distance.


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