Rigoberto Gonzalez – Ⅲ
Abuelo Catches Up on World Events, and Then Dozes Off
Scene, scene, scene on the television screen:
eye sockets coaxed out of building walls, a woman’s
grief spills from the cracked cups of her hands
and all ignore the shriek behind the mesh
of her teeth. Who are these people who can sleep
through the screeching of melting tin? They must be
dreaming gardens to be flowering such redness
without rain. Their breathing splatters the dust in green.
I have seen this woman stumble in her black dress
so often, she’s memory: my mother choking
on her last meal when I was seventeen. The square
buckles on her shoes open into six feet of darkness
and a sudden glare of glass reminds me the caretaker’s
near with a shovel and a bottle of gin. My sister
is the woman praying on her knees but since her Spanish
sounds like gibberish the gods will not be reached.
By evening news my sister’s voice will have vanished
and my mother will be wandering the footage
of a conflict a continent away, her cries out-begged
by the din of the sponsor’s merchandise. Eyes numb,
I lean back in the couch that poisons the room with roses.
Scene, scene, scene on the television screen:
eye sockets coaxed out of building walls, a woman’s
grief spills from the cracked cups of her hands
and all ignore the shriek behind the mesh
of her teeth. Who are these people who can sleep
through the screeching of melting tin? They must be
dreaming gardens to be flowering such redness
without rain. Their breathing splatters the dust in green.
I have seen this woman stumble in her black dress
so often, she’s memory: my mother choking
on her last meal when I was seventeen. The square
buckles on her shoes open into six feet of darkness
and a sudden glare of glass reminds me the caretaker’s
near with a shovel and a bottle of gin. My sister
is the woman praying on her knees but since her Spanish
sounds like gibberish the gods will not be reached.
By evening news my sister’s voice will have vanished
and my mother will be wandering the footage
of a conflict a continent away, her cries out-begged
by the din of the sponsor’s merchandise. Eyes numb,
I lean back in the couch that poisons the room with roses.