My hands used to create magic. I think with the increasing demands of adulthood, they've had their spark pulled right out of them. My little sister's hands still glisten with it, but I fear he ... [+]
When my dad was closer to death than to us, he’d call out for his mom. His sickness made him weary.
One slow breath in and a single syllable out: amá
Gentle on the tongue, bitter in the lungs.
I never asked him why he cried out for her but I think it was because we want, so greedily, to somehow squeeze into a fetal position and remain in our mother’s heart for as long we can.
Carved deep, sewn slowly.
Nestled deep in her chest, near her neck, closer to the clavicle.
One slow breath in and a single syllable out: amá
Gentle on the tongue, bitter in the lungs.
I never asked him why he cried out for her but I think it was because we want, so greedily, to somehow squeeze into a fetal position and remain in our mother’s heart for as long we can.
Carved deep, sewn slowly.
Nestled deep in her chest, near her neck, closer to the clavicle.