#393 Her Odor First- Antonio Ruiz-Camacho
Death, family, regret, love. This is a sort of elegy. A
spirit lingers in her house. He grandson, “her baby” is the last one left in
the house. He is left to take care of her affairs, and he must sift through the
boxes she left behind. She is still hanging on to the life she had, and wants
to reach out and comfort him, but she can’t.
“My baby senses me as I’m coming out of the closet and he
looks around, chasing my presence. He knows I’m here, we remain connected. But
I can’t meet his cornered-bull eyes. I can’t touch his sagging face. From this
distance forced upon us by my fate, I can’t sooth him. I can’t caress his
reddened cheeks and bring relief to his expression, wet, drunk, full of angst.
I’ve never seen my baby like this before, and for once I’m glad he can’t see me
either.”
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