i will hold onto the image of your nightly ritual and will cherish it for as long as i am remembering you. i sometimes watch you as your lay your back against our black suede sofa, the cheap older one. your dyed hair, black like a panther’s fur, is tied in a loose bun with a hair tie you’ve found on the floor—sometimes the hair tie is a lime green, a teal blue, or a glittery orange. your eyes are closed, your dark brown eyelids relaxed, and your toffee-colored hands rest on your lap, holding onto one of the many rosaries you collect. sometimes you use the bright pink rosary that has white glow-in the dark beads which was given to my sister at her first holy communion, other times you use the rosary with the wooden beads a vendor gifted to my brother because he figured that my brother needed god more than the vendor needed two dollars. as you murmur the hail mary prayer in spanish, you feel the softness of each rosary bead.


you look so snug and comfortable in that pale pink robe that you’ve had for as long as i could remember. the belt was lost in the laundromat, so you now use an incredibly long shoe lace that you tie into a bow at your side. on your feet, you have on those bright yellow sandals with the tiny red flowers and everest green leaves. at your feet lies our cat, basking in your peacefulness. our cat’s eyes are also closed, and her body is laying on one side, her head resting on your leg. you both are there for usually ten minutes. sometimes fifteen. afterwards, you play with our cat for a while. every creature needs a dose of affection, you’ve said to me. then, you come to our bedroom and turn off the lights.


6 thoughts on “mamá

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