::12:04:07::

::: It’s Wearing Me :::

Cheto Martinez was gunned down last Monday near his home. His family will be held a memorial service Iglesia de San Antonio...

”Have you ever worn an alter”
-Sweet Lydia
from down my block
asks me. Slyly.

I think of Tia Rosa praying to Guadalupe
to ease the passing of the son.

”Well have you?”
No I cannot
say that
Yes I have.

”Too bad.”
-Lydia smiles
up eager
little white teeth
they must
be this alter
I think
Alter to her skeleton.

”Well have you ever seen one?”
Loud cries and the
flowers that flew across my street.

”Yes, there were flowers.”
I say.
”Carnations right?”
Lydia asks.
She knows the answer
to this question
sly girl that she is.

”Yes carnations.”
but I’m thinking
spooning out
depleted roses
hot and sticky
red on asphalt
multiplying
two-fold
in two minutes flat

who knew roses could
pool out
crimson?
Talk about miracles.

”And there were candles right? And a cloth for the table, near the flowers?”
she says voice quickening,
eyes big as rose petals pooling.

”Yes, there were all these things.”
I say.

”And you wore the cloth as your rebozo
right?”
small shawls I didn’t wear.

”No.”
I say
But I don’t tell Lydia
about running away
so quickly
from the darkened
weeping room falling
thud on the
rose petals
pooling asphalt
stain cutting slice
right open my
small knees
crimson on
crimson
kneeling in pain
that alter
wearing me.

Written by: ~ Rebecca Ann Pratt