soul cure (2010)

in the living room,

on the embroidered couch

the light was dim,

the only sign of death

was in the air

the stale fetor of yellow tail

my great-aunt blanca on the left;

on the right, my great-aunt la actriz,

professional queen of drama

proclaimer of poetry

"your hair is like mine was," she said,

"except mine was much longer--down to here.

and red as rust.

my eyes were green like yours, and my nose

pointed like yours; everything like yours.  and

although i have grown old, you remain what i was."

she recites one of her poems for me.

"ésta es dedicada a mi primer amor; 

dondequiera está."

her voice is like lightning

and her tongue rolls like thunder -- 

the meaning; the sound

the rain

she takes my hand

she tells me they're like ice

but it's so enunciated, it sounds like

"your hands are like jello"

which makes me laugh

my cousin plays the guitar

and sings; he throws his head back

white teeth like polished rocks

in his open mouth

he looks a little like mick jagger

and he used to be mick jagger

when he played for the rolling clones

everyone sings along

to the songs he has written

and the melody

strikes a chord

i sit out back

with my sister, carrie

we dangle our feet in the cold swimming pool

we admire the white lights strung across the trees

and the artwork

the visual poetry

scattered like polished rocks across the desert lawn

this was your last gift--

a soul cure, or

real love's precious medicine-- 

"i am there"

and "here are you."