waves to me from an old picture.
Sitting at the dining room table
wearing his soft flannel jacket,
several layers underneath,
his back to the sunniest window.
He sips, savors a chufláy,
carefully prepared with 7-Up and singani,
a twist of limón.
quickly removed for the camera,
held in his hand, out of sight.
Kind blue eyes –
turned gray and cloudy in old age.
Soft viejito hands
that lovingly rubbed my 5-year old feet
when they hurt,
and played piano delicately, sweetly.
I wish to hold them again.
In a dream he appeared to me,
with jet-black hair,
“Hijita, ¡cuánto he esperado verte así!”
years have passed
but I still hear your stories
like the time you caught a scorpion in your pant leg
and the one about how even the birds know enough
to carefully prepare a nest
before the arrival of their offspring.
I would love to sit with you again
at that table,
with our books, papers
crucigramas and caramelos.