Kinda rough, but I wanted to put it out here now...
Ordinary
Last night I dreamed
of my mamá
and papá again.
We were sitting together
in the old tv room
that’s ours no more.
There was nothing
remarkable -
just her in her recliner
and he on his sofa
and me in between,
and some noise
on the screeen,
as it used to be
before they departed -
just ordinary.
Awake I dream of more -
of mamá’s rellenos,
of papá’s cigars,
of Tio Alphonso’s submarine,
of Tio Alberto’s Cadillac,
of Tia Maria’s
chisme and cafe,
of lemons
and pomegranates
and camellias
in mi Abuelita’s jardín -
all ordinary.
Of a shared smile
and held hands
over mugaritas,
of kisses
in a burgundy mini-truck
in a parking lot,
of a tipsy Friday night
drive home,
of a rush to delivery room,
of diapers and legos
and cardboard block castles,
and a house full
of kids and cat-5 cables,
of guitars and a piano
and music late at night,
and a picture
of two little boys
and a Christmas tree -
all ordinary.
These nights
I dream
of those old people
and this old room,
of those old memories,
and these new days,
of that old silence
and this new quiet
in a time of confusion
and virus -
and these nights I crave
the ordinary.
