Abuelo
came to visit me
in one of my dreams.
He and I were in a white room,
and through a doorway,
I could hear my stepmom on the phone.
It’s been a while since I last saw him
He looks less saturated than normal,
almost like he has a carmine matte filter on.
I hear my stepmom
sobbing in the room next door,
her brother is dying.
The moment between recognition
and action is leve, escaso.
I hug Roque
like I never did when he was
physically alive
and I notice
how light his body is.
How do I put this?
He was barely
attached to the ground
and hugging him felt
like holding a piece of paper.
I hugged him for a long time
steadfast and afraid.
I didn’t want wind
or some sort of reverse gravity
taking him away.
At some point,
the walls of the white room
oscillate into hints of a basilica.
At some point,
my joy of holding him,
finally as a man
turns into a guttural cry.
Me and my step mom
emote grief
in adjacent rooms.
It is an animal horn throat yelling sound,
indistinguishable and surround system sound,
and it is also an internal sound.
Then I think,
Roque would be happy
if I’m happy.
For some reason I imagine
him smiling when I tell him
my van had LED lights on.
I’m able to calm down even though
I have felt calm this whole time
beyond my gritos.
I’m going to be okay &
I’m glad he visited me.
The sound of grief,
primal despair,
and lack of control are
the ultimate awareness:
We are not the governors of life.
I’ll say it again
We do not govern life.
Can we be okay with that?
Can we ever be okay with
our loved ones
and ourselves dying?
I hope so
I would like to be enlightened that way
but my oneiric screams seem to suggest otherwise.
I love you abuelo
gracias por visitarme.
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