accept this offering
of dried fish and birds
salted with bitter tears
I harvested.
your passing
did not turn grand
cities into crystallized seas
though your family still
feels the curse of another
disappeared before his time
but like the Mary Celeste
you’ve refused to go down.
we pour thin white lines
at the windows and doors
hoping to keep you at bay
some say it keeps you trapped inside
with us the living
conjuring more of the same.
no there is no blame for pouring
salt into our wounds we accepted
that sentence from the womb
as part of us being born yours
we came out briny
as if direct from the ooze
moody to the blues
like those storms at sea
that brew up quick
lashing at the shores
with towering tongues
of brackish water
© Odilia Galvan Rodriguez, 2008
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