Put On Your Red Shoes And Dance The Blues...
Nopales con tunas
Every morning I wake up to a jumping dog and open the sliding glass doors so that she can go out. And I remember that things are different now. Trivial things that when put together equal emptiness. Dumb things like I eat standing up around the sink area and that I worry about the plants because I don't have you with the magical green thumb to take care of them. I grocery shop alone and wonder aloud. Jazz is home alone now probably wondering where the little lady who yelled all the time is. And when I get home- there is silence. No smell of simmering guavas or tomatoes or pomegrantes. There is no loud clanking in the morning or big barrels of flour waiting to be made into tortillas. No signature you-isms.
I keep Jazz's food in your room- I can't remember why. But when I go in your room I breathe in real deep and look at your bed with the bed skirt that was so important to you and smile softly cause I miss you. And then I close the door and remember where you are. I'll see you after awhile. A long while- but after awhile...
And one more question grandma, what do you do with the tunas on the nopales again?
