So my second collection or my third collection A Crown
For Gumecindo is a heroic crown of sonnets
that I wrote after my grandfather passed--
now I grew up with him, we lived on the same property,
he passed in 2013, and I spent the next year and a half
working on this heroic crown of sonnets for him.
And for those who don't know, heroic crown of sonnets
is a series of 15 sonnets.
And there's lots of rules, but, you know, screw the rules.
But ideally for me anyway, the last line
of the first sonnet starts the second the last line
of the second starts the third, and so on right
until it forms--
the 15th sonnet is comprised of the first line
of the previous 14.
I'm only going to read a couple from here,
but this one is called Newborns, and this like I said,
this was after my grandfather's passing.
Newborns.
Let's look at our reflections in the mud, see how in four months
each of us has changed.
What is your name without a body?
My name without you here?
I am new.
What I never was.
Suddenly I carry my newborn grief like a new mother,
I nurse and swaddle my most fragile, my newest, my sweet.
What festers in the bellies of strangers does not concern me.
There is only this, I am a only mother, mine is the only child.
I decompose alongside you, wanting and not
wanting everyone to see me off balanced
and leaking my skin in strands the oddity that
was put in my hands.
Día de los Muertos, the oddity that was put in my hands,
your truck, it used to be, I drove this road each week
to pick you up now I drive this road each week to lay you down
again.
Today is the Day of the Dead.
When did you die?
Today I bring you chicharrón con huevo, chile,
which is to say I brought breakfast to the goats.
I want to slip my hand into the photo of you,
fix your hair as I did, help you with your sweater,
guide heavy salt to your plate.
Grass is starting to grow over you, shards of rock
gone smooth, I sing to bees.
I lay my ear to stone, it doesn't hurt.
I hear your song, water rising from dirt.