Querida

waves of grainy cumbias and guajiras flutter through the
walls and in between doorways
sad strains, with dust and shards of sunlight
a cloudy vase sits atop a thickly painted red table
only a fiery dead rose inside

the times of needing her are over
left to ponder unknown words and intentions
trapped and aching in this space
in this space
in this city
cracked concrete, smell of taqueria, cars moving
human bodies from hogar to trabajo
bungalows and apartments hiding millions of
stories under cover of sooty palm trees.
Kissing her was like kissing tragedy
like embracing something that was only a word away from
becoming a phantom
together, we forgot the path ahead of us
lived solemnly backward and backward in time
whispering echoes of chocolate,
café con leche
incense smoke
and Mayan pyramids

the needle sputters and pops as it glides over the record
I strain to hear her voice—
that sound that brought colors to life
and made all songs repeat her name,
her name

we carved our stories into the loneliness of nameless streets
walked them
made each other laugh and
sing on them
and shared the joy of watching
a neighborhood change and grow

her voice now massages fading mysteries
into my mind
her memory is a dark deer
quiet breath into chill air
a twitch
then gone
onto a mossy mountain path I will never find