3515 wyandot

aaron abeyta

About the Author

i return to this house
like a flower to its seed
a young girl
the earth giving and dark
beneath me as i plant
yellow roses with my grandpa Epi

in the morning
before the smell
of tortillas and potatoes frying
my grandpa will dress
in his blue uniform
his hat so perfectly stiff
my grandmother and i
lying side by side
watching him go
his hand like a flower in bloom
as he waves goodbye

the roses
the roses you and your grandpa planted
my grandmother says to me
have grown so beautiful
against this south facing brick wall
i smile because i have grown too
returning in all seasons
to see the roses
sometimes living
sometimes so patiently
clinging waiting for
a warm southern sun

grandpa Epi
with his blue uniform
my brother and i
playing in the long back yard
my grandma
calling to us from the kitchen
the smell of green chile
so delicately resting
on her skin

i have grown
my grandpa Epi who planted
the yellow roses with me
has died
yet as a woman
i return to 3515 wyandot
the smell of candles and perfume
knowing my grandma
has worked all day
on her hands and knees
cleaning floors
her santos mary and jesus
watching her penance
the smell of clean and perfume
like fresh cut flowers
welcoming me home

the roses have gone wild
i return again
a flower year after year
blooming its way back
to a seed sown childhoods ago
the house in other's hands
that do not light candles
or clean for santos
the roses
so yellow and old
have bloomed
and broken from the lattice

in a corner
there is a silent black guitar
no singing voices
from the rooms
smoke and cat urine
breathe from the carpet
a darkened path
through a dim house
curtains drawn
the sound of a hungry cat
in a house
i no longer recognize

there is no sound from the kitchen
the gas range has
no words or scents to offer
this house with its cracking walls
is now a sad place
some would say
the house has given up
its good spirits
the songs and stories
are a vacant back yard
with cans and broken tables
a sad trail of seed

i a woman who as a girl
planted yellow roses here
begin to cry
i seek the roses out
against the south wall
the roses have gone wild
no longer a part of the house
they reach like the hands
of one hundred spirits
in full bloom
waving goodbye

for Michele

©Copyright aaron abeyta