the earth is hard, the heavens far

Love & Grace

There is Love and Grace, she says.

And she follows each to its end, crumbling brick walls meshed in ivy. El culo del saco, se lo comió Paco.

She picked living things out of her grandson’s hair as if she were digging memories out of his skull. A brown beetle to forget his father. A wingless moth to forget his homeland.

There is Pearl and Water, she says.

And a desolate beach that hides under the Brooklyn Bridge, which will not fall down, will not fall down.

He fell from the boat, from the overcrowded boat. His long hair floated on the olive sea like a clump of Sargasso weed. He fell from the boat and her husband fell over after him.

There is Montague, she says.

But no Capulet.

-From The Second Death of Unica Aveyano, by Ernesto Mestre-Reed