Broken Glass

Please join with me in celebrating this poignant piece.  It brings tears to my eyes, as not only is it so beautifully wrought, it serves as a reminder of all the broken glass that is indeed in our cemetery, especially among the Final Resting Places of our friends that were of Mexican descent.  The poet’s grandparents, Jesus and Lucia Garcia, are buried in Pond Springs Cemetery, “under a pecan tree”.  What a wonderful tribute this is.  Thank you Gloria for allowing it to be shared here.

 – Suzanne

Cristal Roto

Having nothing else to mark

la muerte de la madre,

they placed medicine bottles

on her grave—los remedios

that had failed to save her.

 

Perhaps they were jaundice

bitters, a balsam to rub on

or prescriptions from a doctor,

when it was already too late.

The white November sun

lit blue bottles, paler than the sky,

glossed even the brown vessels,

glass of mercy placed at her head,

 

The bereft Papá, his ten children,

including the three-month-old niño,

left her to rest under a pecan tree

in a country cemetery.

 

Thanksgiving was stark:

a demarcation in memory

no mother

to gather her children in her arms,

to gather the grandchildren

she would never know.

 

Near her grave,

now marked with a headstone,

Yo, su nieta, find a broken piece

of watery glass rising from the dirt,

corners rubbed smooth.

 

But the jagged edges of our hearts

still bear the scars through

generations: remembering

is the only remedy.

 

Gloria Amescua

(Previously published online at Elsewherelit.org)
https://n-dhar.squarespace.com/new-amescua
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Published in: on February 25, 2015 at 6:16 pm  Leave a Comment  

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