One mother can leave and be free
but she won’t
not without me
The other one is angry with my father,
Toribio,
who sews and plays the harp
my father
who picked me up and shook me
calling me spoiled
like a prince
Can’t he tell the difference between a prince
and a poodle?
This is how the ghost-Mamá punishes my father:
with silence
her invisible
whip
If the priest hadn’t spoken to her, the silence
might have gone on and on forever
the silence
I secretly
treasured