El Bocón and his wife,
my great-aunt Bernarda,
decide to make me their son.
He’s huge and loud, she’s small and flowery,
with curly hair, a delicate voice,
and an eager way of making children
join all her songs, parties,
and prayers.
Living in their vast, echoing home,
I soon learn the essential skill of storytelling
along with horsemanship, hunting, fishing,
and wild fruit harvesting.
The only art I never master
is convincing others that I don’t really care
how
and why
Mamá vanished.