Tío Manuel is the only uncle
who makes me feel uncomfortable.
There’s something about his stare,
as if he finds my timid gaze fascinating.
When we’re hiking in high mountains
on the slopes of a smoky volcano,
I have plenty of chances
to escape from him.
I can’t stand the way he always asks
so many questions about my mother’s
disappearance.
In the rainy green jungle, I try to stay far away
from his booming rifle, and at the seashore
I’d rather listen to my older cousins’ horrifying
ghost stories.
Why does this one particular uncle
always make me feel so vulnerable?