The Santos family comes to gather.
They have lost their Abuelo.
The one with crazy eyes.
Padre opens the sala for them
to sit, hum handed-down songs.
He moves the longest bench inside,
has Kaya set a bowl of drink
in their mourning room; it has fire
in it, the kind that makes large men
sway, sometimes shout,
smash cups to the ground.
Thirteen candles burn behind
the casket carved by a son—
the eldest living. Old man, dead
in a suit. Women of his family
touch his cheek for the last time,
quickly cross themselves.
Nod in chairs for hours. Rows of
tears, generations. And wood.
Cara Fox is a freelance writer living in Taos, NM. Her poems have been published in a variety of local, regional, and national journals and magazines that include Animus, The Dunes Review, Stuff Magazine, The Aurorean, Puckerbrush Review, The Café Review, Stolen Island Review, Venus Envy and Bangor METRO Magazine.