Todo Sobre Mi Madre

My Mother
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La Llorona was in the river.
Full moon nights, you couldn’t hear the water
Just the sobs
The mad cries of this woman
damned to an eternal search,
Who in desperate, extremist love
Drowned her children in the river.

My mother was adopted by her grandparents
Teaching her the secret of perfect yellow cake,
Buttery Handmade tortillas,
and refried beans from heaven.

Then her Bio parents moved in across the street.
They had eight more kids they kept.
She babysat them, going “home” across the street nightly.
She made it to 8th grade
Before she became indispensable to the other family.

She told me this story early
Being young, the perceptive sponge I was;
I wanted revenge
Not for the drowned children,
But for my mother and her lost childhood.

Thru her I knew La Llorona
like I knew my grandparent’s house
a little square house with trees all around
Close enough to the river

when you shut your eyes tight enough
you could hear the trickle.

I’d ask to hear the story of La Llorona,
While she cooked for me.
I liked hearing it.
Though it was a grim and ghastly
I preferred it to her childhood tales
Of baking, cooking, cleaning for 10.

I wanted to be her perfect boy
Don’t get rid of me.
I wanted to be no trouble
I wanted to be her glee and humor.

So, she cooked for me
And I ate as much as I could
That’s how much I loved her
And felt for her sadness, emptiness
Trying as hard as I could
To swallow it whole
All of it.

And now she’s so far away
And I think about calling her…
Of visiting the square house
with her
sitting
and asking her to tell me about La Llorona.

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