Cigarette
Rodney Gomez
My mother cradles
a sapling between two
fingers.
A spent cannon.
She worries
about her teeth.
¿Y quién tiene la culpa
de todo eso?
Before she was soot
she was powdered
milk, her mouth
a foundry
of plum trees.
Now that she is gone
the confessional is glad
to release her rumor
back into the world.
✼
The day she combusted
her bedroom window
opened its mouth
to exhale.
Everyone in the room
cocooned.
Night reminds me of cities
with no cores,
how anonymous
conversation can be
without compass.
Every belief, even passing,
like cellophane.
Everyone who passes
that window
sees a shroud:
they say ghosts.
I say a reminder
to breathe.
about the author