She was back into my life after a long sejours
how could I not welcome her at the table
after so many suns and moons
Having crossed the oceans of reality,
my dream was a surreal bizarre reel,
featuring my sister
sitting at a table ogling whimsical canopies.
She says "I'm hungry," but when it comes time
to eat, she can't ,
Large strips of duck tape pasted
on both mouth and nose.
"so I could breathe better" was all she says;
I remember a much younger Lupita,
telling me she dreamt of midnight chocolates
wrapped in silver paper
with blue stars on them.
It's been six long years since I last saw her
the silence between us has epoxied
turning into a gluey exhibit;
Probably both of us are starving
for mother's homemade milk soup,
Though mom has been dead for eons,
like the Divco truck that rattled our glass bottles
like the memory of father on the balcony
holding a paintbrush, smelling of tobacco and paint,
This fantasmal dream of mine has no beginning,
and certainly no end.
Lupita…forgive me,
For I would never sin from these
lips,
Such words that would spoil the beauty
of your existence;
But if you requested such a crime, I’d argue
for remnants of your time,
And charm you as my fatal audience.
Of these things I would cite verbally,
Would be the origin of shape, gifted upon
your figure,
Those curves that gave birth to the unpredictable
patterns of life,
Swaying the adoration of midnight flesh, into these
new testaments of woman.
How simply intoxicating is this craving?
To bear witness to chocolate unspoiled, as it lay
peacefully naked over maker’s canvas;
Let it not melt away, before millions can sample its
sensuous glow.
Perhaps art can be reborn from such stillness,
While wasted labels could fade into retirement,
Convincing the almighty to revise the structure of
Eve,
And acknowledge this last miracle…Lupita.
What else could be molded from this paradise, but a
Queen’s thoughts and motives?
If there is nothing but truth in this crime, then I’ve painted
the solitude of heaven, perfectly.
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