The old women

The old women dream of death

and say there will be a wedding soon.

Your birthday passed

I owe you a visit, perhaps

some cake for us with coffee

Will you be there, should I come?

It isn’t far-this space between us-

but when will I get there,

what will I say?

The last words between us

was I 9 or 10?

or even younger than,

And did I say

that I loved you?

You don’t remember, too.

The old women have dreamt of death-

Abuelito, say it isn’t you.

 

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