Marcelo Hernandez Castillo
it’s not that she appeared
it’s that she was there
the entire time
our childhood hung
at the end of a stick
holy mother coil of strings
I want this to be our secret
I want to slide my finger
over her shawl and peel
her off the wall
and take her home
I could build an altar
let her black hair grow
through the walls
let it enter my mouth
and bless me from the inside
But in her coming to being
separated from her loss
she is already
going away