Updated: Mar 9, 2019
I miss you.
I’m far away from- and miss - Urban Court - my small backyard
where, when it would rain I would sink my hands in mud
just to see if I could feel your heartbeat.
I miss waking up to the silhouette of your mountains
and feeling like Pikes Peak and Mount Evans rested
on the tips of my eyelashes.
I miss Vanderhoof’s playground where I would hang upside down
on monkey bars just so I could feel the gravity of you.
I miss the Mooseburgers who lived adjacent to us
and would make ‘Smack Mac’ for me and my brother
when Mom and Dad were busy cleaning carpets, or getting high.
I miss Denver. I miss Arvada. I miss Montrose! Up up in your mountains
at my grandparents house - where Inside:
Grandma Mata sang me spanish lullabies
and taught me the Lord's prayer by writing it down on a used receipt.
I watched her soft brown hands shape each letter.
She cooked pinto beans on the teal coal stove- stirring with one hand
and dancing with the other. Grandpa would sit in the dining room waiting-
with fingers laced in his lap under the kitchen table where
they would whisper to each other in spanish between
hiccups of soft laughter and slurps of bone marrow.
Their love was a secret recipe and you were the first ingredient.