the Tecolote felt
your feet clicking
like castanets on its hardwood floor
was it yesterday
when the child
with laughing eyes
spoke with her hands
and no one understood
maybe now
with sunlight nestled
in your hair
and moonlight locked
behind your eyelids
tomorrow I may curse
the grey clouds
the cold that bites
my neck
memories that hang
around like shadows
today I plead
for a shower of sunlight
to see Chata smile
and hear a woman’s voice
call out . . . .son
--Henry G., Adult