Soy tu semilla

 

Ask dad how’s it going at work, he says cual mijo. Wring fingers into palms and remember two jobs. Ando cansando, me quitaron el día de descanso. The managers yell at him because he stands out. I’m doing half-work. Ahí te dejo, lla viene el bús. Hazelnut creamer on the table, dame beso, lla me voy. Don’t forget your knife dad. Box cutters dig deeper than brown callous.

¿Donde esta papí? He just left for work, she asks which one. Sunday is the supermarket. He leaves half his coffee because I like to sip from his mug. ¿Puedes lavar su plato? Voy al doctor, dame beso, alrato llego. Diabetes is unsweetened shame. She put on her good cardigan. The coffee’s not sweet today.

It’s 10:40pm and mom’s asleep. The gang’s been around so I call dad. Hey dad, are you almost home? Ya casi, nomas me falta una parada. Offer to meet him outside, no, esta bien, no tengo nada en mis manos. On the sofa he traces the fruit-crate cut on his forearm. Dad, let me make you something, no, esta bien, ahí caliento lo que sobro. Tomorrow it’s both jobs – it’s hard work, it’s full-work. Lla me voy a dormir mijo, no te acuestas tan tarde. Flex my forearm in bed.

¿Como van tus clases mijo? They’re good dad, I’m doing okay.I turned eighteen in college. ¿Como van tus clases viejo? My dad sends me a shirt, it’s my favorite now. I send dad a birthday card and he holds it out farther than last year. Let me buy you glasses dad, how many more birthday cards before -  

    

I’m coming home later this summer dad. I show him a picture of my bike; he says tomate una foto con tu bici y mandamelo viejo. I bought a tripod because I could do it myself. Shadows of facial hair. Gracias viejo, alrato se lo enseño a mamí. He calls and asks how to set me as his lock screen.    

Talk about grandpa and how he might die soon. No se como renovar mí Mica, ayudame viejo. Fly back home and grab his green card. Dad has curly hair here, now he wears hats. We’re at Yogurtland, he says prueba este viejo, sabe a café. He buys me a hat, hats don’t fit me dad, he says póntelo and I brought it back to college.  

 

¿Tienes novia viejo? No dad, I’m okay on my own. Mantente enfocado como eres. Rings in my head when I do half-work – half-work because I don’t do full-work times two like dad. Full-work times two times fifty years is harder than physics. I’m studying physics because I want to build something like dad.

Dad what do you want to do when you retire? Me voy a ir a nuestro casa en Michoacán, ¿por que? I thought mom didn’t want to go back. Tienes razón, quien sabe lo que hago. In the tools section at Sears he’s showing me how to rake. He puts the rake back, ya vamonos viejo. On the bus and next to him I hear him plant daydream seeds in Mexico. Maybe you should go back dad, the fruit’s better there. Si pues, viejo.

Papí tú mereces volver a la patria

pero yo no trabajo tan duro como tú

y sin embargo me cuidas.

 

Ramon Molina has been and always will be yearning for finding himself. Ramon started writing poetry to ventilate from his quantitative life and has pressed through shortcomings in the journey to write with authenticity. For him, authenticity is the bridge between the human experience and how well something original can be said. Dogs scare him, but the humble black pug is an exception. Good writing engages him, but it’s the impact of particularities that drive him to purpose. Ramon studies physics and mathematics at Macalester College and is the youngest of a family of four.

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