I remember nights of playing
Lotera w/Mom & Big Manny
as a way to learn the Spanish they spoke
to each other but not to their kids
who caught on to certain words
like cllate, cerveza, chicharrn;
little nuggets I ate up
like the pinto beans we used
instead of the blue chips
Mom kept in her Bingo bag
she carried every Friday night
when her & Tia Shirley
went to the Moose Lodge,
her hair & coat reeking
w/the smoke of all who lost.
I remember El Borracho,
the man always holding a bottle
& about to fall over yet never does
like Big Manny stumbling home
late at night after a payday,
breath & belly full of beer,
who one time took a piss
in our bedroom.
I remember La Garza,
not for the heron it is
but cousin Tony & his kids,
nights of sleepovers & pizza,
PlayStation on a 40-inch TV,
the night he & Lil Jesse sneaked
bumps of coke in the bathroom
& I rubbed numb my teenage teeth.
I remember El Musico,
not the chubby man clutching his guitarra
but my brother Dave loading crates
of records & a dual turntable case
like a coffin into the back of a van,
the same set I hit my back on at ten
when I fell out of the top bunk bed.
But I prefer to remember La Sirena
back when her breasts were free
of the seashells she now holds
to cover them in water so blue
cold, her scales so red,
her name clung to the tongue
like dulce de leche.
Jacob Saenz
____________________________________________________________________
I remember nights of longing for family
game night. w/Mom and her girlfriend(s).
I wanted Life, Clue, or Skategories.
I wanted to make dinner and sit all around
the table, not the house. Just the table.
I figured I would ask one day bud forgot.
I remember nights of playing Uno
a game easy to learn, and fun to play.
I was with a Francisco’s family those nights.
Once again I longed for it to be mine.
The kitchen smelt of pinto beans and rice,
not so foreign except for the people.
Menudo was a new smell to my nose.
Francisco’s house was a familiar though.
Instead of Uno we played Yahtzi
I hated that game. It involved some math
problems that I had no time for tonight.
The variables in my game night were
rolling around my head like dice in a cup.
Maybe next year I would sit around our
table, making memories and dinner.
Or maybe we would assemble trophies
that show our commitment to the night
of festivities that would have us smiling
or laughing or fighting for a spot on
top of whatever totem we made.
My family played a few games but never
ones they admit they played. The ones with hearts
of people they claim to love so dearly.
The nights these games weren’t played were
the nights games in my house were celebrated.
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