After Vicente Fernández

Yo sé perder
like a ruffled songbird
knows the cruelty
of a window: headfirst
and dumbfounded. Sigo
escupiendo shards of vidrio
but I haven’t yet shed
the staccato of wounds
on my tongue.
Blood pools in my
cheek, sour and warm,
the mouth an inkwell
of want. Aquí estoy
de nuevo, jaw slack,
hungry for the viscous
summers of boyhood.
Quiero volver,
to the silken grooves
of the palms of my abuela.
Volver, to the thrumming
conversation of
mariachis on the porch,
each fathomless note a
salve for el extraño en
el espejo. Volver,
to the muffled terror
warbling in my lungs.
Y me muero por volver
to my downy white
underbelly, exposed
yet still loved.