An Argument with Ma

one of my first teenage rebellious arguments was about Ma 

not taking time to teach me how to cook. 

we both yelled. 

her answer was she had to learn on her own 

by watching other people. nobody took the time to teach her. 

that i’ve lived a spoiled life compared to hers growing up. 

she learned how to survive on her own. i pleaded that i needed her to learn how to survive without her.

to learn how to season chicken and rice correctly, making 

arroz con gandules with pollo guisado. 

she won’t be here forever. 

i guess i was looking for some sort of rites of passage. marking an end of childhood. 

we went back and forth with Ma slamming pots and kitchen cabinet doors. 

as if that was my first trial. demanding blessings from my mother, 

like Jacob wrestling with the angel.

Tío Joey Died

Tío Joey died.

He died on Friday,

but we were told today, Sunday.

For two days

we carried on as if he was alive.

He struggled with addiction,

heroin, I think.

A habit murdered him.

We’re all accomplices.

Or was it suicide? Or assisted suicide?

My father broke the news through

broken sobs. He was his brother.

His last living sibling. Everyone else died

of heroin, I think.

Tío Joey tried paying for hookers 

by not paying. 

Driving through Santo Domingo's

dark desolate streets, he picked up two.

We drove around for hours laughing, talking,

driving, until they demanded payment.

He confessed not having any money.

They began hitting us from the backseat.

for wasting their time.

We swerved away laughing.

We laughed for years after.

Now I laugh alone.

Tío Joey died two days ago.

Tío Joey died today.

Tío Joey still lives,

each time I laugh about

that day.