All I Know Of You

All I Know Of You


They say you used to dance
all afternoon in lieu of jogging.
You used to eat pastillas de leche
on your bed, dropping the white wrappers
one by one, on the floor. 

They say it's okay to cry. 
But I never really knew that
because sometimes I doubt
that I ever knew you at all. 

I touch your bracelets, 
the red ink on your books. 
I touch your watch, the silver one, 
the one without numbers
on its face. 

I'm sure you must have covered
my face with kisses. 
You must have. 

There won't be a final conversation. 
You left. And that's that. 
And nothing will bring you back, 
not these sudden, red faced and
disheveled moments of grief,
even after thirty four years. 

I kiss my children for you. 
I love you, you know, 
as if you were in my kitchen
waiting to talk over hot
lychee tea.

- Justine Camacho-Tajonera