For tía Clara

I want to dislodge time,

I want to halt it and bind it

slowly stopping its gears 

into a moment where

you and I still exist

together in this world.

In this moment,

I see your tired arms

lifting on top of your head,

in an attempt to be

a caring host.

Your arched back

too round in some areas

and too bony in others,

but pushed forward, nonetheless

by the weight of almost a century.

And yet, it’s not the volume of time

that defeats you. It is every minute

you spend alone at your place, every

month less able to walk, every 

quarter, remembering less, asking more

of the same questions, and recognizing

you are going in circles.

If I had to put my finger on it,

what I most admire about you is 

your courage and the bravery 

it takes for you to say things like 

I miss you. When are you 

coming back? Hopefully,

we can see each other again

for lunch, if God allows.

Or your blessing, telling me 

I will do good and be good

because I’m a good person.

Your words feel like the most

powerful insurance to me,

like reading ahead of the book

and realizing the main character succeeds,

even if we don’t know how.

Time has been kind to us,

and for the most part, I’m happy

that I became an adult 

in another country, 

but how I wish I were in high school

again, taking the 15 or the 110 bus on Thursdays,

so we could have lunch together.

How I wish I could afford you more time together,

because this simple act is how I tell you

that I love you.

But it is not possible,

so I will see you on WhatsApp

and in my dreams instead.

I wish you had married someone who loved you

more, but I can’t push the walls of time,

and make a different decision for you.