Relics

Grinning big, Mo beckoned us in

To his front room to see his ofrenda

Dia del Muerto skulls, family photo, heirlooms

My father was born in this house and died in this house at 91

Spirits swam beside me in their bottles.

Outside, Mo’s story-pauses gaped like eye sockets

The Neville brothers’ Harlem funk dynasty, now just a bubble

I don’t even know if you wanna hear what I’m going to say next

I shook my head at the wrong time and the mood changed

He said, God bless you, and yawed back to his congas.

Taking my leave, I trudged back up the street

My brain heavy with names, Robert and Jeremy and Garreth

Each one a shade of a time and place I’ll never return to

I gather these relics and place them on the ofrenda in my mind

And light a candle as guide against the sibilant darkness.