Before I went back to sleep in the cemetery. Laying on my Mom’s large

marble stone. Feeling her old bones touching me. Smelling them.

The smell of time piercing my nostrils. My brain. The back of my head.

Sara had been sick. So was Lobo. Had to pawn my two guitars to take

him to the vet. He had an UTI…was given antibiotics. Sara was given

some psychotropics. Needed some time to myself. Drove my old car

that needs endless electrical and mechanical care…to the cemetery.

Finally! The joy of being by myself. In a sea of black stones. Trees with

twisted arms…feral cats…coming at me. I was armed. With a few tuna

cans and water. Lobo was with me. The moon looked splendid and

magnificent. The air smell of roses and Flor de Noche. Silence was loud

as a symphony. The crescendo parts sweetly piercing my ears.

Got out my bottle of tequila. Limes. Salt. Sat on my Mom’s large stone.

Had a long one. A smoke. Laid on my back and looked at the stars.

Life was good. It was good. It was good. Not a thing missing. Not a thing.

Life in the cemetery…as you know…is eternal.

And the fact that I come and enjoy its setting…I love it.

One day I’m going to be here till the end of time. No hurry.

Ernesto Onofre