I’m becoming so used to coming to the cemetery. Almost every day.

I feel comfortable and relaxed after my long days. Getting home…

feeding Lobo and have him riding by my side to the cemetery.

He seems eager about the moment ahead. He knows the routine.

He likes it. We get to my Mama’s stone. I pull out my bottle of Tequila.

Couple of limes. Cigarettes. The can of tuna for the feral cat. A candle.

The old tree seems to greet me. Its branches reach to my cheeks.

The silence is loud. Loud as a storm. The shadows I see passing by…

don’t bother me. The moaning of underground cries…don’t bother me.

I’ve gotten used to them. I think I can identify them by name.

Yes. I also hear the high pitch of children’s voices…running as crazy…

trying to catch butterflies. I’m getting used to them. I am.

Let me get a drink. A lime with salt. That’s better. I have fed the feral

cat. He’s happy. Me too. The moon is shining bright. As a bright silver

coin. In the neck of Mama’s Universe. Pretty.

It’s getting chilly. I have my heavy overcoat with me. My backpack is

my pillow. Good night.

EO