Fruit of the Drunken Tree

by Ingrid Rojas Contreras

I closed my eyes, thankful for the blood thumping in my body, thankful for Mamá’s life, and I imagined Petrona’s blood thumping in her body too, and I felt like we were all joined in some way

I felt a growing guilt over nothing bad happening to me.

I began to see the Spirit of Holy Fear everywhere.

I went to the attic and crawled into bed next to Cassandra, the patter of rain over the world of our dreams.

I awoke from dreams of waiting into other dreams of waiting.

I understood this was what you did for the people you loved. You sat with them in their pain.