There were a lot of things I didn’t write. Like, after I found out my mom was dead, I went out and begged the moon to tell me otherwise, to tell me it could see her, still breathing, tracking her way through the Sonoran. And how sometimes I wonder if the moonlight that touches me when I light saint candles in the night is the same moonlight that also touches my mami’s bones. And if somehow, I’m connected to her through that light. Like I’m still touching a part of her.
