Robert Spiegel

Smoked almonds and cigarettes blow
across the yard as October wind spins
Aidan’s pinwheel and friendship goes fleshy.

You live inside me, a sister pouring cool
water on old, old wounds. Letta’s smile
sliding down the mountain like skin.

I take your childhood hand and drag
it through the stars, small crystals
breaking open and splashing into your

eyes. Light cotton dresses blown by the
wind open Africa’s dusty secrets –
I waited for you decade upon decade.

Yes, gulp the blue New Mexico sky, touch
the broken stone of the Sandias till blood
frees your voice and sings the morning

back alive. You were always with me,
birthday to birthday, a whisper, yes,
it’s good to see you, good to see you every time.