Probate Trial
my father’s ashes will be blown
past memory. The days riding shotgun
under blue then foggy then crystalline skies
done. Finally. And I never
wanted it that way. Always sought
mi Papí allí en la camioneta waiting for me
to get in. And we’d drive.
When I was little, we knitted time
into smiles riding around town
on the tarry seats of a pick-up.
Then I got curious and asked
questions. The most important: whom
had he loved? He didn’t answer
that he loved me.
That would have been out of character.
He was not a liar. Besides he knew
what I really wanted.
I wanted to know about all the women.
My mother who was not his wife;
his wife who was not my mother.
And the others. He answered
that he hadn’t loved any of them.
Without excuses. Without regrets.
I wasn’t part of that story. I was his daughter.
I was pretty. Then I grew up smart.
And sad. And then away. But never
too far. Soon a judge will rule
and my father will simply be
what remains
for one more moment. Then done.
