1 Note. May 3, 2019

Herman Chavez

Poem

Tell me, father mine, if you truly love me.
I see you written in a visceral scene,
vice-president
of the tales you’d tell me as a kid.

Tell me, cold son, if you truly care for me.
I cannot guess
— from all the fingers you have ripped from me —
if the act was written by your own hands.

Holy Spirit, bless my heart.
Do it, already!
Or my blood will become the wine
with which the man on the corner becomes drunk.

If you do not liberate me from the dog,
I will have to miss the expectant future,
and stop praying for my mother.
The At least your response is conditional.