When God sowed darkness and the Devil a *****, Abuela dug so deep her oldest son fell through.
I dangled my constellations like ghosts that might carry him to the surface, a grip hard as ice, a grip twice as thin.
Inertia yanked ten in two -- five fingers, pop; ten fingers, stop -- he took them all down, the tendonsβ endless unfurling. I, ladder, endlessly descending. He, father, ends up standing.