My eyes are the shapes
Of avocado pits
Silver as a new peso
Blue as the Pacific
On the first day of summer

That's what
Madre says.

My arms are fat
Like pork *****
Plump and squishy
They're tanned like
Padre's work boots
He shines them
Every night
Con un cigarillo in
The right corner of his mouth

If madre is asleep
And I wake to ***
He's usually out there
Lit by the cornmeal porch light
The cow milk moon
The bullet-riddled sky

Ey boy, he calls out to me in a whisper
I say nothing
I just go

He picks me up
Like a small dog
Or a fat cat and
Puts me on his knee

You know we going soon? he asks me

I shake my head no, saying nothing

Beyond those hills. Over them.

He blows a thin river of smoke through his lips
The air is still
The smoke hovers there, uninterrupted

He takes his cigarillo from his mouth
Hovers it over my fresh, soft caterpillar lips

Open your mouth boy. Breathe in.

I do what I'm told.

Smoke. Fire. Burning.

I start to cough
Padre's hand is over my mouth
He laughs as he pats my back
With the palm
Of his other hand

The inside of the hand
That covers my mouth
Tastes like tobacco
Tastes like dirt
Tastes like the salts of salt
Tastes like work

You ok, he chuckles, You ok boy.

He wipes a tear from my cheek
I look into his meditative eyes
They are jagged, creased, as if
There is a silent earthquake of fear
Rumbling inside of him right there

Where we going? I ask

New home. He coughs
Jams the cigarillo back in his mouth
Gray smoke rolls over his face
He does not blink

Our new home, he says.