Picture frames scatter                   

across popcorn walls,                                          

the young girl drowning      

in iridescence, smiles ear to ear in a crown almost  

too big  

for her curls; su corazón  

shines in her eyes. 

Next to her, is a canvas of spiraling 

violets and maroons reaching 

 

for la cruz seated center on the wall of family. 

Pero la casa esta vacía. 

Masa harina coats the air, hoja de elote lying 

on the kitchen counter in its package, pleading 

to be released. 

Un sartén on el refri eagerly  

ready to heat  

la tortillas sitting al lado del pan dulce shoved 

a top la tostadora, begging 

to be dipped  

into sweet tazas de cafecito, 

pero la casa esta vacía. 

 

I tell them scatter, 

run past popcorn walls. 

We are all drowning 

in the punishment of who we are, hoping for the almost.  

Too big  

a problem: mi corazón  

breaks with closed eyes 

so I do not see the fall, the spiraling 

do not see my people reaching 

and never receiving paz, I pray for my family. 

Mi casa esta vacía. 

Tried to hide, bajo floorboards, wait in the silence, in the lying.  

Dije, “mi familia, mis hijos,” no pleading  

gets you released. 

They say “warrent” and we wait eagerly 

in the heat, 

it is hours until we see sky, see others they shoved, 

escuchar a los niños begging 

as men dipped 

their stolen pan into cafecito  

Mi casa esta vacía.