i think there is a chance i will never see you again

A poem by Alejandra Rodriguez, Outreach Director

i think there is a chance i will never see you again. 

there she was. yelling, pleading, yelling. 

giving it to us on a fresh paper plate. redemption. 

an uneaten heavenly gesture, a Mexican sin. 

what a hellish thing.

when i am filled with such aromatic smoke upon a significant day. 

and you see me, in the self check out of the grocery store. 

but pride is so plain. grief so very great. 

so there you place a muddy stomp upon your mother's grave.  

what a waste of God answering his prayers. 

i think there's a chance i may see you again. 

in the 7-11 you took me to after you would pick me up from school sometimes.

when she was busy and you were in between shifts. 

you worked hard, i know this. you still bought me a cherry slurpee. 

maybe you will buy me one.

or perhaps you will ignore me once more. 

on a birthday, a wedding date, my graduation. 

i will spill the sickly sweet blood all over my clothes. 

a wild gesture, a summon to the dancing woman up above. 

just for a word, to know that you’re okay.

i know you know. you broke his heart a little. 

i cried for a night, i don’t know why. 

but he still talks about the concerts you went to, your bond. his brother.

we have the same favorite smiths song. i change it every week to ignore this inevitable generational damage. 

i think you feel too hard, just as i do. i think we both hide what hurts us most. 

i may end up just as you. 

it will be june 30th, the anniversary of abuelita’s passing.

i will see you at the grocery store. you will be with your father. 

you will recognize me, but pretend not to. four years will allow you to pretend that it is a trick of the light. 

to make sure, you will follow me at a distance. 

you will tell your dad you forget to get granola bars. 

but you will see me, you know who it is. 

you walk back to the checkout, you do not want to hurt your father, you will stay silent. 

he will notice me, anyway. he will call my name with a grin and wave.

i will avert my eyes, throw back my hand lazily. 

i will say i don’t have time. i will walk away.

i hope you will not judge me, as i did you. 

i hope you will understand, as i did not you.

it was june 30th. she knew this.

i don’t believe in coincidence. i hope she will once more tamper with fate.

a warm hand is extended. taken but left untouched.

i think there is a chance i will never see you again.