The last passenger pigeon cooed without end
in a language that no one could understand
with an accent like the wrinkles on the palm of your hand
when it stopped, the silence said "never again."
My tíoabuelo died not knowing his name
leaving papi the only one left of fourteen
his homeland across ocean and mountain and dream
the blessing and curse that he packed up and came.
Your heart is a muscle the size of your fist
that can conquer anything but distance
that can only strain against sinew to cross the expanse
the space between what is and what might could exist.
You read my blog.