By Willie Robert Heredia |
Willie Robert Heredia is a CSUDH alumnus. He is a dog person who, by chance, happens to live
with two cats. His poetry has been published in Cerritos' ¡Pa’lante! Journal, and he hopes to one
day publish a collection of short stories. His writings are inspired by the everyday life that goes
on around him. He is honored to be represented in the Spring 2020 issue of CSUDH’s Enjambed. -Willie Robert Heredia
It's Just Prolonged Sleep
Stitches in the shape of a horseshoe
with dry blood, on your left temple.
Two tubes spill out your mouth
and wires attached to your chest,
connected to a monitor.
The mountainous lines flicker
from left to right in a steady rhythm.
Your chest rises in a slight,
almost robotic-like manner
but just enough to give me hope.
I see a bag full of urine,
means you have not given up.
Your hands are cold but I can feel
a sense of life pulsing within, fighting.
I know you are there, wandering about
in a wilderness deeper than the ocean.
Maybe you’re reliving the day you
officially became a mechanic.
Maybe you’re talking to your mom
trying to justify the Mexican flag tattoo
on your back, or the dragon one on your leg.
Grandma always hated those tattoos.
Or maybe we’re playing catch again,
with the football you bought me
just a month ago … remember?
I know you can hear me.
I despise the bullet that invaded
the privacy of your skull.
Grandma told me to stay strong,
she said, “Siempre confía en Díos.”
I guess she’s right,
they say moms always are
so He must have a plan.
so He must have a plan.
Please stay with us tío junior ––
may these words keep you tethered to this world.
ENJAMBED | SPRING 2020