I’ve tried to explain
to my daughter
who wants to know why
I have almost but not quite
cried all afternoon
it’s the ghosts, I tell her
I can’t walk near Alvarado/Guerrero
because cancer got that one
I can’t walk near Guerrero and 22nd
because oxycotin got that one
I can’t walk Valencia and anything
because the rapture got that one
In California, they make 4th graders
study the missions—
in that no slavery , no suffering sort of way–
The sky is that pure blue of San Francisco with the icy chill
and wind of things to come
the cafe is silent except for the taping of keys and every table is taken
we sit outside in the crisp air and look at palm trees
Our Lady of Sorrows, Sweet Dolores
my non-catholic child looks lost as any pagan amongst this pomp
we have no gods, my child and I
the dangerous are put to death for what they believe, for what they say
stations of the cross, the hammer of nails
and tonatzin became the lady in the azure robe
violence before beauty; violence begets beauty
The Lady gave the peasant roses
my daughter does the right thing
she photographs all the flowers in the Mission cemetery
remarks on everything alive with color
everything that will make me — for one moment
think in terms of life, not death
erase for me baby, erase those years with your
sweet smile and your hesitant cling to my waist
erase for me, my love — bring the roses, bring the psalms.