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San Nicolás Patron Saint of Children
I can imagine her now
Kneeling in front of a small altar in her house
Photos, flowers
San Antonio de Padua, patron saint of lost things
How long has it been?
Return me my most precious thing.
She was my 5th client of the day
From the same, tiny, miserable and defiant country as I.
Worn sneakers, kept carefully clean
Hardened hands carefully quiet on her lap
Carefully folded money order on my desk
One more immigration transaction – perfunctory.
Later read the file – nothing new or unexpected
One of the hundreds, the thousands,
Torture, disappearance, separation,
Your everyday case.
And only through strange fate was I not among them.
I can imagine her now, lighting the candles
San Nicolás, patron saint of children
This is my deepest grief
Bring me my most precious thing.
Saw her two or three more times,
Laughed with her, she was funny and sweet
This woman, who should have been a ruin
Who was ripped apart by flags and boundaries
Who was mute outside but
In my office laughed at my stupid jokes.
I imagine her now
San Judas Tadeo, patron saint of lost causes
This is the one thing I ask for
Return me my most precious thing
It wasn't until the last time I saw her
That I understood –
She was there, that day, with her daughter
Her daughter, the one in the file,
Not seen for more than half her life.
A little thing with her mother's eyes
Left in the midst of a war
Left
Brought now, here, smuggled in
Because we choose to pontificate about borders
Pontificate when we, with our dollars and our guns
Leave countries ravaged.
Smuggled in for five thousand dollars
I understood then, the worn sneakers
Understood the 3 places of employment on file
And her daughter, her daughter,
Dressed in perfect white dress
With crisp bows, shiny patent shoes
And the most beautiful ruffled socks.
I imagined her, buying them all, keeping them all carefully
Folding them softly, her calluses catching in the lace
Thinking of her daughter shining.
She had just arrived
And you could not tell where one began
And the other ended –
Grasping tightly
Ruffles and rags
Scuffed and shiny
Both sparkling
I could,
A few months later
Only imagine what happened
When the daughter was sent back
Details were not known.
We only heard through the friend of a friend of a friend,
Querida Señora
Se lo digo ahora, lo siento,
Lo siento, con todo mi corazón, le pido perdón
Por no poder hacer nada.
I cannot imagine how your heart continues when
It beats thousands of miles away.
I could and can only imagine
I never saw her again.
Ten years later,
I imagine her still
Hands pleading in the way all mothers do,
San Cristobal, patron saint of travelers
Who carried the baby Jesus on his back across the river
Return me my most precious thing
She crosses the border tonight.