Carlos
He told me he wakes sobbing in the middle of the night;
the smell of his son s hair in the morning...
the way the toussled strands of hair dance around the nape of her neck when she hurriedly prepares empanadas...
how flowing water sounds...
driving down the road, windows down, hands riding the air...
Silence.
He quickly hides his tears; there is no crying here, only concrete and memories that tastes... as metallic and cold as the bars that separate him from....
Today I held my son a little longer...
the way the toussled strands of hair dance around the nape of her neck when she hurriedly prepares empanadas...
how flowing water sounds...
driving down the road, windows down, hands riding the air...
Silence.
He quickly hides his tears; there is no crying here, only concrete and memories that tastes... as metallic and cold as the bars that separate him from....
Today I held my son a little longer...
Rolled the windows down...
and thought of my friend
battling the silence of his tears with the clamor of his reality
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