Violeta

Sunday, June 7, 2026

I buried another piece of us today. The pieces of the life we created together continue to die off.

I wonder what threads of the tapestry we wove together remain in place.

Keeping us connected to some extent. I am unsure.

There are few left.

When tugged on, I can feel them in my stomach.

Winter gets blamed for death. But for me, it's been the springs and summers.

I can taste sweet tea and salt from my sweat on my lips as I dig this hole in the earth.

The hole that will hold you. The earth that will consume you.

I return you with gratitude. For being a source of joy and light during my darkest times.

I look at photos of you, of us, when we were young. I can see a light in my eyes. Not quite disillusioned yet.

Willing to build a life that would one day be returned to the earth. Just like you, mi hermosa Violeta.

My sweat drips down onto the dry brittle soil.

Sweat softens soil.

I miss the red clay of what was our home. Where your sisters are buried.

They have sprouted and bloomed into wild flowers by now.

I place you, Violeta, into the hole, into the earth, with your flowers, and cover you with the once tough soil.

"Gracias a la vida."

Death softens soil.