The archaeology of youthWhen I was young, Grandpa warned me
about growing up. He taught me all
the ropes so I could skip through
life without stepping on any cords.
Hijo, he said, sucking Marlboro
and breathing the smoke out his ears.
Hijo, you’re a smart jumper.
Just remember for each birthday,
don’t make a wish ’cause wishes come
too late. Swallow the candles
so no one can take away the years.
For twenty-two years, wax melted
inside me, making me jump higher
and higher until Papa had to renovate
the house with a roof higher
than the church steeple.
One day, Grandpa coughed out blood
the length of vines. When the doctors
told him it was tuberculosis,
he told them he was building
a garden inside his lungs
with plants that did not need water.
He braided the vines into
