I Love You, But

 BY RICARDO RUIZ

Mi Jefita looks distraught,

oscillating between

her own history and my soul.

Hours, days, months with her knees

bent pidiéndole a la virgin

Que me cuidara as I fought in

Afghanistan.

Now she’s staring into hell's image,

Bouguereau's Dante and Virgil

groping with each spin of the

wooden spoon

as the red paste rises to a boil,

splattering her apron

with my childhood favorite meal.

I love him, he’s my best friend, the

one who slept on my couch

when I wanted to put my AR to

my mouth and be another dead vet.

I would have died for this country

because I believe it’s for me and

him.

I may have to marry him,

I tell the most important women in

my life.

                                 My Fiance

                                 My Mother

I will marry him,

cause we ain’t goin’ nowhere.

2,572 miles separate Moses Lake,

Washington,

my place of birth

and Colima, Mexico, his.

Neither of us had a role in how we

got here.

Here