It never fails to thaw,
that dead bird
she runs under water
before stuffing
with picadillo, a Cuban
spicy ground beef
that simmers in the turkey
and changes
American to Caribbean.
Instead of marshmallow yams
we soaked boild yuca
in the mojo
Tia makes form scratch.

Today Roberto is not here
to open in anticipation
the ovendoor, to stand
with his sister feeling the hot
air pink into their cheeks.
More than desire he hovers
in our bellies, a tightness
that pushes us to eat
to fill the hole of his
not being.

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