Living With the Disappeared

	Each of their syllables
floats into the ether
leaving memories
of little talks,
of things not said,
until the letters
separate away.
mother to other
drifting away
other, other-
“Momi, donde esta?”
Father ather
falling further down
at her, at her-
“Papi, quien eres tu?”
They didn’t fall.
They were thrown
to leave me
without words,
to make me soar.