A Mother’s Request

A Mother’s Request 


Bury me, me hijo, in San Juan
my eyes facing 
the sun turning to moon, 
the heat edging 
to September air,
cuando la tierra roja me sostiene. 

Don’t weep hijo when
the thread is cut,
and my body loosens—
let the sativa
overrun my grave,
thirst for the Caribbean.

Alégrate de que la tierra conozca mi nombre!