My Champ

Ama..
Hearing your steps
cross our shoe-box apartment
slow moving
dragging
like a champ
knocked to the canvas
as the city enjoyed its second dream
made my little heart a little sad.
You’d come home
your body beat-up
by fatigue from back-to-back
eight-hour rounds
at the factories
piecing together
anything your nimble hands
qualified you to.
No belt, no fame, no glory
barely a living
for your accomplishments
for ever unnoticed
blended with the exploitations
of others.
Just a tired body
always tired body
you plopped onto
the sagging mattress.
I’d lay there feigning sleep
didn’t want you to notice me
didn’t want you to exert more energy
to give me a tight squeeze.
I’d watch through squinted eyes
you pulled out your bag of healing
from under our bed
medicines from across the border
brought back by neighbors,
relatives who could cross the border.
I’d hear the swishing of bottles
You’d drench your arms and legs
the sting of the green liquid-
Rue infused rubbing alcohol
burned the inside of my nose.
You’d slap your hands together
smashing and melting the slab,
yellow ointments
thick like lard
applied hands
glide across your joints.
No relief
even for relief
your hands work hard.
You winced from the aches
thin skin around your eyes
folded like fans.
I wanted to massage your feet
hot with plump plum veins
wanted to drape myself over
your wilted shoulders.
Being poor wasn’t so bad
it meant I could sleep
next to your warm body
coiled like a snail’s shell.
No 10 count for you
cansancio always had the upper hand
you were out for the night.
I could smell you smelling
of botanica
felt your hands twitch
with leftover energy.
No relief
even for relief
your hands work hard.
Felt your heavy breathing
I’d stop my breathing
waited
exhaled
with yours.
No hugs at night
no tucking in
the way you used to
but my heart
beat with yours
my champ
my Mami.