i remember the smell of my grandfather's after-shave
i remember that ryan said i talk about my grandfather too much
i remember the night ryan and i spent at the police station,
filling out the restraining order against my ex
i remember there was ice on the ground
i remember the way he held me that night,
like he was afraid i'd slip right out of his grasp
i remember feeling that i wanted to,
to disappear like the cloud of my breath in the cold police car
i remember the police officer
i remember wondering 7 months later if she was in the police line wearing riot gear
i remember living out of my car that summer
i remember two months of eating muffins people forgot about at work
i remember a hunger i haven't recovered from
i remember crying in my therapist's office
i remember the upholstery of the chair in that room,
the marks it left on my thighs
i remember feeling that marcos was holding me
like my dad wanted to but couldn't
i remember the fear in my father's voice
i remember that i have only seen him cry once in my life
i remember that i have seen my mother cry too many times
i remember the sound of her laugh when i used to put my head on her lap,
my ear against her belly
i remember that she calls me perrito, puppy
i remember the feeling of safety
i remember that i am no longer afraid
i remember the smell of my grandfather's after-shave
and sleepy afternoons on his floor,
looking out at the bugambilias and honeysuckle and the bees
the sound of his birds and the windchimes,
the clock in the living room,
i remember remembering those moments sitting in my hot car that summer,
eyes closed and wondering how i got there
remembering white sand dunes
and brown high-pile carpet,
a younger me laying in front of the fan,
older me wishing i had that fan
