Notes on Pasteles

tetris blocks of gold hide in the corners of December

each piece a tribute to my late wela

rubber bands squeeze the pasteles

into stacks of money the whole block tryna stain

but a safe like this only opens with Biendisons

oozing from the mouths of those who have kissed every ancestor goodbye

when Jenny’s bank account froze before Christmas

Mom folded masa until her hands dried in prayer

the dirt brown mush seeps through the aluminum foil

and signs its name across the walls of the freezer in sacrifice

& what do you know about gold that runs and boils by the river?

leaving nothing but a smell to trace our way back home