In Exchange for My Absence

Abuelo holds the end of a broom halfway bent

over the pila, tries to scrub clean places in the walls

he can no longer reach. I climb into the water-basin,

in the pila’s dark corners hides an algae-eating fish,

in order to begin I must catch it. With a bucket I make waves

in shallow water, search for what is tucked away from sight.

Abuelo says, Me siento solo. His days lonely, long

like the movie marathons he watches on TV.

The fish circles in a bowl; already, I know I won’t visit

again tomorrow, know I don’t love him anymore—

the magic of childhood gone like his clamorous

laugh, murky like the chaparro he still drinks. Abuelo

stares at the faucet. He tells me to guard the fish,

says if it hears water running from the tap it will jump.

Its gills will be defenseless on the empty basin’s

concrete floor, its fins will shudder in air.