My sweet Abuelito
by henry mills

Wish I could go to ‘58 and save abuela from the chair
where she lay unconscious,
retractor exposing her teeth.

This is when abuelo paid the dentist to take them all out,
maybe to keep her at his “level,”
not because she’d leave,
but having needed his teeth pulled,
wanted ego insurance.

But of course even with a time traveling Delorean,
I’m late, and she wakes to tongue the gauze.

Her wails—do I accept them, say:
maybe she did need them all out.
This time he meant well.

And what of time’s continuum? Memories
of sweet abuelito bringing a bowl of atol, steaming,
upstairs to my room?

And what of her agency,
what she wants once power is taken from her?

Or do I barge in and send his dentures
scuttling across the floor?

Henry Mills was born in Washington D.C. to a Salvadoran mother and a Jewish-American father. Various music and poetry festivals have featured his multi-disciplinary work, including Different Kind of Dude Fest, Positive Youth Fest, and Split this Rock. His work has appeared in  The Wandering Song: Central American Writing in the United States, Origins Journal, and Epiphany Magazine. He holds an MFA in poetry from New York University.