They said they would come back,
but they didn’t.
Sometimes, their money comes,
but never as much as abuela wishes.
I ask the umbrella ladies about el norte,
but they always answer with unfriendly backs.
The TV could tell me,
but Jorge only half-fixed it.
Abuela wants me to change their sheets,
but the fallen plaster is my calendar.
Sometimes, I hear their voices in the night,
but it’s just more ceiling dust adding to the weeks.