Bendito, 
bendito, 
bendito sea Dios
los ángeles cantan y alaban a Dios

Memories of my grandfather’s garden come back to me 
differently than other child of the hood memories
Memories of my grandfather’s garden come back to me
in well water voices 
in deep chest hymns
that begin as a gurgle deep in the belly and rise to the throat
slowly
I remember little of the day my friends jumped me in
I remember fists flailing and afterwards 
those deep, fleshy embraces 
only Latinos know how to give
but grandfather’s garden comes back to me with aromas, with tastes
with corridos sung to the sun
and novenas sung to the moon
thanking both sides of life 
the light and the dark
for their bountiful harvests
Ay, Dios mio,
all those nights we knelt together in brown earth
it was always about harmony, about balance
He’d intone deeply thanking the life-giving soil for its gift
and I’d follow suit
carefully pulling up cilantro, manzanilla, yerba del manso
always making sure metal spade never touches fragile root
sweet, ancient Abuelito, 
how could I be anything but a poet after those moments we shared
Don’t you see,
In my grandfather’s garden 
chiles grew
In my grandfather’s garden 
children grew
In my grandfather’s garden 
poems rose from the earth
like the twisted arms of la llorona desperately reaching out 
for her missing children
In my grandfather’s garden all of these things grew
slowly
because beautiful things take time to bloom
In my grandfather’s garden all of these things would rise 
slowly
like well water voices 
like deep chest hymns 
that begin as a gurgle deep in the belly and rise to the throat 
slowly singing
always singing

Bendito, 
bendito, 
bendito sea Dios
los ángeles cantan y alaban a Dios
los ángeles cantan y alaban a Dios