Rocking in her chair

next to the fireplace

with cookies by her side

TV off

my 92-year-old mother reads

and a body to remember with

as if it were the last book.

 

Latin streets, friendship, blood and protracted wars.

 

Those of Carmen, of Chile, of yesterday.

 

Mother, why do you like it?

It grabbed me, I don't want to finish it, she says.

 

Carmen autographed her book,

turned it into a human, a friend.

 

My mother took her friend with her.

The armchair is empty.

Only the cookies remain.

 

And Carmen.