Alfredo Aguilar

Yellow House

morning rose like a quiver of flutes. from my room:
a flagpole, a field of goldenrod, the mountains. i heard
door latches in the hallway click into place. i found you
kneeling at your bedside singing into the sheets, light splayed
on the floor. i laid on a couch playing a thumb piano.
you said that every time you looked out the window
you watched me wading into the flower fields unsure
if i would return. in the evening we stood at the edge
of a landscape & i wanted to bottle the dying light. you spoke
of your brotherthe duty to family. being a first born,
i nodded. in that silence i could hear my own blood whistle
so thin & distant from the soil where i stood. on the porch
you asked who do you sing for? & i didn’t have an answer.
you said i sing for the dead—then looked at me—you do too.

Alfredo Aguilar is the son of Mexican immigrants. He is the author of the chapbooks What Happens On Earth (BOAAT Press 2018) & Recuerdo (Yesyes Books 2018). His work has appeared in The Shallow Ends, The Iowa Review, Best New Poets 2017 & elsewhere. He lives in North County San Diego.
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