for Esperanza

O, to join this round of dominoes and play
poorly. To play so poorly and have to pick

from the pile. To find the shirt from Christmas.
To have called you about it. To call you

now. To tell you the candy was good.
To hear you forget most things except

your cards, our bungalow home,
the original cast of Hawaii Five-0, your every

Sinatra song, Washington in the spring, and
my name, so instead to tell you

again. The candy was good.
To lie that it’s finished. To keep closed the box

in our kitchen drawer for two more years.
I should have called. To never touch chocolate again,

or try. To win, and to take it all, as winners do.
To have won with you. I should have called.

About my blank pieces. About my devastating
final turn. About mom’s fifty-peso bonus.

To feel the rounded grass under my shoes.
To not have to. To hear prayers of thanks instead.

I should have called. Should’ve told you about 
your reupholstered sofas. Our new orchids.

The domino game’s actual rules
we never played by. The movie I watched

before I heard the news.
I should have called about that.

To be distracted again during the litany.
To recite names I do not know.

To not say yours. To hear it anyway.
To believe it held true.