No home to home money was not great. Beers and sorrows fill the holes. Holes deeper than our hearts.

Worries pour like judath;rain. Fear tears our walls down because we might not eat. Until death happens, we scatter like ants to save our hu’ul; grandma.

Our hearts rip like taking a lemon from its branch. As she tells us something,us kids don’t understand why? Until you hear your name, “I Love You Ila, I’ll always be your ho’hokimel; butterfly.

The scream that haunts me. I’ve started getting night terrors, “Why did you have to take her?’’ i ask.I lay my head on her pillow wishing she was there to comfort me, as tears roll down my ka:m; cheek.

“When am i going to see you again?” “I Love You ila”. I’m not ready to get up, the bed is to big. The day is here, I have to get dressed, I’m not ready to see her lifeless body yet.

Sisters to cousins,aunts and uncles, friends to grandparents all join to say “Na voy pa mi hu’ul” ; I’ll see you later grandma. As alcohol becomes our dearest friends, drugs become our siblings. Hope comes to me thinking everything will be back, but our happiness and Taṣ; sun, is gone.