Santo Remedio by Ayling Zulema Dominguez
Santos in my life have taken the form of Hector Lavoe, flowing out of the speakers two blocks down, rolling across the chewed-up-and-spit-out-gum polka-dotted concrete, and embedding himself into the plastic couch covers of my living room.
Santos were the bus drivers who’d wait when they saw you creasing your AF1s to catch the very last ride that would get you home just in time
before the streetlights came on
before leather belt hour; beating o’clock.
Sant@s were the icee ladies
the empanada stand men
those whose things that they crafted with their hands
could mend a broken heart and make you feel whole again
Papi himself was a Santo sometimes, too
when he would get off work early and surprise me after school
Santas were the doñas who pinched my cheeks and would nearly shriek when they gabbed about how much I’ve grown
Maybe that’s what angel kisses feel like.
Or maybe it’s more like how my stomach would get all tingly, my heart all warm, and before I knew it, I was donning an iridescent glow
as my spirit arose to the high heights of our low
studio apartment ceiling
when my ears were blessed with the sound of Tía Raquel back in México
pulling teeth talking to my reticent mother over the phone.
Santos came to me in my pozole dreams,
a broth base of happy tears from when you became a citizen, Mami.
Pork belly soft and warm like the bed we all shared
on some nights
even after we had finally moved
into a bigger apartment with no makeshift rooms,
but two real ones,
yet we still made our way towards you
your bedroom our phantom womb
because we were afraid the vastness of this new space might snake its way
up into our sheets, serve as an unwelcome bedfellow, and attempt to disgrace
us
The way our bodies aligned on the bed
made a musical score
and set the soundtrack to our sunrise
Ours because the sun shines a little brighter
this side of the river
come morning time,
fashioning a shrine to all of the Santos that walk among us.
There were times where the devil could not resist and I could feel his tongue flick
the back of my neck
that is until Mami exclaimed
“¡Santo Remedio!”
when things finally went her way
Like when el super turned on la calefacción
or our trencitas withstood the entire school day
Bendición, Mami.
I still wonder if whether when we close our eyes and touch our palms to pray,
the Santos we’re envisioning are the same.