Tía Nena and the white flower

Sunday night my tía Nena came to me in a dream. She passed in March. She was sitting behind me on the porch steps of her old house in Hialeah, braiding my hair the way she did when I was little: too tight, and with a lot of commentary.

When she finished, she tucked a white flower into the braid and said, 'Don't forget me on Mondays.'

I don't forget my eggun on Mondays. But I've been rushing, I'll admit it. So yesterday I took my time. Fresh water, a white rose just for her, her name said out loud and slowly. Some of what that dream means I'll take to my godmother, and that part stays in the room. The braid and the flower felt fine to share. She'd want people to know she still fixes my hair.