Lulu: On the Death of a Sister

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Gone 
from the pampas. 
The only brunette; 
her first airplane flight at six months. 

Gone 
from the desert city. 
“Where’s Daddy?” . . . there’s a war. 

Gone 
from the Orinoco. 
Beaches; warm waters that caress. 
Deceptive beauty. 
Dysentery. 
“Is she still here?” 
So pale. 

Gone 
from the Banda Oriental; 
Cololó, Watercress, 
Liz, with dark hands, washcloth. 
Lulu . . . choquilate on her face. 

Gone? 
from 10126 Dorothy Avenue 
to Calle Brito del Pino 1527. 
“Elder — tell me a story, 
give me some candy.” 
A blue school middy . . . “Hurry, you’re late. 
Your brother and sisters are out the door.” 
Don’t speak Spanish this morning. 
Don’t speak English this afternoon. 

Hurry to Arizona, 
now to California. 
How many homes is that? How many trips? 
How many planes? How many ships? 
Many, many. 
“Where’s home?” 
Is the Rimac home?

I can run fast, 
I can jump, 
I can swim, 
I can laugh. 
I can dance, 
I can sing. 
Look . . . I’m a queen. 

In Arizona — boys, 
in California — boys. 
At Brigham Young, boys, boys. 
I sing in the Tabernacle; 
I sing, sing, sing, and dance. 

Southern California Mormon Choir. 
“Hello, I’m a service rep.” Hurry, 
there’s a man. 
“What do you know about me? 
Would 
    you 
         like 
               to 
                     know
                           more?”
“I would . . . I do, I do.” 

One, two, three, four children; hurry. Another home. 
Search, search and research. “Who are you?” 
Sing, sing — cockatiel, cockatoo. 
Put things in order. 
Another trip; hurry, hurry. Twenty-seven years old. 

— Gone 
To Mexico? 
— To heaven. 
— To sing? 
What does it mean? 
— Gone home. 

O childhood playmate, teenage companion, 
your life unfolded, 
a melody, a flower 
transplanted. 
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice greatly!