Malagueña Salerosa

The sounds of Malagueña Salerosa.
My dad is having breakfast in the kitchen.
I dare not take a breath, come any closer.
The mariachi singer makes the pitch
and as the note hangs in the air, mom pours
another cup of coffee and dad smiles,
then turns back to his paper and his scores.
Mom sighs, continues wiping down the tiles,
the backsplash stained by endless toil and bacon.
The sun beats down through dusty, loosened blinds.
The singer draws a breath -- was I mistaken?
The melody, as always, it reminds me
of my beginning, spotless and idyllic.
A clear, pure water color and acrylic.