sweet company

It is bedtime. There is a ritual. Mamá comes in. She kneels by the side of my bed. I roll over to face her, curl my body, and pull the covers up to my chin. She rests her hand gently on my back, brings her face close to mine, her mouth almost at my ear, and then, in a whisper, she begins the prayer:

                        Ángel de la Guardia

I can feel her breath, like a soft, soft breeze, against my cheek and ear.

I repeat after her, also in a whisper, as quiet as I can without it being nothing, almost in her ear, “Ángel de la Guardia.”

She continues:

                        dulce compañía 

I always like “dulce” because it reminds me of her chocolate chip cookies. Again I repeat, “dulce compañia.”

Next comes:

                        no me dejes solo

                        no me dejes solo

And

                        ni de noche ni de dia

                        ni de noche ni de dia

Finally the ending, which always comes too fast

                        porque soy muy chiquitico y me perdería

I would like not to repeat or to draw it out so that this moment will not end, but despite myself, I am caught in the rhythm, and so straight away, it spills out:

                        porque soy muy chiquitico y me perdería.

Then a kiss on my cheek—“que duermas bien hijo mio.” And she is gone. 

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