Imploded Villanelle

Señor de la Misericordia: Day of the Dead, 2017

[I believe the entire universe can fit inside an urn | or a casket, or my grandfather's wedding suit embellishing the altar. | & a grain of salt expands, contracts, burns | the human eye. A scab, a scorn born | out of the ash. When remembrance falters, | the whole universe is pushed inside an urn, | green as arsenic. My smallest brother has outgrown | me: tumbled into sand, mortar, | & salt: has expanded & contracted: has burned | in the lonely furnace. I'm home. My bones churn | for the loved & the lovely: the still breathing. Mother, | I swear the entire universe fits inside this urn | when blood from the heart clots with yearn | & constricts the neck, tight as a halter. | My brain, full of salt, expands, contracts, might burst | at its seam: & just like that, I'm dust & scatter. | Tell me, Daughter, who will put my picture in the altar | when the entire universe exists inside an urn | & a grain of salt contracts until it burns?]