I run my hands
through passion fruit
vines and watch
the juice drip
down my elbow,
It stains,
slow and sticky,
like blame.

I laugh,
I speak,
and the walls shrink.
Is it me?

I never know
until you flinch.

I
Flamboyán whispers,
wrapped gently by the nightfall
the coquí sings true.

II
Clouds become soft quilts,
dreams live curled in the branches
under a sky full of stars.

III
The breeze calls my name,
it smells of earth and heartbeat
my soul finds its rest.

Something is wrong in heaven,
Maybe dinner hasn’t been
Too puntual lately,
Or rays of sunshine
Have found themselves
Hiding behind the
Dark of rain clouds,
And angels hum off key,
Missing the harmony
Of one less voice
At the table,
A chair left empty,
A prayer gone quiet,
Maybe heaven mourns, too,
In its own small, quiet way.

I want so badly to live
Here on earth today
And it is the hottest day
Of the Summer today
It is 48
I can't take the heat
The heat
Is killing all of us
It is very bad for the people
Who have asthma
And heart problem
I am thinking about
Going on for a swim
On lake Ontario
That will cool me off
Also I am not crazy about swimming
I prefer to go for walks
On the boardwalk
First thing in the morning
Because there is nobody around
Also we haven't had any rain for a long
Time
Every day I hope it will rain
But it never does

love is not a vacuum
love reaches in

a hand to wipe the sweat from your face
a word of encouragement

a poem on your lips
a listening ear

a gift of laughter
to laugh at yourself.

I cleared all the rubble,
turned it to mulch,
a soft bed for blooming
above my chest,
behind my ribs.
A garden grows
where grief once rooted,
touched by morning sun
and the warmth
of summer’s start.

Something gentle
is growing in me.