Let us love
the bodies that
we sit inside

run up the
hills and enjoy
the fast gallop
the slow tread and
the graceful mercurial pirouettes
that make us lose
our balance and fall

Whether we are
full of laughter
at our sudden drop to the
ground amongst the flora
or whether we are enraged
by the spontaneity revealing our
evident lack of
control

Let us love this physicality
these hands
–this–
these hard and
soft breaths
that carry us into
the deep valleys
and crevasses that
form around our eyes

May we hold in esteem
all that we are

I flipped my phone and it read "trying to look at things from a new perspective".

Have I ever turned a daisy upside down to look under its petals?
No, not with the intent to find beauty there; So, I missed it, the sepal's protective curves and the lightly muted white.

Instead of melancholic
I feel thrilled.
How many more things can deepen in beauty?
if only I look at them differently

How many of the same streets and parts of my daily routine can I repaint with more color, so that I can see another aspect of their brilliance?

carrying is the wind
floating is the scent of calm
arriving is the doodle that with playfulness freshes

falling is the temperature
soothing is the array of clouds
restoring is the laugh that puts an end to silence

You sit in me
every once in a while
I swear, I just feel you

Wherever you are–
I hope it’s nice
every once in a while
I wear longing in my heart

I know, my affection for you is deep
Where does that leave me
I hope it’s somewhere close to the fondness of yours

I have followed the bridge to this lovely pond.

There is no one around
only the sound of an acorn woodpecker pecking into the red flakes of a giant.

Floating over the water is a small wooden boat
tied with cordage
to a brown post at the end of the dock.

It is on this dock that I plan to sit and rest.

May the sky always be your ceiling
May the daylight and the bright distant stars always be what you reach for
and may the beauty of living be the reason
that this season you smile

I am not empty
                                               I am Full
even during the most
sorrowful
days

I am not
helpless,                               I Know
my words Create and
my thoughts
Can Built
worlds

Even in the darkest
of rooms, I Know
I am
not just the dim lights
or the darkness

                                                I Understand
I am Brimming with Life,
and                                         that I am
the Daughter of                    Possibility

even when those
around me
shackle themselves
to negativity, to stagnation
and to fear;
                  I Know
           my state of mind
                    is                            Precious
                                                    as is
             my entire                      Body

At the end
their opinions are
no indicator,
no meter or jury that
presides over
my Life’s                                Value
only                                        this Fullness  
of Spirit,
                                                the Wholly
nature
of my                                      Smile
                                                Can tell you,
Yes indeed
even with reasons
to despair
                                                I am
                                               WHOLESOME
                                               to my Core



                              ...
                Are you on the way?
Have you reached the same address yet ?
I leave messages on the eternal answering
machine hoping you hear them. Do you at least see the blinking red light?
                              ...
               We are wholesome,
                   Maria screams
                      as the orange being cut
                          over the counter
                 unfolds what’s in front of us:
            simplicity.
                               ...
The needle of
acceptance
suturing a wound with
clarity, let’s us know
that this cycle
of harming
of repeating sadness
is not the end point,
just a step before                    HEALING
                                                  OCCURS

Heitor Villa-Lobos plays in the car. The colors spurting onto us. Chromaticism opening the janelas para outro mundo as we ride down the interstate.

I wish I could find the photographs of the fishermen and their long glorious nets near sundown at Lake Pátzcuaro

“This is a little piece of your heritage” my uncle said to me. “You must know the people and the history.“ he drove me through artisan towns and stopped at the side of roads so that I could talk to the ceramicists, wood workers, and weavers. All of them had inherited the craft from their mothers and fathers.

My uncle’s study was full of books, it was a little paradise I took for granted instead of frequenting it I spent my hours with my cousins playing in the orchard and running through my aunt’s flower garden. We stayed half the summer hidden behind an 8 foot fence. Only coming out to travel or  walk two blocks down the road to my grandmother’s house that was falling apart.

At the time it’s was as if her house was me, my walls crumbling, my doors creaking, the spirits of the old loud and  in the mirror brown eyes peered back with more questions than answers.

How do I bridge these worlds? How can the conquered and conquerer find peace?

One day the wooden beams of my grandmother’s house pressed too heavily into the adobe walls and the left side of the house collapsed.  They moved her into my uncle’s brand new empty house, the one he’d constructed expecting to grow tired of living in the States, which was located on the same large plot of land.  

Just like that it fell and one day they tore the rest of it down and built it again.

One day, too
I just decided to tear down all notions, combine all the parts, honor every ancestor, and be everything I was. I didn’t have to belong to one place; I was by nature many things.
A girl who stood at the shore of Janitzio taking photographs of rising nets and the smell of Tzintzuntzan was still very much a large part of me. I wanted those photographs to remember.

The pollen swooped down gallantly
to cause a fuzz inside the nostrils of all neighborly humans strolling down the paved walkways. It was here in summer’s heat that all humid thoughts soaked her and left her smelling of her own sweat.

She should of picked another hour, a different time of day to go out and water the plants, but routine is hard to beat.

the old women in a circle sing
into the long hours of the night
this has never been entertainment
or for the sake of perfect execution

this is has not been “the best rise”
or an assemblage to “showcase”
this has been bare feet on earth
spit chucked out in reverence

calling it a celebration would be close
but you would be closer
if you closed eyes as they sing
for then you too would understand
it is payer above all

The wilderness:

a forest
in the night
is only as treacherous
as our mind

a sapling  
under the light
is only as magnificent
as our thoughts

a human
under all circumstances
is only as pliable
as their self perception

There is nothing wrong with being sweet
When all the grass around dries up and the harvest is sour
it is the sweetness that restores
what was perceived long ago as lost

May whatever comes
sit gentle over your heart
May all the threatening voices
be stopped by a valiant kind-thought
Here too lies your joy in this day
during this hour at your current address.
May today offer you the peace that already resides inside.

Your like a long blade of green grass swaying in my mind.

You come in dreams, and linger in calming fragments of conversation that make my heart sing.

“Dar a luz” literally means to give to light
you are born when you are given over to the light
from their homes people exit
all looking for the sun

the folks chanting “no justice, no peace”
the families driving in an R.V,
the hikers on their way to the closest national park, the young men enlisting, the children throwing tantrums and growing an inch, the littering masses and the crumpling ideologies of the past all open eyed beneath the sunlight
–at least now we can see them all
they are being brought to light
(this is an opportunity)
We are all being given to the light–
this summer, next summer, the following summer, the eternal summers of the our collective strife towards rebirth sit ready in the belly of this earthly mother
where everything will be given over to the light

You emerge from the summer’s heat
sun kissed–
the short warm nights
and the long hours of daylight
have given you ample time
to spread your toes and your thoughts over the grass
Soon, it will be solstice
And the sun will command the skies

i like poetry like all the people here
i like reading like most do

i see art as visual music
i see words holding hands and dancing to the rhythm of music

i know what i like
i know nothing is mine

I live on this rocking boat that
                            sways forth
and sways back

loosens me up as if  teaching me
how to dance
                          one step forward
two steps back

i look at myself in the mirror
and wonder how many lifetimes i have lived
not because I feel old, but because i feel
timeless
every living things feels
  timeless to me
    and everything is living
living timelessly within a very timed material form

to the years that have emboldened you
and the soft cotton of shirts that have held
your chest and the loud beating heart of a child
who tenderly became this man

to the embroidered years
with harsh winters and humid summers  
through all four seasons and all four decades of your life
there has been wind to cool and there has been light to warm
More often than not, I see the trickle of silence play guard
but sometimes it shatters with a big smile

"I like it when you smile" is as much as I can write to you
when truly, I would like to tell you "I like it when you smile because I slide into it, like a cozy sweater and I smile,too"

so to the years, to the stomping ground that brought you up, to the many lips you've graced and/or  left un-kissed, to the bad shady stuff that no one in this life escapes, to the very good breaks and very profound moments of rebirth, to all that could fit and has fit into your making I thank them –be who are, live a life unique to you because these years have made you, you in all the right ways.

One more rotations around the sun, is most certainly a "win". Cheers to the years!

Gratitude
a big shower
of appreciation
of the ever constant  
opening and reopening
to the precious
happenings
of this formless intuition
running from the tips of toes
beyond the crown
and into a field of unity

my chest is like the ocean
the things that are right for me
float up like small plastic ***** to the surface
but
i feel
confused
when you float up
from the depths
you make me hesitant
of ever trusting my gut again
“can i get a new gut?” i think to myself
this one is acting up
because the buoyancy of your  name
wakes me at odd hours of the night

Do I take a step towards love
or go the other way
And take a step towards fear

I always pick love because it’s not a sentiment, it is the highest wave.

I always pick love even if they laugh at me for dreaming or scold me
Who is to know how life is to be lived

I wonder why you quit
like if you don’t deserve a win

Weave again,
I am worth the re-weaving of a life
as many beginnings as I need I will hand myself

Weaver of my own fate; friend to my own mind; I encourage dreams
and I feed in me light

“One day at time”
I say to myself
when my eyes redden
and my body feels exhausted
and the bathroom mirror is too close
and reveals me
to myself

Let him grow like a flower
among the grass where he was planted

Swaying among the greenery
swaying among the people

observe quietly
listen –all things speak with silence

dare to love the whole scenery
while closing your eyes and picturing abundance

infinite and creative
close your eyes and know all possibilities are open
waiting like a bud to manifest their bulbs into this expansion
so there is no need to go plucking flowers

May they be a soothing balm
the days that are to come

May they be
moving, regenerative  
and wildly bold
the hours that lie ahead

May they be bright
and always on your side
the thoughts that ring out of your mind

this I wish for you
in the weeks, months
that are to come

pela noção de que todas as vidas são criadas iguais
                                             Abro a boca,
                                           movo as mãos
                                e canto na direção do futuro
                                   porque na minha mente
                                           a visão é clara

We ruptured hastily from la tela collectiva the same way a drop of blood emerges from a small puncture wound –round, wholly, and bright-hued.
Yes, we bursted slowly bajo el sol que todo alumbra hacia la sanidad needing no reassurance to which direction to take to. (We know, nosotros sentimos el flujo y el ritmo de esta vida)

A laid back lady with flower vases, poetry books, long scarfs draped over cushions and a decent stereo system to crank up when the going gets tough or the going gets real good.

behind the big wave
is grace

May it take you
and fly you close to every dream
that still wishes to flutter
in the nook
neath the left side of your ribs

This must be how we grow.
All the pain was like bark being pushed out while this tree was growing.
I could not help but to ask myself
“Is this how a tree feels when it is growing a new ring?”

I choose the calmness of now
the slow step
and the possibility of a depth unknown

It does not have to fit anyone's vision
except my own
if it hurts and it does not bring joy
then there is no point
running the same race
to keep winding up at the same starting point  

I choose the softness of now
the full heart
and a life unconventional

It does not have to be stamped
and approved
if it harms, holds back
and does not nourish
the risk is run of it never allowing the true self to shine

I choose the fullness of my spirit
the risk of ridicule for the joy of authenticity  
and I pray this body be an expression of the infinite without continual limiting

This must be how we grow. 
I have always loved trees. So, I can’t help but to think to myself
“This is how a tree must feel
when its trunk grows a new ring.”

I reached a point where I felt “I can’t”
but you know
I found that “I can’t” isn’t a wall.
There is a space after “I can’t”.

I don’t know how to describe it
but all of a sudden I just couldn’t cry anymore
and I wasn’t overwhelmed with anger anymore.
I just felt like I was done.
I was done mopping, burning up, and feeling bad.
So,I just started doing.

I sit in this quiet room surrounded by more silence waiting for the still voice inside of me to speak to me, but it is silent.

I try to talk to it; i say “I gave it all I had. Now I am tired and in need of a shoulder to lean on.”

Every time the wind moves a cloud
may the sunshine peak
if only for a little while
to warm his skin
and clear away any thoughts
that may linger to fester the peace inside

1.
the dogs bark louder
the people pace more
the wind gets wilder

on the third day of curfews
the coping gets hard
the drive seems longer
the outside looks more distant than before we were blanketed by illness

but perhaps sickness has always been there
deadlier, reoccurring, cruel if you weren't born with fair skin
on the North American continent won over through war,
pillaging, enslavement, indoctrination, and more ...
where today you can only breathe heavy air
the hefty sorrow reigns as we try to cradle
the wings of its opposite with bruised
calloused hands

2.
–something good must come of this
something good,
there has been too much suffering
we pray for "something good"
something good must emerge of this

Something good please come of this
our whole bodies feel the weight of a breath cut short
as we should –separation does not exist

something good must come of this because we are all in this together
and it is time we push
add our part
to the great vision of an equitable world

3.
The heavy air makes it hard for your sisters and brothers to breathe
toxic sites scattered through the county  
cardiovascular disease, asthma, and low birth weight babies
being placed into the arms of your kin
the environment reflects the same sickness
steals the same breaths

We twist
and turn
in this tornado
bodies fly

We watch them
as they ascend
and we ask
why
must they all
look the same

“We know”
people gathered
at the squares say

“We demand change”
read the picket signs

Some are scared of words
as one rightly should.

Some are uncomfortable with facts
as if one of these facts will finally tear through the rope of privilege that fabricates a false outer sense of self-esteem.

Because the thing about privilege is that if you lose it
you might see that there isn’t anything special about you. However, you will see there is nothing special about anyone and if you claim anyone is special then everyone is special.

I think of you and the thread of life that runs through your mind, body and soul.

You have always been strong; you have always had everything you have needed roaming inside you.

Whatever you need, call it forth and it will come
be it patience
be it understanding
be it hope

There is a curfew in my city.
From 8:00 pm to 5:30 am.
All must remain inside

Still, there is daylight
Still, there are protestors
Still, there is prejudice

Still, there is sorrow

There is a history of enslavement in the forming of my country.
From the 1600s to now.
All people who weren’t deemed “human” went from chains to prisons,
to being killed on routine traffic stops.

Still, there is daylight
Still, there are sirens
Still, there is inequity

Still, some ask why?

There are stories whose depths I do not know.

Narratives whose wounds I can only touch with the tips of my fingers
if allowed to.

Journeys that involve blood
and sorrow
the two of which have not been drawn out of own skin
but out of someone else.

They said it is precious
and that one should take care of it.

So, when like a bird it fluttered over my open palms–I tried my best to hold it
to see its wings unfurl and it’s feathers widen.

I observed even the shadow it cast. It gave shade; it gave warmth.

Flash bang grenades
rubber bullets
Riot guns with metal pellets

the tear gas isn't necessary to make anyone cry

We must never forget our light
that which burns bright
Always present
and unrivaled
by the outside

There a is wound...

–and the salt over it  
and four hundred years suspended over us
and tired hands that keep laying brick for tomorrow

and hymnals passed down to give strength
and blood flowing as naturally from the bodies of men as it does from the bodies of women  
and silence that is wise telling us this is wrong –one man's knee over another man's neck
and justice screaming from the window at its home
that its real name is "love"–

and we must heal it.