I whisper to the wind and I murmur to the sun
“keep him well”
cool him during the heavy heat
warm him when the days are cold

(May we all be well as this earth turns)

When I push it aside
it pushes me back harder

So I let it sit next to me
all that love with all that sorrow

Maybe the two can call it a truce
inside my body

they might be able to hold hands and start to cradle each other

I took my devotion and like a disciplined scribe worked hard to bind you a book of letter, so presentable and worthy of being gifted to you.

Dedication became routine; everyday I closed my eyes and released a prayer in your direction. I prayed a whole temple and in it I sat.

Now, I’m scared to walk into the temple or open the book. I fear the walls will crumble on me and the words I will no longer be able to decipher

So I haven’t walked into it, instead I sit outside its steps and I can’t feel; I can’t feel a thing.

Be gentle with all the things you love.
Each one is precious and delicate and can’t be handled harshly.

Be merciful to all the things you love. Each one travels their own dark skies and holds in them fear. Feed in them love

Don’t you know I love you
When I am lying down
I peel my heart with my hands like an orange

At the center is all the sweetness
all the love grown through a life time

You added to the freshness and the fruitfulness of my center

When I press it, in search of answers; it just oozes despite it all

I hold my knees and rest my head upon them
Then I begin to shift my weight back and forth
to slowly loosen my skin

Maybe if I take it off, this weight, these perception –I can come to clarity.

I to see clearly what you are here to teach me.

I do not want to chase a life that is not mine.
I want to flow like water down a mountain.
Stretch myself
unite myself
with more streams and rivers traversing  
their way down to the ocean.

I do not want a life that is not mine.
Mine is good enough;
grace is my guide.
I close my eyes and it leads me
through the pointy rocks of dogma
and through the curving shape of time.

What is for me
will flow to me like water;
this is the nature of things.

Someday I will reach the sea
like everyone else,
but I want to do it in good company

(I want to do it as water.)

por lo menos e de seguir este sueño
hasta donde llege
no importa si involucre canas o bastón

yo iré, como si se esconde cerca
tras la flor, al otro lado del barranco
o al cruzar el oceano

iré con la fuerza y inercia
que me brinda la vida

desde lo profundo
la calma llena todo mi ser

hoy solo es una dia dificil
pero quizas mañana sera mejor

el hoy se asoma y lo tengo que atender

estoy con la almohada en la boca
con el sentimento que escurre
parezco fuente que fluye

You have run an emotional marathon; it is normal to be tired–your mind and your body need rest. Let this moment be– no predicaments of ecstasy or doom. You are tired and it has been hard; sleep, time will bring clarity. Repose will renew.

let sleep embellish your dreams
and replenish your strength

let it bring back joy
even if it lays only a sliver
of it over your pillow

from this night on
let deep slumber's gift
add up until your heart is filled
with the warmth of infinite possibilities

Dear love,

I am hoping you bloomed in spring
and that this summer has given those around you
the sweetest fruit picked from your orchard

See I dream
and still long to love you;
fear is drowned out by the promise of fall that offers trees new cover

I know the road is long
you could liken me to slug
this year has made me a snail,
but be sure I am slugging your way.

I think about the sun, the moon, the stars.
I think about the our cities, and our roads.
I think about the our bodies and our hands.
I think about the ideas, and the beliefs inside.
–And I know that I rather be a maverick than a conformist.

I think about discoveries of other galaxies and dark matter.
I think about ways to structure civilization and ways we can travel.
I think about our consciousness and the extension of our limbs.
I think of the awakening and the discovery of inward connection.
–And I feel that I rather be authentic than inauthentic.

One well-written poem or thousands throughout a lifetime
could still not be worth as much as simply sitting next to you in silence; practicing love is more important than professing it.
I feel this to be true. So where does that leave me; hours away –away from your quietude. I know that only you know.

The sun is setting, and I'm a sucker for the glimmer
shining through the leaves.

****, I love their sway so much; I try to imitate them.
Over my living room carpet, I attempt to dance in my humanly way, jiggling my thighs like a branch being shaken.

I endeavor to fill my steps with joy
as they fill theirs with the sun's felicity
because Dear I know I, too am alive.

I know I grow perhaps not taller, but deeper  
in my sense of belonging; in knowing this body is home to the infinite cavorting in a material form.

So, I bump my hips to the left and giggle; it's time loosen from the bough like my green kin –this journey is to be enjoyed when possible  
under the sun.

There is beauty
in the slowest  
of seasons

the small glints engird me
these lightsome keepers
keep no tongue

below their soft palette
there is only space unchallenged
no edict, no menschy thought  

their presence is scintillation
unwavering comfort
attestation
to that in the dark,
there is light

country womxn to sorrow  
and servicewomxn to joy

they make no claims of augury
they are quiet onlookers

silent glisters that surround me
amidst the umbra that stands cavalierly
at the door of the locus

You might think I am strange
but I am no stranger than a leaf

Nor wilder than the flowers
who grow across the desert

Nor am I more alive nor less alive
than a rock

I know I, too circle
in unison with Rilke
"around the primordial tower"
we circle
with no need of knowing
if its been a day or  thousands of years

Quiero árboles y sol
quiero hojas del tamaño de mi cara
y quiero amarte sin rodeos

Sin tener que estar tan lejos
cuando el sol amanece sobre ti
el mío desciende

Quiero mas vida, pero quien no desea esto


I want trees and sun
I want leaves the size of my face
and I want to love you
Without a rodeo
Without having to be so far

when the sun rises over you
mine descends

I want more life, but who doesn't wish for this

I thought “ okay, nothing’s going to stop me” in swoops pandemic

I thought “ I’ll wait out the pandemic”
but at last potential tumor for the win

2020 you cheeky *******; if I wore mascara it would be running heavy and black from my eyes

I mediate on illness;
My friend said “you’re already so strong. When you get through this you’ll be like a diamond” I held the phone and cried.

Little pieces of me are crumbling,
They lump up over my spine
they materialize over my rib cage as
soft tissue balled up
and I have begun to mediate
“ it is my nature to be ill and to die”

I wait weeks, days, to know before I frighten my friends, but it’s too late for my mind it is scared–and it prepares for the possibility of death.

In my mother’s culture they embrace death. They paint their faces as calaveras and line the path with flores naranjas between what they believe links
the living to the dead

So you would think
I would be ready

                               ...
My dad is old and has seen death many times before...
This quarantine has walked him deeper into a pool of sadness; he’s been in doors for  a month , but it wasn’t until the ball over my rib began to grow that he finally submerged his head underwater.
                               ...
I mustered the courage to tell my childhood friend; it made her sad– I don’t want to be a burden

My pals speak of post quarantine fun, of trips and of gatherings. I don’t tell any of them why I have begun adding “if I have enough life”

A little piece of me, who would of thought a little piece of me could potentially **** me.

Szymborska and her cigarettes
Szymborska in the middle of the crowd spitting out her drink
Szymborska leaning her head against her right arm

In the digital world, I need not go out and buy a book to see her face inside its flap
I can simply call upon Siri,
she, too "no non-being can hold"

You will inherit the world
I know so

This is the age of draughters
I understand this truth

"Renaissance", "Enlightenment"
"________"they will find a name for this era, too

I miss you
I'm a branch of the tree
that fell into the water
on the top of the mountain

segment going down with the river
following the current
towards your whereabouts

from here the day looks long
but I've never been afraid of
the torrent or the prolongation

if time does something
it is to deepen what already exists

Te extraño
soy rama del arbol
que cayó en la agua  
sobre la sima de la montana

gajo bajando con el rio
siguiendo la corriente
hacia tu paradero

desde aqui la jornada se ve larga
pero nunca le e tenido miedo
al torrente o la prolongación

si algo hace el tiempo
es profundizar lo que ya existe

Lately, my chest has been bursting at a different time every evening.
Although it runs on somewhat a schedule, I keep forgetting.

Sometimes, It catches me in the kitchen with my PJ sandwich and pushes it out of my hands.

Other times, it catches me right before I take a nap; I get up to clean the mess, and then I have trouble closing my eyes again.

On occasion, it sneaks up on me when I've just taken a shower, and I have to hop back in and lather.

However, today it caught me outside next to the Alcatraz flowers, and as it ruptured through my *******, that bundle of purple flora seemed to fit perfectly among the greenery.

It started as the smallest of seeds,
it sprouted in the corner of the garden alone
outside the periphery of the herbaceous border
its roots deep and moist
with the desire to grow

The peaks of illness spike in one city, then the next
from one country to the other
within all people
it goes from mild to severe  
draping all with a gown of distance
  
Disease calls for more than the cells to recover

The peaks of healing will spike in one town, then the next
from one nation to the other
within all people
it will go from shallow lesions to the most profound of lacerations
blanketing all with a shall of amelioration

No,
I am
Gentle.

My hands
are always
dry.

When the going gets tough I get a little tougher
The kind of tough that holds my hand and says “gal, it’s gonna be alright”
These months
I make sure my waves of laughter are in sync with the rising moon inside in of me

I bake sweet cake and ice it with sugary hope
I make sure I steam all the vegetables
to make them –soft enough to chew
So that my body receives nourishment          
and I can make through these days

There is something sweet about the way nothing can take away your ability to create your inner climate

fear arrives,  hold it and then release it  
anxiety knocks, call into the house by its name
and then send it off

Hope, feel it in your heart
and let it expand

You, You pick how sunny it is.
You pick the wind temperature
and what plants are in season.

Nothing outside lays claim to anything inside. Release the bad so that
from below the warmth can peer through the veil of victimhood and you can see that everything  you dream of is still in your reach

No delay is infinite
All things come with time, you decide how patient you will be

You are bright and clear
as a morning without fog
so I walk to you

When I miss you
I close my eyes
and there you are

And when they tell us how foul we  have been
The many wars we have waged
How ****** and separatist our histories have been
when they cry in full rage
full of resentment towards our direction

We will say “baby, that is less than half
of what we have been.”

What about the silence
what no one could describe
–no mouths,
no language deep,
or high enough–
for its daily beauty was (is),
too profound

Fibers of life
made from those soundless instants
woven in clear thread
holding the seams of this existence jointly together

Present at the second a mother reaches out her arms
to meet those of her crying child: soothing, healing, comforting, warmth
–no words could raise a flag and reign  
in absolute totality
over its meaning
over life

Just like adjectives cannot describe
my smile greeting yours; our sacredness,

Our brilliance is here in the absence of words
If you are to judge us; judge us by the quiet moments
(that you too can touch and that survive us all)
judge us by the mighty stillness
(the root and anchor of it all)

as the disease spreads
transmogrifying terror into memes
the future becomes too blurred
the reality we are endowing; our namesakes –what is our legacy?

our vision too unfocused
partly closed eyes looking out the window
unable to see what is to come

.                                                            Up
I­ dripped into the grass.       Up,
and absorbed my way Up,
to the tip of a leaf
and then I slide back    d
                                           o
                                              w
               ­                                   n

                                                giggling      ­                   
                                             like a child,
                                   gliding and somersaulting
                            through the air and making it back
                     to the soil. Where again, I would be absorbed
                                   (gleeful and eager to begin)

How could your eyes come with a stranger
your hair pass with a friend and
your lips leave with another

How is it that your mannerisms wave
across the courtyard from one
person to the next
until
they gather like an accordion's
bellows into sound

Constantly I must take off the hairpins, the embroidered shirts, and the lint skirts. I must sit on the wooden stool and unbraid my hair, then proceed to cut it short. I must be able to live without them: the conditioning
–their idea of womanhood(genderhood)

                   Every once in while I must banish them: to know
I can live without them; they are not me ( all those  ideas, all that heavy jewelry)
—I am free; I do not weigh

I sit with my feet dangling into a circle
whose edge I rest on
as if it were a window sill.

From here the earth looks ancient.
It’s pull mothered by the curvature
of spacetime.
The spring blossoms curving
when they fall.

Our fate floating out there: intangible–
outside this circle where my toes abide
Our fate floating in us: tangible–
The place in which my torso resides

The debate seems fresh unlike the sagely soil. My limbs alive –life giving life– emerging like the pistil from a bellflower
unconcerned with philosophy.

Maybe it was unwise to leave ...
... I told a friend my dad kept insisting I come home at least for a year. She said “that’s a big sacrifice”

Maybe it was unwise to be born a girl...
... in my society they think  you belong to your family. Even my mom came “to get me”
She loves me/ she’s getting older/ This time I should listen to her –those are the thought that won.

Maybe all these decisions were not wise... and it’s not a maybe my plans let you down...
... my plans let me down, too. I was sure I could make it. It seemed as certain as waking up the next day.

But it was not my decision not to get on that plane. It simply wouldn’t go. The whole world has halted and the boats won’t go and the planes won’t take off  –they are suspended.

Maybe no wand I could wave could fix
a world crisis
and maybe not even the disappointed
& strain this has brought,
but maybe compassion and understanding could begin to heal not just you or me but everyone whose boats were docked, flights canceled and schedules ruined.

Maybe I can step away from my personal tragedies to see the larger framed photograph that hangs on our global galleria...
...there are some people out there tonight in hospital rooms crying for loved ones who have left and other fighting an illness because they long for life –for the breath we’ve still got. ( as long as I breathe I told my self I try to back it back)

Maybe it is wise for me to stop crying now. There are things that are out of my control and my reaction is a child needing love whom I can rear.

Her hand moves in a back and forth manner
as if she were playing the trombone
But she's really just pulling my greñas
spreading more Brillantina
to make her baby's hair sparkle    
even though its color is nowhere near that of brass

The people go out and line up
Lining up is an everyday thing, right ?
25 or less people at a time
these crowds aren’t so popular

life dissolves
and yesterday's heat persists
in the right seasons
and imagining your face in front of mine
I,too want to dissolve
      
               d
                    i
                       s
                  s
              o
             l
                v
                  e

between this spring
hoping that my cocktail of atoms
arrives as a postcard to your address

on nights like these the pact that the soul
made with the body wants to undo
because I would like to be free
to go embrace you

and ask you  << what weighs on you? >>
and << can i help you carry it? >>

and finally
tell you sincerely that
<< I won't give up >>
for you, in times like these, I come undone

la vida se disuelve
y la calor de ayer persiste
en las temporadas adequadas
y al imaginar tu cara frente a la mia
yo tambien
me quiero disolver
      
          d
                i
                    s
            ­    o
            l
          v
             e
              r

entre esta primavera
con la esperanza que mi coctel de átomos
llegase como postal a tu dirreccion  

en noches como estas el pacto que hizo el alma
con el cuerpo se quiere deshacer
pues me gustaria ser libre
para ir a sostenerte

y preguntarte <<¿Que te pesa?>>  
<<¿Te puedo ayudar a cargarlo?>> 
 y finalmente decirte
con sinceridad que <<por ti no me rindo>>
por ti, en tiempos como estos, me deshago

Little bits of awe wake me up
and undo all knots

They so elegantly swing me and  sway me into the following day with a sense of patient purpose

Small moments of life that make the heaviness exit and again,
make me light and able
to ascertain that dancing is for the spirits and the living who are
as willing as the leaves to rustle in the wind

I mother my sadness
and I mother my fear
I hold them in my arms
and sing to them songs of hope,
Compose for them
vocal melodies to blanket
their hurt  
Stuff a pillow full of the resilience
to to get us through the night
and safeguard us through these times