Life is here in the dust that falls over my masked face
It is here on the small damaged earth
you handed back to me as if you had simply borrowed some cheap 99 cent rubber ball
I ask why it’s so *****
you answer “ “
It’s surface soiled but  in it less flowers bloom

I ask you how you will mend it
Tell me your rides here your carpooling with your mom’s friends

that you will try to help but that I
Should figure it out

(But you borrowed from me all those who came before you)

Wildfires–

We are engulfed in fire
the soil dry and it becomes
drier
each year more homes
scorch
each year, the hottest year
recorded

                                ...

We are engulfed not just in California
as the flames rise higher but as a nation
surrounded by the indifference to facts

                               ...

Wildfires raging, images flashing from your screen
–wildfires in the mind igniting –
over the land and soon
over your old way of life

you burn too
slowly, inevitably
for the world is unmistakably one

one large fire of change made up of what
Galeano saw were small
little fires

ablaze creating fertile ground for new thought

grateful                  life      
Be                 an/a                   well of
    constant is        infinite

I am strong
I am brave
I am carrying my bright light
and my life calls to me
it does not matter how much you resist change or want to put me down or get in my way

I am not in opposition of life nor in opposition of  you; everything inside of me flows like water and I listen for the direction of the stream
perhaps you are not listening
maybe you are too caught up in other things
in that case my dear girl joy is a compass and your heart sees roads your mind cannot fathom

I am not afraid
I am trusting of this world
I am well able and I do not need to cling anymore to anything in desperation
for whatever I need
to get through
I have got deep in my soul so whatever happens know you stand facing a womyn who is full and wholly
And I would always offer you my hand even after you have trespassed
I am passed the black and white notions of life, of books, and dogma, of not searching inside of me, of shutting out my own inner wisdom to conform to outer guides
I only listen my guardians when they whisper through flickering lights
you cannot bring me down
there is not down here
where my being abides

I stand on the dirt arena, the matadors are my thoughts and bulls are feelings. Both strong and assertive. I watch them and breathe.

It transcends me
it goes right through me
it is linked
I accept it
I will walk with this

In the sprawl, we both call home

the city sings in colors
what it couldn’t speak before

I hear the crooning,
the two soft syllables
every stranger finds in your name
every time you exchange a “Hello”
and I am immediately back
right next to you

I dreamed I carried you close to death
dying
over my shoulder
and your  breath so weak

I asked you where you like to go
“ to the place we met” you could not speak
“It’s too far, right” I answered my own question then I awoke in pit of sorrow
in a pool of my strength the next step was over the floor into waking life

Then, I knew that I accepted
I would be there when you died
,if you like me to, if I was still alive


I would not promise a life together
the arrogance of such promises
are mythologies of the old world
dying
of old humans wishes to exceed even life itself, control what on lips of heaven
neither angels can affirm

but i knew if you were willing and if you are able
I will join you on that day

I tried to tell you
I loved you
in all the ways
I could
now it just lingers
on my lips
soundless

finally, i understand peace is a price too high to pay. continual compliancy is not a sign of consistency or of love. indifference is more painful than goodbye, and forgiveness is not something many are willing to do just as compassion is a muscle so is letting go so is admitting to seeing the steps you took of your own free will to destroy your own self worth. simple and benevolent the truth will find you scrape at your insides, stick its finger in your wounds
and reveal what still aches

you grab the fruit but you do not

water the tree

                           then you cry in silence at night without asking

the tree why
Why it can no longer bare fruit

your thoughts circle a dead end street
and scream “BARREN”

But why

Why don’t you just water the tree

Spent so much time alone
Suckled by the edges of leaves and awaken by mountain slopes that the first person I see makes me smile just like the first flakes of snow

We have been friends for 15 years her and I
like the waves that retreat to the sea
and then come back to the shore
we change shape so often
in the smallest of ways
but the essence, it never changes
it is her marrow, her quintessence  her light that burns bright

we were born four days apart
"for the fishies" she had engraved  
on a leather journal she gifted me years ago
I take it everywhere I travel

the years go
the seasons go
the days go
without a visit
and somehow we listen to the same things
same albums –shamelessly repeating them
until everyone around us has had enough–

I laughed so hard when she wrote to me
how could it be
telepathy? lol

Flashbacks of laying on the floor listening to music for hours
sharing headphones
singing our little hearts out

shamelessly repeating and repeating
shamelessly drowning in the sonic landscape

fishes who still know they are indeed
surrounded by water
flowing through it and calling it "life"

And it is
that this is who I am
I am not chasing
any kind of glory, that I don’t care about being the best at
something worldly I care about being the “ best me”
nourishing my natural gifts in order to share them

I am not competing. I am not running on empty or on misguided comparisons( I save my energy for what matters)

I
already everything I will ever be in motion towards my inner and outward destination
sit calmly because it trust again not a man or a womyn but myself

What someone can take is only a fraction of the real strength, courage and authenticity that flows through me
I am really human, fragile and sensitive to the touch
small and unassuming like all life on this earth grateful for every rotation in this galaxy.

I know what I really am and I call upon it and it calls upon me and we smile together
one in the same
this is what I am

Let me never again allow
someone to stand before me
and tell me
“I knew you were suffering but well…”
as they proceed to excuse
not sending an email or
calling back
as they play–
play me
play me a rendition of “ I just stood by because”–

let me be quicker to take
my “alarm setting and special date on the calendar marking” habits elsewhere

let me be like lightening
when it comes to honoring
how devoted a lover I am,
with my deep dives into music archives
and books to fish out gems from the depths
of this wide ocean of archived living, that
we take for granted
as we scroll down or peruse old books, images
of paintings, stereo versions
of songs and psalms
and recorded lectures with
sounds levels so low you really
have to concentrate
and within the relief carving etched into my chest

my own soul
let it speak to me loudly
let my love be bigger, that it can help me smell the sweetest scent, while I wander through the night
that its whiff can walk me downthe path of less sorrow

sometimes nothing, is kinder for everyone

sometimes someone can be trapped in their need to self protect at all cost
believing that this world and it’s rules allows them to set others welfare, others  feelings, real love aside and dub it meaningless

Let me never again take
their blade in my hands, let me walk
away, when I see the glinting of the knife
they hold towards me
even as they smile,

2.
He held a glinting knife, as he smiled
did he know he was holding it,
so close to me
the pain of its point confused
with the pain of heartbreak
when there should of never been pain
not in something as sweet as love

My mother says "tomorrow is your birthday,
and we haven't bought you a dress and a pair of matching slippers"

I laugh

She's been so busy packing for her next trip
that time snuck up on her, again

I smile and lean my head against her shoulder
I want to tell her she is enough
of a present for me

and that when I am old
and unable to find her
I will observe her here –in this moment–
And I will dream of waking up in her house
under the bugambilias, again
Her caress sweet; her flesh warm

As I understand it, we all become momentary pilgrims
gracious wayfarers recounting our life's blessings, as the body reaches
its end, so whilst at the beginning

all I can manage to tell her is
"sabes que esas cosas no me importan"

she smiles
I think she has always known

I am another river—
indomitable. made in your image. mutable

Prove someone wrong
chose the person
chose the exact words

prove someone wrong
run into another hamster wheel
until you have proved you are “__”

make “__” your motivation. Add another layer to your persona; keep your ego fresh sautéing those words over it

jump into that wheel
do it, again
and again

and when your finally exhausted
find out that living for someone else is not as powerful
as living for your own being

proving is over. you do not need a hamster
wheel. proving is over. You powerful
when you are fulfilling your own heart. Proving ends and you begin

glorious grounding silence engulfs all, evening comes but only makes it’s gust stronger. It is here where my fear touches the tip of my love that I close my eyes and hold the hands of uncertainty—

may hope truly give us wings

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

I compose poetry on the subway
on my phone

People think I am texting

I think they are texting
Maybe they are writing poetry, too

When my mother plays foreigner, I know she is sitting on the carpet playing tracks  pensive or standing by the stereo alone dancing in the living room like I would find her alone and eyes closed. Sometimes drifting into the kitchen for a drink. Which in my mothers case is lemonade or manzanilla tea because she doesn’t “drink”. Today, within the song she picked and shared,  I saw her at the precipice of heartbreak as I have been many times.I saw her palms and her eyes in my own face reflecting off my hand phone’s screen as it auto locked.

Look at little things
profoundly–
they will do more
than whisper

Mistral en la costa de mi corazón se lleva el noble arrullo y la sigo hacia el un mundo de sueños

I am happy to be who I am
every single sorrowful thing, and every small glorious moment swirls in communion

I am happy
just happy

Las horas son como ciclos de consuelo
que dan vuelta sobre la manija del reloj

la veo- toda mi tristeza en la mano grande de su cara que gira sin parar

Es necesario voltear la mirada hacia otra cosa aunque se la mosca sobre la pared

we are in our home
where the pomegranates have begun
to fall

where the sugarcane is planted
next to the persimmons, and the limes
drop round as heavy as chucked pebbles

into a sea of black dirt below
illuminated by one round moon
your face stern and mine young

         begin to sing to our elder
                                                      in the sky
that was it, I remember—

my paternal grandmother would sing for us

I ate fire
and I swam with it
in my belly splashing
my arms around

beneath my feet
the ancientness
of dirt called
for the wind
that once helped
cool the magma
that became long
stretches of continents

(The firm rock under
my floating forehead)

Don’t let there be gloom, it is so easy for it to grow when watered
it will cover even the most beautiful of flowers,
you’ve always been gifted with a green thumb, and a large heart
you deserve to harvest
lovely things are coming
water those blossoms because they do give fruit

Without the piercing
arrow of the night
who is to say
what daybreak is

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

Ella cruzas puentes (ellos no son de venerar)

“Se olvidó de Dios ” murmuró el señor, cuando ella no quiso entrar a la parroquia.

Más ya hacia años que “el que dirán” se le había convertido en una telaraña, antigua y meciéndose entre el viento.

Ella sabía que los puentes son necesarios.

“Hay que cruzar por los puentes
pero no hay que venerarlos”

Su madre le enseñó que solo a dios se le venera, pero tal vez venerar tan poco fuese el punto, “hay que cruzar; hay que estar en comunión” pensaba

Dentro de su pecho ella había encontrado un rincón donde su alma se desasía, y se mezclaba con la infinita energía de lo “todo”
y ninguna religión le negaría eso

Y aunque el hombre supiera de puentes no sabía de cruzar

La tarde se estaba convirtiendo lentamente en noche, y Fátima decidió que sería mejor caminar de regreso a casa y disfrutar al máximo lo poco que quedaba del la luz día.

The evening prepares to fully gulp
the sun, the car engines zoom contorting the sound scape and twisting gravel into their menacing rubber wheels

I know I am a distant breeze. And though I wish to come close to you I think I am better off far trying to build a loving life
where I no longer run after you
no longer run after what does not want me

I know I am distant scent
And although I wish to reconcile
and laugh with you
I think I am better off trying to mend myself and build more staircases to my other dreams
where I can find my joy in being of service to others
where I do not run after anything
but instead wander into the right rooms
and truly find that which appreciates me
for being what I am

I know I am just on this earth for as long as this body lasts
And although I wish I could travel the world non stop to see myself in all others
for now I am better off appreciating the small womyn who stares back at me from the bathroom mirror
she too is sacred

There is no need to put yourself in harms way anymore
no need to try and figure out what you can say to make it better for someone else’s comfort
no need to always try
and try
admire the flower that grows in winter
the same way you would admire the one that flourished in spring

I am being stretched and little parts of me are ripping off

but I want to, I want to grow
even if it’s not always pleasant

I want to be a womxn after her own soul
i want my authenticity far more, for I fear
I cannot compromise these lengthy rivers in me
they span too wide
and some too deep 
flowing rapidly down steep mountains
and over vast stretches of land
flooding plains, but also paradoxically
in arid climate nurturing seedlings

Durante las fiestas Carmen siempre se auto designaba la niña niñera de la casa. Tras de ella siempre había tres o cuatro niños en filo. Ella los organizaba en grupos y jugaban y si a caso uno se caía Carmen al rescate.

Los niños nunca se cansan pero Carmen de 13 años si, era por esto que ella los sentaba bajo el árbol y les contaba cuentos y si ninguna historia le venía a la mente les contaba hechos innegables.

<<Bueno niños las guavas empezaron como flores blancas>>
<<como azares>> le gritaba Mercedes
quizás eran los tres años de diferencia cuales habían

You are already a poem
that I love—

Like all great poetry
it is to be shared with the world

if there is
if there is
If there is all the things that thrive within the being
those that never die, those that perdure untouched, uneffected by the outside lores
then there is always the presence of forgiveness
the room for second chances
and there is return

Poems are do not need length
they need depth

The wailing cries of history swoop
into the hands of today like some audacious pigeon

students hold their hands out across the nation and hold a dove

if you would hold your hands out too and still your anger, still the past and hold your hands out you too could touch a dove

I would still love you
set ablaze ten suns with a match
and run after a wild rabbit in the forest even after dark

there, I am sure I would not fear
even the rustling leaves

there they could punish me, bring down the inquisition, accuse at the stake, but I still would find a way to forgive and smile in your direction

I would still love you
sometimes I do not think it good
to feel such things

What’s a maid doing running into the woods after a cow
what’s the earth doing revolving the sun
don’t ask me. Don’t ask me anymore.

don’t worry you will laugh
at the notes with tea rings
at the your mental doom scenarios
chuckle up a storm
because everything you wanted
will come, and you will sit
with it and think back
at all the your self strapped misery
that like a wrong sized belt could only serve
the purpose of weighing you down
rejoice, giggle like a big bellied baby
at the way your heart’s wishes are fulfilled
at the right time

There was once a woman who spoke to the moon. She was so delighted with the moonlight, that one day she reached her hands towards it and sunk her thumbs into it.

While having the moon in her hands, the woman hugged it held it near her chest and whispered with affection, "you light up the darkest of my nights"

my neighbor is named cricket,
she is quiet, pale perhaps in her 70's

my housemate says she lives alone
when you ask her a question she looks

her body softens and she walks closer
then she leaps back after giving an answer

The world just seemed so beautiful that I drove into it head first, without hesitation and without need of pulling back.
I jumped off the big board and it’s altitude did not matter because  I just ached to see and to know for myself this world. It has always seemed so marvelous to me this little body and this unknown earth under my feet, that even when I have felt one of my perceptions of it collapse over me –I have felt inclined to photograph it’s dilapidated roof, walls, windows and all the false starts that I dram of when I dove.

It’s just I love this plot of being, as if it were a field stretched over centimeters of flesh, which is my skin. And I love how we are all kin. And I do not care what someone thinks of me. I care how my feet feel against the grass, if I can forgive and love them just as myself. If can kiss again this world with the same vibrancy. I care that I never put this love of life down, that I take it, take it all, all of it as it is.

A turtle dove brings its wings into its sides and dips
beginning it’s a descent into the air below it

like a seasoned diver with great confidence
gliding through the blue

Maybe for some people love quantified by the things your give them or the physical proximity of you to them, what will they do once you die ? Will they think you have stopped loving them?  

Can they feel the world? The way in which birds feel the air currents while defying gravitational law

Are they aware that nothing truly dies?

These are the girls that dream
one speck of dust turns into a planet
orbiting their soul

I like to see you smile.
I secretly wish I could keep it in my pocket
like a child wishes to keep light in a jar.

It’s a smile that is covered in joy.
oh, it looks so good on you Brown Eyes.