Your eyes
your skin
your body

hold inside them
someone I love

they are
precious
miraculous
instruments
of life

they allow me to find you
in flesh
they allow me to sit at the hearth
in front of your fire
they allow me to share with you
my ember

your brown
pupils
your soft
hands

the days
pass
and i thank every sunset

knowing
“soon”,
will become
“now”

They did not teach her her tongue
she was tongueless
mute to her past
she was taught the language of those who came and settled upon the land
seeking to own the living
breathing
slow moving earth

her half moon earrings were just hand me downs from her family
the art of her people
their prestige as artisans a quiet story tucked within the hands who made them are speechless to her now
...
Two crescent moons stacked smiling upwards–
I look for these earrings often but I cannot find them Or the fishes...or the face of her mother or the scent of Janitzio
some days I feel like that very    
                          
                          isl­and

disconnected from everything and surrounded by water
And I feel like fire burning at foot of a lake
and I want to push back the night but then all of a sudden
there are humming birds who hover over me (a shift of existence) as I become the wind under their wings
and I take after their countless legends of mermaids
Eréndira’s tears lay salty on my tongue   
and I will myself through the fright and the this plague –that bore semblance to the time her people died and dropped like flies
from small pox their bodies surrendering to disease–
to dive into this water and swim
through the vast expanse of hurt
I swim through these fictitious tales of separation
of the illusion of the “other”
of the resistance to understand and mesh cultures 
I swim past these notions of perpetuating intolerance ...
past the use of  “other”
Until I reach my own shore
my own place of being
And there I release and heal all misery
and cleanse my heart and soul

there I sink my teeth deep into this bread of words
“I will not perpetuate more sorrow in my life”

everything that is a chain
I free myself from
everything that does not love has love destined for something else
but this small beating mass in my chest
is mine to nourish and to love

I  surpasses the violence of the collision of words and I bear fruit

Oh joy you make me smile

you with each day charm me
woo me into more bliss
keep me laughing

Thankful for all living

when you gave it your whole heart the
baked porcelain shards you picked up from the kiln
tell you
there really was so much there
too much
so much moisture that it expanded too quickly
too fast and you exploded
landed over by the thermocouple
hit the reflective coding at the top of the kiln and
was hurled down to the corner
that pieces of you even hit the center, too
and that others landed over the vases other artists had fired along with yours to bake

your whole heart did not rip or break: it blew open


fell into every part of the kiln, ate space and unwillingly
in a burst realized  expansions

The kettle steaming cries just before you can pour a cup of tea/the dark hues on a wall must be painted twice if you want to replace them with something even a tad  bit lighter/a rocket must go 11 kilometers a second to then escape the pull of gravity/

It feels bruised
The area to the right of my heart
towards the middle
almost at the midpoint where my ******* meet
is in pain
but when I look in the mirror
there is no green, purple or yellow
and I wonder if in a few days it will show itself or if it will take years

It feels like I took one deep breathe and never exhaled until now.

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.

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.

It is just that I want to do right by this girl (myself). Nothing is worth her peace of mind and nothing is worth chasing after to the point of exhaustion. She needs true love and she needs inner fulfillment. She needs to keep her spirit oiled –and her garden nourished.

a wide field as far
as my eye can see
my feet are surrounded
not by the dandelion’s
flowering yellow but
by the second blooming
of its seedling flowers
where thousands of wishes
sit on little stems
waiting to be granted

It is an honor to hold your hand in grief
as it is to hold mine while I weep

It is a privilege to see the books you selected on your bookshelf by hand as it is an honor see the titles that tilt on the shelves of mine

You are sacred and so am I

It is an honor to hear you sing in the morning hours and it is an honor to hear me sing to the falling rain

It is a privilege to enter the sanctuary of your mind and soul- the one you have watered with love, care and delicacy as it is an privilege to be allowed to enter the sanctuary of my mind and soul


You are sacred and so am I

There is beauty
in the slowest  
of seasons

It is days like these I wish to be lay over
the thick leaves
by spirit be colored in
and by the whispers of the timeless
dream

It is their eyes–
everything around me I want to nourish until it is bright
and full of it’s own loving light
–shining through

It is the way in which the sun rises
that emboldens life
that all things shimmers and grow
on one side of the world
and then onto the other side of the world

all the while I will love you because I’ve never been good at stringing the little locket heart into my chest. It’s always just dangled in my hand clumsily. People always tell me “kid you gotta hide that. Don’t you know where you are.”and i want to laugh. And say “ I’m in the jungle baby”, proceed to sing the rest of that song, and not let them get me down. Cause **** the *******.

It is what it is, the sadness, but with it
also the love
so,
why suffer.

little locket in hand and the nearness of the you, jazz standards floating through my head,
are enough.

It is what it is.
I’m in Love with you. Thousands of Motown songs and R&B 2019 top charting singles running, forming hills in my mind
mounting
so ever slowly, but continuously that everytime I walk past one of those hills, I fail to recognize it.
They’re becoming mountains

They are what they are,
as this is what it is.

It is your turn to be open of heart
to come and be vulnerable
to reimagine what else could be
it is your turn to be sincere
your turn to find me human, and still
love me and tell me this simply by sitting quietly next to me
by showing up all flawed and all

It just gets deeper and deeper this
never ending route inward
and there is and less and less  resisting
And I want to laugh with myself in-hand and “say stop just relax. isn’t it nice to just be”:)

He asks me how I know that song
it’s piece by Satie
I can’t remember when I first heard it playing
“I am no not sure” I say
it whereabouts lost in the fog,
grown small in the rear view mirror of my life
I stack words like children blocks to say
“I grew up around musicians” I tell him

Knock them down with a a first of “ I have listened to a lot of stuff involuntarily… I was just there like a sponge absorbing”

Satie will play on…
I will keep far away my uncles guitars and cousins counter with wires and pick ups
my brother’s nylon string and my grandmothers singing
“ I just really like music; who doesn't?

If she leaves tonight
the women will begin their circles of prayer and the flowers will arrive
but will not get there in time
so I sit and go within
light up candles and carve an inward path to her
I will be with her to see her through
I will have to dig deeper
for her life gave me life
and we are linked
forevermore

I trust the swirls of color and light that bounces from the window into my eyes to help me see.
I trust that I will arrive at my hearts desire and that this living is preparing for what lays ahead.

It unwraps like a hanker-chief sack
and the longing and sadness
are left on display over the squared fabric

“it is not taken too kindly when a woman speaks out and is direct. It’s seen as aggressive. Ask your wife”

“ No, that’s not true” said the cis gendered man, as he responded for his wife

I look at old photographs of picturesque
places we’d traveled to together our faces teeming with a burgeoning smile
that is locked and keyless over pixels
that remain unchanged by time they so dutifully remind me that we used
be together and happy within this gallery of sorts

I want there to be beauty in our hearts
that we can dream dreams beyond our lifespans
so that we are inclined to plant kindness
and nurture gentleness
and continue to see the loveliness of life
as we ripen and become more confident

and less interested in comparison
and more focused on what will open up
the well of joy within us

I want to be better because I knew you
I want to be better because I walked this earth with you

I do not want anything to go to waste

I want to stay away
because it find it loving
to get out your way.
Boulders do not move
rarely do any obstacles we face willingly depart
but I am not a rock I am a person and I choose to
get out of your path
so you can get on with your life
and thrive where you see fit
among those you call good company
where things flourish and fly off
from the belly of your joy

I want to be light to the people I love
I want to help them to flourish
for it brings me true joy
to see others light up and blossom
I do not care if we get different things, blessed be the other person even if I sit here with empty hands
I know how to see through illusion
your joy is my own
and it also a gift to the world
kindness inspires more kindness and deep love inspires more love to seed and flourish in the world

I wish I could make you laugh. Tease you, push you, fall deeply in love with you, and dare to bravely sit with you, when you aren’t so nice,
during your worst of days, I wonder if they could be okay with me.

I want to be so good for you, that I hesitate,stutter, freeze within my unskilled youth,
But I want to be good for you,
good to you, and so I have to ask myself “could I be the worst thing for you?”

I wax like the moon
the water in my body
feels like an uprooted planetary mass
subject to rotation and cycles
bathed in an ocean of time

the dust beneath the feet of protestors
rises and still we try to grip a vision
that lies outside this framework         “bring me a more equitable world”  

the death tolls on newspapers
increase and yet some still need to find the decency
to put on masks                                 “bring me a more educated world”

the high number of environmental protection laws
reversed are narrowing not just of our own chances of survival
as a species  but those of all creatures                   
                                    ­                      “bring me a more sustainable world”

the lines at food banks and distribution centers
lengthen and yet the sum needed to feed the mouths of others
does not seem to be agreeable when drafting legislation                      
                                                               “­bring me a more compassionate
                                                                ­  world”
the great waiting  
seems to be in great motion        “bring me ...” I no longer need you to
                                                          bring me anything

                                                           I will bring it
                                                          I will venture out
                                                        I will create
                                                     I will learn more
                                                  I will open my own mind
                                               I will think for myself
                                                      

        ­            I do not need you to bring me anything
                      that paradigm is over;
                                             
                  ­                        I will go get it

                                           I
                                           will
                                           manifest
                                           it
          ­                                
draw parts of those lines  __             that will help connect us to it

I want a garden and an upright
a little head running through the grass
I want a desk facing the window
and a glass mug for my tea
and bookshelves full of books and vinyls

I want the sunset as much I want the sunrise
I want the deep fine lines that come with time. I want it, I wish it
Ms. Adrienne Rich I know it will take all my breath, but I hope it will become my will.
Like you wrote “it will not be simple”
So at the entrance of my home
I will hang a copy of your poem above the door. And when I turn back to look at that door frame I will think of this road, of this journey to that humble abode

I wish I could tell you “please do not be mad” or “lets laugh about this”, but it is too painful for me
and I do not know what to do
I am just trying my best to hang onto myself

the black & white image measured in distance only by the ticks of a clock and the cycles of human life sits on my chest

all the gentleness and love cannot be measured by digital clocks nor can a heart
for its growth is limitless

I run at night and try to jump like a doe towards the sky (it’s the closest on land that I get to a dolphin jumping out of  the great horizontal-ness of  its own life

Under the moonlight
could my two feet multiply into four

At the peak of outward youth  
should I breed

what but love and kindness is better to breed in this world

No se porque Dario se escapa de mi lengua
y porque Sor Juana sale de mi boca
pero los quiero
atrapar con las palmas de mis manos

nunca e ido a Nicaragua
solo a Mexico
pero me gustan, me gusta
la cadencia

quizas ire a chile por Mistral
o puede ser  que descienda sobre buenos aires
en busca del el flaco Spinetta
pues el también fue poeta

puede ser que regrese a San Miguel de Allende
para comprar mandado en el mercado
y ver si Cisneros compra fruta
pues a dado mucha

The clothes hanging on the foldable rack dangle: socks, shirts underwear, and t-shirts. The pile that awaits to be loaded into the washer keeps nameless pieces of cloth- just a pile. The people you read about whose faces dangle in front of your screen and on the billoards outside, you can name: First name Last name, Jane Doe and John Doe, Maria Lopez y José Lopez. The people you walk besides, the crowd keeps nameless - just a crowd. But if you would turn and smile even while wearing your mask you'd know that there is no such thing as a “just a ______” and the soliloquy of life would become a fully staged production where you could be writer.

It’s time to clock out
ride the sweet waves,
surf the quiet ocean of your awareness
and feel the flow of life taking you where you need to go.

Stop thinking.
You cannot tell the ocean where to go.

Your finger twists the typer’s hand to squeeze out of their tongue the many truths

but they keep them in their pockets the prescripted speech that’s someone’s got their interests tied around
Like some money hanging off some pretty lady’s hips who wraps around a pole, that’s what clicks into place like the sound of an old vhs being pushed in and made to play, but you got the wrong tape
it’s a well dressed dude, making you feel bad that you ain’t as solid a consumer
as him
Ka-ching affluence
He’s got all the right signifiers
Ka-ching
like a dog has got the right canine chow and the right collar to tell you someone owns him
because if he owned himself
you know he’d already found his worth

she cried on a day that should have been celebratory
and I did not have words

she danced an ode written to cumbia
she danced it out with grace
with verbs so fine  
you knew she held the present
at every sway
she did not have words

we walked to food joint next to the bar
rolled out the English language
in exchange for sustenance
“what are words?”

I picked up our food
drunkenly shook out some lingo
and the grey-haired man on the other side of the counter
took a deep breath and stayed silent
“Are words needed ?”

the Kamikaze shots and the tequila made our tongues soft
and our upper palates dry
pouring only thirst, into our youth  

and there,
eyes soaked in meaning
in a circus of incertitude,
the cold wind turned divine flurried our hair

*“we do not have words.”

Keep good company
and learn to forgive
surround yourself with loving people
whose eye light up when they see you

who know how to say I am sorry when they have
not listened or have not showed up for you

the company you keep you become
choose wisely
pick those who guide you to the door of your divinity
who can pick you up with as little as their sincere smile
and loving ears who might only be able to listen
but do so with attention
because they see you, they truly see you
and that is a gift

my hands are on automatic, pressing down on clay for three hours
then pinching plastic through wire for another three …creating and creating.
Coiling around the hurt & hiding it in a mount of clay  "the kiln will burn it” I say to myself

I lit a candle so that in this corner, when it might be easy to despair for the world, there may still be light. That much I can do.

Do not disappear again

above us all the stars remain luminous
bellied laughs, and curtain smiles that open to the gleaming sun
shining between your two front teeth

Do not disappear again

above us all there lines tied to kites
like on the day I went to a old place in south of Seoul
next to Hwaseong fortress
there the kids flew kites and I tied a small white paper along with others as a prayer

Do not disappear again

Above us all there should be a mirror reflecting our own beauty, old pictures taken years before make us sigh
we didn’t know we were so lovely so tender and filled with life. Why not take a photograph, today or all days when we still are radiant. Why not realize that our worldly anchor of change and age do not subtract the charm our new age.

Do not disappear, again  take another picture with me

We are still beautiful, tender, and filled with life.

I soften into life
while I sit over a large cushion
reaching my left hand deep into my chest
pulling  out the heavy ball of yarn that has been sitting there
I gaze upon on it, at first I want to recoil in sorrow, but I keep holding it and decide I must start to knit
knit it into something like sweater that can be of use when the next winter comes
that can be gifted to someone else
that can expand into kindness

that is what I want to do with this
that is what I want to do with my life

I know that I don’t know
and that whatever I am is big enough to hold all brokeness and large enough to absorb all sorrow
it is all encompassing
living in the rocks and in the leaves swaying on the branches of the trees

I know that I do not need to know

I see brilliance
wrapped around
their eyes

labyrinths that end
in the same place
which in truth
are gardens teeming with
all that spouts

I see them arrive light footed
and light hearted to this gentle abode
having circled and found their way
into our home

En tu luz madrugadora se caba
La oscuridad y en el abrir
De tus ojos se despierta la conciencia