The thin layer of burned bark sits black
over your hand no more hostile

than a passing thought preparing to exit
for a new one to emerge

from the mind’s entrance

I do not want to have the same seasonal wardrobe fashion
that everyone else has
I do not want the trendy jewelry
or to  make the same pose in front of a camera
I want clothes I can wear that suit
my mood
earrings with a story behind them that you can hear  
a candid that captures corner smiles

Frankly,I do not want to be anyone else
you can take
the “fit in” trophy and put it on your mantle because I am glad, glad, glad
Gleeful and cheerful that  I get this opportunity
To live and  to walk in this skin
with these gifts and this inner light

I have tired to release too many times
but it’s like a spiral winding inwardly

and I accept it’s traversing and infinite nature always coiling and surprising me

at how it is still there

There are two quilts of stories woven and hanging between you and I. You cannot see  the layout of my thoughts or their coordination with my actions.Nor can I see yours.

You see the quilt. The same quilt from years ago. The stories blow in the wind and as does your hair . The same dead ends come up one after the other like roads signs as you drive into the highway of the past.

One question, two questions, ten questions and perhaps you would understand. Perhaps all could fold their quilts and see clearly what has been blowing behind the fabric.

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

quotidian moments
you hide your preciousness
in of ruse of routine
but I see you there
behind the door
giggling
waiting as if you were playing hide and seek
inviting these feet to come find you

bliss oozes
in your companionship
your day to day charm  is a blessing
for those who need company

I don’t now what it is about the way skin is fragile and tender to the touch
no matter whether young or old that makes smile and love our little boats islands of flesh each so different, each so radiant and full of beauty

Be an opening flower
the touch of  warm rain water over your  petals releasing
the smell of your lilies

Your smile-sudden and blooming with laughter,
                                                                ­                          I see.

Tasting rain water with my tongue,
                                                         ­                                 I understand

Hear.                                                ­                                 Clarity. Clearly

The flowers is on my bare chest and I become we. And we delight in each other  and in the rain and in the turning of the earth’s soil and in the material dance of form. The way that the sun makes us both perk up let’s  me know we both recognize where warmth is and where it is not.

It is raining outside but close to me
it is dry and warm; monsoon
season rests in my chest
rain descends consecutively like each living
second–
one after the other making both, life and rain, seem endless.

the clouds trickle their misunderstood grey-ness into my yogurt bowl sweetening my existence; each droplet a new second held in time so I count: 
 1 - 2 -3 -4 …until I arrive at endlessness, presence and peace)

It finally started raining, here

in Los Angeles and the first thing we did

was so careless step outside looking

at each other smiling my brother and I

realized that the droplets on our clothes

were carrying the round muck of ash

Who I am supposed to be is a wildly distorted jumpsuit of thoughts that never quite fit who I am
–and who I am is constantly being re-discovered

“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

Tomo los retoños de primavera y los siembro en mi hombro
tomo las hojas que nacen pequeñas
apunto de volverse sobra sobre mi
y las cultivo al lado de mi pecho abierto
tomo todo lo bello que se asoma
en cada minuto dentro del día
y con ello procedo a lo que es
y a lo que aun día será

everything is reconciled
memories, body, weight of stone on back, superfluous adjunct thoughts, miscellaneous socks still unpaired
all is looked at and then accepted

keep your feet moving
and look above at the full moon
it shines like your eyes
but it cannot see itself
how beautifully suspended
it is in time, full always
just sometimes it’s real face hidden
in the shadows

Wearing comfortable clothing is what I desire

And if that is a purple g-string with a pair of high rise low cut shorts
You best say "good morning"

And if that is a pair of bell bottom jeans that do not press tight
against my hips with a long sleeve pink sweater
You ought to say “good afternoon”

If I please sugar in my coffee or no
coffee but instead a warm swif of chamomile
tea you best hand me the cup and show
brotherly love to your sister

If in my womb a child grows or I decide
It does not grow
You ought to stand by me but you best
leave that choice to me

May you soar whether you can see a crowd or a crow from the corner of your eyes.

Constantly, may you see the sky and take it to it–all flight is nature’s miracle and so are you.

If our line of flight crosses or never does overlaps matters not. Let us be two fleeting flapping winged creatures for now

If there is still hope of a life to come that is beautiful, fulfilling and nourishes my the being –even through the thick wilderness of  hefty uncertainty–let it come

I do not want to suffer self denial;
if there is still courage inside
this frame of mine
let it visit me daily when I am most afraid
and remind me: I deserve joy

Me sente sobre la mesa
todo el lugar es lindo
la mente esta en calma
y todo el lugar es lindo
las vias silencias
los ninos llorrando callados
el ruido de la registradora
y el cambio cambiando de manos
es tranquilamente mudo
al igual que la quietud
que ejerce paz sobre mi mente

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.

so much of me is being destroyed
so much being hammered off my copper implements  
so much is being excavated
so much is being fished out of my Patzcuaro heart
so much water seeping through the dirt of Quiroga
so much gold is found when sieving my Californian rivers
so much crumbling at the altar of life
so  much cleansing me
so much is gone mamá that can you recognize my zapateo  
last time I stumbled y pare but today each zapatazo
retumbé

I can see that my heart
is held in kindness
and so is yours

and that although I cannot express
myself to you
I know every thought we nourish and every hope we
release
in the name of a more loving existence
for a more harmonious world
seeps into us all

and I can see how your heart wishes to open
how hands are wider when their fists unclench

My heart caught on a hook flung out of the water and into the air
did three somersaults before it was hit with an iron cast frying pan
dropping into the current of the River
where there the rays of sun peering through could not offer warmth only show  me the color of blood dispersing from body
in that state, I drowsy
could not recognize myself
from that murk of suffering
yet to know if I would survive

like all things left looming
over the water, I was afraid
that large fish would devour
or anger’s current with its companion wind of bitterness would rest my soul on the side of the riverbank

From a distance
can you see it
rock stacked over rock
Each rock a prayer
asking the wind to spread it

My fear runs right alongside my courage; my courage is only one inch ahead of my fear, but that is enough.

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

Sap dripping over a tree at the beginning of summer
makes me think of dripping rain’s viscosity
How fast can droplets from the sky make their way down a an electrical pole to the drain
And if I dare climb it at what speed would my body descend like cat vertically down

little well of a heart how full it get when it rains
and your am not prepared to drink  

i saw news today and I wept again; it had to spill somehow
all these horrid ribbons of pain well over in a stranger eyes

human dignity is buoyant and the sacred heart of christ is still
in the west bank

sea la manera en la cual observas las cosas
o la manera en la cual escuchas
sea tu sonrisa o la forma en cual deslizás tus dedos sobre
el tablero de trastes
sea la amplia manera en la cual tu presencia llena un cuarto
sean las semanas que se hacen dias
sean ellas las que me traigan mas cercana a ti
con el tictoc del reloj

When you sleep the poetry of life conspires with the entire universe
picking places, materials, and dates

just today it leaned over and said “September 23rd” and then whispered Emmitt Till & Breonna Taylor

Es que no se acaba esto de ser
es que continúa y atraviesa espinas
parte no en dos
pero en infinito nuestro mismo ser

Es que ahora siento las piedras a lo igual que a los árboles y una saber que soy todo me llena
y mi trabajo es ser quien soy

I name it, a little prayer deep in my heart.
I call it forth, what is coming, is coming on foot.
Whether it takes days or years,
I have set my course; the intent is strong.
There is no wavering here;
the sails are already high
–and the wind is too wise.

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"

When they look at old photographs of you
,you will tell of them of all the crazy stories and all the mistakes you made as you grew.
how your chest expanded and your heart pressed against your ribs inflating like a ballon on certain years, wishing to become airborne and to lift you along with it towards the sky

you will tell them of all the unfortunate situations that lead to all the food in your fridge rotting and all your sadness eating up your appreciate
and how you turned inwardly and perched like a bird over the ledge that you decided was not to jump off but a clear vantage point from which to see peace all around and from which to oversee the land
and make out what direction you were now going to head down

I honor the little things inside of me
I go around barefoot over the sandy expanse of my mind and body and soul
and pick each of their lovely gifts up
as if they were shells and place them in a little bucket and I walk some more until I get to my home. There I can sit; my legs spread wide so I can place the bucket between them and take profound look at each shell one at a time.

To every heart that shivers
let me shiver with you
we along way from the beginning
have the same end

we all suffer
cycle in and out of fortune
can answer to the heaviness
of pain and transform it
(lets us be wise and gentle everytime it  comes)

As children, we would line up shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the swimming pool trying to figure out who’d jump in first.
One of the boys would always attempt to throw the other one in. Sometimes, you ‘d hear the cold holler of the skinniest kid ,that couldn’t hold their ground, splash into the water; the laughter of the other boys slowly dissipating through the air.

Kids grow and learn fast. As we grew up “everyone got smart” and instead of one casualty we would end up with two. If someone tried to push you into the pool, you would turned around and lovingly hugged them. As you fell in, so did they.

We played that game for a very long time –and I knew how to play that game. It was the other games and the other things that slowly changed that threw me out of whack.

Like high pitched voices, acne, and *******; only the chubby boys grew *******, too. The chubby ones and I were told to wear bras. It was a joke for one of us and a requirement for the other one.
...
We would line up shoulder to shoulder, and although the boys grew so much hair , as they got older, my back was till the hairiest one. At least there was one furry constant.



© Guadalupe Salgado Partida

when someone wants you
they find ways to make time for you  
they pick up the phone
they gift you their presence
they find the courage to dance along with you no matter how uncool
the folks around you might think you both are

when someone wants you in their life they let you know
simple.

Anywhere I go and anywhere I land I will be okay

Simply in flesh
expressing

simply like you
born into earth
breathing

simply here
for just a while
living

simply all of life
loving itself
in disguise

simply
and humbly
trying
(like you)

Baby of the earth with your tea and your notebook at hand you have as vast a kingdom as you did outside.

The walls here can simply be erased with the flipping of a pencil. The reality you wish to  experience, momentarily halts through no fault of your own. So sweet thing, inside your cove find freedom and draw, sing, walk, gaze, get lost in hobbies or the cinematic tales of heroes or heroines- rediscover folklore or learn through physics the reason why the celestial bodies, including your planet,move the way they do.

Do all the thing you keep telling yourself      
you do not have time for
because time has arrived and knocked at your door. Time has sought your address  –and you would be a fool not to take it’s hand and lead it into your living room.

The slate can be clean and it can always be wiped.

What you chose to write before can be a precursor to today. However, it is not contingent upon it. You can take your elbow or even the seams of your sweater and wipe away all things previously written. The ones that take up too much space. And as for the ones others have written for you–those do not necessarily have value.

Rethink. Re-write.

slide the windows open
rest, rest now
or all day you will cheat yourself
out of ease
rest there is nothing wrong with quiet
it’s where your essence brims to the surface
frothing, and ready to refresh you
if you just pause in silence

I do not care if anything is slippery
it is coming out onto the floor of the page
swiveling, punching, crying or half dead
but it’s coming on the page

its in the practice of little devotions
that everything we dig up
can be turned into treasure
or at least a map of where to
or where to not find it

I must start rethinking
I must start giving others the opportunity
to come closer

I must extend a hand
and slowly inch towards something new
as do the branches of a tree
as do I
as does everything that tilts towards the sun
over this earth when it wishes to grow

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.