you come to me in dreams
but I cannot remember what you tell me
just the faint image of you lingers when I wake

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.

When you ask me if I have ever tried a burrito,  I should sprint to the bedroom grab a cover and completely wrap myself in it and then proceed to run towards you screaming “yes!”
immediately followed  by
“But she did not cook it. I got it at Chipotle “ sung in legato just to make sure none of us make it out of this situation without feeling uncomfortable

When you come so far to be left
   with no response for months, years until

It feels like an eternal dance floor where hope has propelled
  you to stand at the periphery watching as they dances with another

When you come so far to be the last kid chosen for teams
  only to be told that to include you would be one too many (odd you)

It feels uneven, but not uneventful how your heart                breaks
  and still the blame is never split like you wish it were
       (some for you, some for them, some for time and some for life’s  required modules) 

the candy during recess is not  split fairly  
                     When you come so far fairness dissolves
                     off of  the countenance of the other kids as they begin
                      to grab what they can

And you wonder if that is what they did to you
                   grabbed what they could and left
                   or if that is what they think of you
                    
It feels like a tragedy or a terrible comedy cast,
                  staged and off broadway now
                  maybe they feel the same

The dancer who does not want to dance under the disco ball and the ones that want to dance but are standing around waiting might just feel the same.

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

when you smile the whole words brightens
and your own roses bloom
and your love of life thickens
when you smile the sun recognizes itself on foot  
and places its warmth at the front of your hearth waiting for kind thoughts and hopeful rhetoric to push it into your fire
and when it's added, I can see the gleam
emerging from your eyes

when you smile even though it has been rough
I see my humanity in you and I smile, too

when you smile the whole world bears fruit

when you smile the sun recognizes itself on foot
when you smile the earth bears fruit
when you smile even though it has been rough, in you I see me
when you smile there is a gleam that emerges from your eyes
when you smile all dreams seem possible
when you smile, I do not take life for granted
when you smile, I want to be greedy and see you smile, again
when you smile continuously, I know it is your gift to the world
when you smile during these times, I am sure you have chosen joy
when you smile I am humbled at the beauty of your being and I am reduced to sifr "0 /zero" and at the same time I am irrefutably everything when you decide to smile we decide to smile, too lovingly and in the direction of the present & the future

When you wake up
wrap yourself in brilliance
it does not matter if yesterday was hard
if this whole month or this whole season
has been difficult for you,
has pressed your face against cold glass  
you are still here
and  just as unexpectedly as sorrow came
so can joy

find your gleaming cloak of hope
of laughter or liberation
and laugh and cry if you need to
but carry your brilliance with you

You stretch your hand and this time you will grasp not because your hand is long  but because the line of love that like yarn was made of prayer, of hope, of courage to bring about change by others is strong enough to hold your body as it high lines. over the canyon. You prepare because you know this will take all your focus, all your wisdom, all your agility, and your discipline and all your human heart. Others may shy away but you will not

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

I will let this life find me
as i walk towards trees
as I linger in front of bushes and gaze
at the grazing animals that now roam the city ever ease-fully those holding the wild in their walk, in the way they tilt their heads and decide to scavenger through parks because to them it’s just another piece of land
no name attached

I will let life bring me the moon at night
        and the sun
   during the bird’s early morning call

I will let it find me            while I undress
and while I cook
while I pray
while I sing
                                             while I forgive

              –in between all the whiles–

while I cry
while I rejoice
While I fill my own cup of tea     to the brim
at the brim of life
at the loneliest
at the most fulfilled
at any age it chooses           Life will find me
as it has always done
     And I will let it in
I will open the door
holding the **** in my hands  and a smile on my face
(...this life is not lackluster that much I can perceive)
and if it comes past my doorframe and into my expansive whiles
you must indeed bet on me because I am sure I will let it in

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)

my eyes are two ponds in each a Fernald's iris floats
...
that night in each picture taken the light, shining off the optic nerve, moved from left to right like two dancing irises reacting to the ripples of my tiny apartment life full of books, domestic cookery, Bluetooth Son Jarocho canciones, and the bright reminder in your eyes that closed of laughter because I passed you the fork instead of opening the refrigerator door. Your lashes looked like the sun's rays your joy traveling to me at their speed before we locked eyes you stood still and gazed at me as I were you and you were me. One cannot laugh at such moments, the profound inclination to smile when one sees the beauty of a sunset over Dockweiler beach or the inevitable beauty of wild northern California flowers swaying in the wind disarms you of all, all mixing spoons and guitar music went. my ponds  silent witnesses  to the bright promise in your eyes,   I thought we were so close to the lips of world peace
...
what is your wish he asked me "I wish we could see ourselves as each other" he laughed "If we could do that, there would be no need to be here. There would be peace on earth "

Who knows if it would be advantageous
if I could shake it off like a dog this cold wet sorrow
that shows up
who knows
if I ask a child
they might indeed
will give me wise and honest counsel
(maybe they know)
the simplest answer
could be buried under a mountain
of fears, of conditioning, and adult foolishness

the solution might be simple

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

Bubble little hope of mine
bubble strong with the scent of lavender
and bring me to the fields of purple

where I can meet myself again

Every toll has to be paid with wholeness, so I must be wholly

who would love a poet
greedy with words and full of intent
that dissolves into sorrow and brevity
and then at an instant springs
into the delight of joy smothering everything close enough
with such sharp affection akin to a second of piercing recognition,
but one raging like the sun toward a slow unfathomable end

"where are you from?"
"where are you really from?"

Go to questions; simple questions
some
may never think twice before asking them  

"what is behind them"
"what are you saying?

When you ask someone solely based on their brown skin "where are you from?"

You are saying this "your skin is brown, so must not be from the here. Why, well there aren't brown people here anymore; we killed all the brown folks."

And what you are doing is verbally trying to wave your wand and vanish cultures that are present & still survive.


"Silly you, can't be brown and be from America. Where are you really from?"

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

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

I am like everyone else and because I am like everyone else I am beautiful.

they told me People who  buy books are older
they have money to spend on them
they have been around the mill
saw some wooden wheel of some sort turn and “know” they are “suppose” to know
But when I see them I wonder what kind of knowing they have settled for

Is it this knowing that build stairs and curates nature so that you walk down the same stairs
why
why must nature must be called wild
and why is
our wildness to be left out on the curve to wither like a patch of grass that no one dares water
why if nature’s accomplishes all in its timely manner would wild be chaotic
if nature accomplished all with grace
look at your hands
look into your eyes of your loved one is it a feral field of darkness, desolate and riveting blood,
has all hope and beauty been lost
why do you hold in disdain nature and call it “wild”

Somedays I have no words, so I do not send correspondence, instead I send you a silent prayer.

Light and warm, so that it can rise and be carried by the wind outside
where ever your feet roam
and over whatever pillow your head rests

let that little inclination to tap your feet when the music plays
or smile back
fill ya'

let the sudden little desire to say good morning, good afternoon, or good evening
burst out of ya'

ain't no accumulation prize
for the most repressed

if you got limbs you oughta
shake them

if you got words stored in ya'
you oughta pour them out
like pennies from a jar

It is pure magic that lies ahead
scent of lessons hard won and learned
lead me to the edge near the resting bodhi tree
near the cliffside the wide sky
calls me
and I close my eyes
–all my courage shapes into wings
and I flap rousing the dust below
wings wider than ever before

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

Will I become a windchime lady?
I twirl and giggle out of delight
as I put all my belonging away
I sway, wiggle, slide back and forth from the suitcases
to the rhythm of reggae
I don't matter if it's a cloudy day
all that cool wind could surely be harnessed by the windcatcher
and the striker and the rods.

I am no longer
what you wished
me to be
when the flurry
of the wind comes
to brush my hair
I let it

I have learned that to clear the vine of grapes completely with two hands
is an act of love

no misunderstanding, even if the fruit fell
you turn around and pick it up
and with your words you wash them
                                         and make wine

I never thought my wings could be so warm, could spread this far and shield everything around me in my *****
nurture and protect the little sparks of light
flickering like stars yet to grow
and transform this world
some older, some younger, some that I have yet to meet

Winter has become the mighty director of direction subverting routes from the longest to shortest
the least exposure is not meticulously planned just arrived at
welcomed almost without a second thought  
the hands in pockets
the way the body shivers and the way it sighs in relief to be inside
to sit on a chair and let the limbs loosen letting tension slide off

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

every edge of your body that slept
slowly awakes
how could slumber be
sweet when it robs you takes
your money and still asks
for the product of your eyes

What are you without vision?

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"

you judged me
out of my own beauty
the same way you judged yourself
out of that dress

Lean in further
to lick the iron of the rod
that used to stand in your way
now it has been repurposed
now it seems timely to taste

(how it reminds
you that there is iron in wine)

I have been too nice with poetry
–humoring extended metaphors–
throwing up my hands in praise
at how little can be written/ at how complexity can be simple / at how the abstract treads like a beast through a tunnel
onto this realm
arriving as the heavy letter on a screen or a page

What is in need of nourishment?
What needs more cultivation ?
What needs more of my time ?
What opportunities are presented ?
What calls me ?
What makes my eyes light up ?
When does time become still ?

Lo próspero crecerá de tu palma
izquierda
arrasando con la tierra piel de tu mano  
convirtiéndose en volcán
que revienta en un bello bienal

Tus uñas sé conocerán como hojas y la desdicha no más te deshacer a
sentirás la profundidad de tus años

Calmada mente te regarás
y con una fecundidad
de tú adquirida paciencia
darás rosetas

Y yo en ese segundo año
regresaré
para si quiera verte en flor

You have chosen a clear night
under a medley of stars,
to undergo gestation over the barren field of what used to be your skin
and your old way of life.

there is nothing to chase
to fill you
so there is
only giving

You can borrow my strength
in moments like these
you need not ask
my prayer flies off
off of the tiny mounts
that are my lips
onto you

Hear me when I cannot speak to you
don’t you ever let anyone not even me make you feel like your not entitled to make mistakes

You are far too precious to think actions and events define you,
you define and give meaning to them

long live the birds that migrate
and the people who follow

long live the black bears that adopt
the orphan cubs

long live the grey wolves that repopulate
north of Los Angeles

long live the human kin that stand
next to each other

to protest tyrants, oligarchs, and kings

Mid stride my insides
rattle and my smaller and larger
intestine begins to soften

I walk; a bag of bones
clacking in winter

you must look at things for what they truly are
just as naturally as sunset comes to the day
you will face night; call it “night” no need to wrap it up and make it tidy

silence
has never suited young mouths
at least not these