there were dandelions on the grass
dear girl, the smell of an Alcatraz flower is fresh on my linen
but sometimes I look back
and wonder if this city wears a too thick a coat
while it struts pantless over the sidewalks of
Macarther Park

there is liturgy mumbled, a woman waving her hands in the air–
Sunday school prayers being learned in Spanish
tri-folded pamphlets on the floor
and gum over the pavement blackened by the cooperative march
of immigrant workers speaking in all tongues and carrying
on their backs, the tower of babel while halted at a red light

heavy cargo trucks speeding down Alameda Street
wearing down the road and the patience of drivers
tents multiplied, and R.V's lining the streets  
the old buildings being torn down and neighboring apartments  getting face-lifts  
"beautification"
costs
more than headshots–
more than a rhinoplasty–
more than the real estate of DTLA–
when you see two kids come out of a tent with their school backpacks on
–you begin to grasp the price

Is this what Keats meant: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever "
even while destitute
the neon pink on their bags seemed like another gift of spring
and their perseverance the paragon of  a psalm of life

1.
Her name is  like a fine diamond,
clear,
every which way the sun hits her
she shines
letting everyone know why with so much love
her mother laid her against her chest,
since small
and called her Crystal
2.
"******" screamed the nasty Idaho boys
during the town celebration.

3.
Aberdeen Days,
a fixture that seemed needed
to adorn a town's narrative
of property claim,
scattered people in a small town park
bunched them up in cliches
and incubated 'people among their own people'

4.
"..." silence were the words she used.  Cage's 4'33
playing


5.
The Architectural Barriers Act of 1968
Mills v. Board of Education 1972
The Higher Education Act of 1972
The Americans with Disabilities Act 1990
flutter in U. S history.


6.
Four butterflies over my aunt Berta
and my cousin Crystal's head  
ever radiant under the beams of the sun
words unable to dimish beauty  
as they walked across the lawn to join
Byron, nothing impeding her too
from walking in that beauty
like the other girls in the park square

Because I love you this place stirs me
cold or hot is not an issue; the summer or winter are okay. Because I love you the mountains of the past dissolve into the sea as a seismic shift internally takes place. Because I love you everything rumbles, clears in the name of lightness, making room for beauty and joy to be shared with you. Because I love you, I am transforming.

I have asked the dropping branch
not to yield it’s snow like it yielded its leaves

I have always been this way
prone to get up off the floor with a ****** nose
dusty shoulders and all
and still want to smell the daisies

And it radiates from your eyes
this joy and you become fuller
and your eyes girl
they become so much more beautiful not because you are right but because you are kind

am I bee
be am I
Bee I am
beeee
I am
am I to believe
that I am a bee

They got up this morning, the man in the cold blanket on the side of the metro station.

The woman who opens her shop early, the taxi driver at LAX, the kids that hurry to catch the bus–they all got up today.

Life rises from the breath of those around you –feel it rising from your own; yes, there is struggle, but gather strength and admire how everyday we all begin again.

When I stir the ***, I am happy with the scent of every ingredient that I have poured into my life, of every version of that stew that slow cooked until now.  

I am not saddened, ashamed or ******* my hand that poured in salt.

I begin to feast.

I think of you and the thread of life that runs through your mind, body and soul.

You have always been strong; you have always had everything you have needed roaming inside you.

Whatever you need, call it forth and it will come
be it patience
be it understanding
be it hope

In Bethlehem, south of Jerusalem, a bomb falls over Saint Porphyrius Church
and the promise of never again
is obscured under the rubble  

civilians told to move south towards
the border, take to the roads
mid escape a bomb falls
their bodies scatter over Salah-al-Din street

the son of man mangled over the floor

My friend is like water
anything and everything that comes at her
she flows with
She has been like this  since we were 12 years old aways a master of embracing without loosing her core

Today, she wrote to me She is going to try rock climbing

Bicycling down  a year of pavement on my way towards your direction without fear of disapproval, failure or regret

Watching the greenery on the sidewalk perk up

I do not need to be certain
I just need to head that way
patient and peddling
each time a little closer

The compass ‘ red arrow knows where I need to go.

Little birds have been chirping
So I booked a flat in walking distance
of the swallows’ room

The sky is yet to come alive,
and I plan to sketch it once I have arrived

“Icarus has a sister” they whisper

and I know caution should be had; I also know that every birds who sings under the sun offers beauty to the world

“the heat melts what is soft” they murmur

And I know it thaws, chemistry and physics are not lost on me; I also know that melting iron does not mean it isn’t strong

(Little birds have been singing, calling the children of Daedalus to melt their iron hearts and receive the seventh wave)

I learned you have to stay on the bleacher cheering on the people
who cheer you on
that win or fail you sit there
with a towel ready to help ease their load
that mutuality is the key to growing and trust
and that deep, deep connection (that makes life worth living)  
comes from knowing they, too sit on the bleacher stand for you

Despite all the sorrows, I love the first ominous eye blinks
that come with my body’s rising
to meet this new day; they signal
I am alive– I take the gift of open knowing they must close. Blink. Blink. All material lives close. Life, my life a blink in the cosmic morning. I blink starring out the window, how much I love this life even this monsoon storm.

Cheer up baby blue bird.
It ain’t so bad,
Half the time life digs
Circles,
Why you think you keep winding up home

Baby blue bird, wings ain’t that bad if you know you got em’

My baby blue bird, if you ain’t the kind to fly,
And you think
they **** clipped those wings
Walk and chirp baby
walk and chirp

You’ll wind up were you gotta be
That’s prophecy

It could be the stars could fall on me tonight but I think they’d turn tiny if they touched the earth’s ground
where I would pick them up
and place them in a blue plastic bucket

Simple get up and change your life
the harrowing point of pain & weight

on your body marks where to begin

Let me show you how worthy you are
how beautiful you are
and why it’s worth protecting  every flower until it dries and dies
instead of thinking “ it will die anyway so what is the point”
the point is the process, the growth not the end
we are not about ends but the mysterious in between

I thought of our drunk nights in L.A.
how without fail we would go to same 24 hour cafe and we always would end buying ourselves and the person asking for a meals outside the place something to munch on.

I thought of you yesterday when I could not pass by a person with a cardboard box and a few won in it, in middle of winter.
“It’s so cold”
I turned back around, and put enough in the box so they could have a meal and cup of coffee.
I know we said long ago we would buy people meals, but he was asleep and I was making my way from Asia park to my home in winter
–both of us were cold

my mind is filled with thoughts
it weighs me down

It drafts fictitious stories
blurring up perceptions

my rambunctious brain
takes longer to calm
and to alleviate its self-induced headaches  

the renewed sun
and the brilliant leaves
the cool evening breeze coming from the coast
are anchors
as the theme of "prolongation" grips my left hand
I can only breathe and release while taking patience into my right hand

cut across the community center and walked quickly with eyes on the light

I have timed these lights. I know it takes a minute and thirty seconds from when the light on the other side of block turns green until this light ahead of me turns green. And I know they go clockwise.

So, I lift my left hand and tighten my grip on a bag of muffins and a roll aiming to participate in the upcoming race against the street-light clock. I exert a faster pace than I have in days because tomorrow is a monumental day and I have yet to pack.

I have yet to pack a suitcase to board my flight tomorrow. Yet to pack with the sincerest of reasons as to why I haven’t yet done so, so darling are these reasons that they carry my friend’s name. She came to my town and we talked as we always do for hours of her childhood in Ukraine and mine in the states, of dreams, of joy, of both falling the bathroom. We stir the banter until it’s ready to be cooked, and then we cannot part until sundown. It is true I walked to the station and the chatter became daily bread. The kind only a good friend can share with you.

Although I carried muffins, I was already happy. I was full.

From one gut wrenching moment to the next you breathe, you breathe, you breathe
and listen–to the bird’s song and water trickling until the leaves become leaves and you become you, again

I want to close my eyes and inhale for the count of four;be a little vacuum suctioning air and keeping it in for two paired seconds. Then, exhaling for six.

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

When you pick courage from your mother’s garden
don’t pick the rock, pick the flower if you must leave your home and venture onwards

dont be scared that the flower will wither and you’ll be left courageless. It will dry and take a new form, but it will be with you.  Please  don’t worry that dry flower will last long; long enough to accompany one human lifetime-maybe even more.

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.

The deep crease in my eyes
is as deep as the ocean
and as profound
as every word I sincerely
wrote to you

Expect beautiful things: she runs to me and laughs with her usual pink furry sweater.  we combine “my mãe” with some English “let’s go” and head to the door

“my mãe, let’s go!”. We try to make out the door to downtown to meet her divorce lawyer.

for my mãe, mãe
I finished filling out a declaration and 5 other legal documents. Did her laundry, folded her hospital uniforms and cleaned the yard.

She laughs and smiles and sometimes looks off into the distance, my mãe

everyday we try to find something to smile about

Life sends me reminders of you
inserts you into conversations and
carries your presence into my days

I go about my week
one task at a time
watering the plants and sketching the leaves
–your presence burrows to the surface so I sit welcoming it

gathering roots from the soil and
clipping the longing
that grows when I leave myself unattended
and drift away from my innermost–home–
place of abidance
its "where" I can make out your silhouette
that runs alongside the wind
tucking its whispers inside its air currents

Busco el equilibrio como si fuera una destinación
como si no fuera balanza y yo la aprendiza que tiene que agregar, remover y volver a colocar pedacitos de mi

pertenezco a mi misma y yo misma quiero estar cerca de el balanceo
que mantiene mi ser abierto y tierno
no aspiro a ser amada
no aspiro ser admirada
no aspiro ser la excepción
y tampoco no aspiro a nunca morir

solo busco equilibrio
solo busca estar aquí donde estoy

he did not just push off her center of gravity provoking
her to fall and then exclaim "watch out where you are walking"

he did not just slap her across her face and call her a "puta"
insulting her and forcefully ****** her until he fell asleep and she slipped from under him

he did not whisper in her ears "I'll **** you"
like once he so boldly declared to my brother with the more metaphorical phrase "I will put a bullet in your head"

this time he beat her until his sisters showed up  
one of them was silent the other  preached "she deserved it"

this time he beat her: combo-ed  his attack and added whatever strength was left in 60-year-old body

that in our video chat my mother was bruised
all over her petite frame

this time after a lifetime of abuse, she did not defend her honor
she did not stay for fear of losing her golden cage or for her children this time she left safely picking the right time with her son

filed the report, got a lawyer walked up the steps of the court
battered-
                                                      ­       and lighter
                                                  lighter­
                                         becoming    
                                 up
                      step
     in  each


to her freedom, I sing a praise, and I reach my palms up to the heavens; they are open,  and I weep for the years she stood there always the "one to blame"

I carry it
as a satchel
its’ strap hung across my chest

sometimes when I run
through the loops of time
and the great expanse of memory
it sways and thumps
against my hip

still I bring it with me
always choosing to carry its’ luminance
untouchable
by anyone else or anything else

inside the canvas of my bag
lies hope and it’s brilliant light
from birth
till the day of return
I venture with it by my side
choosing to keep it on

I live and die by         poetry

      I live hundreds of lives            notebooks
of lives
     I die 100’s of times       in the silence 
of a spiral
                       And I am reborn    
To this wheel of                            samsara    
           
           ­      with every turn of the page

Believe that there is something bigger than you
And if you cannot fathom that thought
sight
Think of a redwood tree,try to hold it
And realize you cannot


Let its massive
Unholdableness
Seed its likeness in you

Blossom with love and courage into the spring,
that is unalike the one before it, but none the less
full of growth and the sweet scent
of possibilities

Blossom in the light of positivity
for you have carried too much sadness
and cradled too much fear. Aren’t you tired?

Bloom
like all things on earth bloom
Flower into your next life, naturally
unfold

Fluorescence is your call
tenderly guiding you wild flora
into the fauna where you belong
You too are that, which came from earth
and grows from light

Winter beckons a spring,
and it’s your turn wild flora.

I can now see it
I can see the time I am in
I can see where I am in history
the player at the board looking at the pieces

“this one I can move”
“this one I cannot”
compassionate, strong willed, wiser now

I can now see
but what I see is only a fraction
but I can see my fraction
I can see it

I do not want the sainthood you assign to those
who have never let you down
I want the ***** gritty scabs that come from falling
off of pedestals and landing in the mud

I am in no need of your righteous tongue
I am in need of your caring shoulder  

of your love
of your grace moving through me as you kiss my thigh

Can I wrap words,
clutter them around your hand
and make them press
warm and soft?

Could they be of value for you
like the gems people mine for
or the things they pick to be family heirlooms?

How deep is their deepness and
how far is their reach?

Can they feel Infinite like my existence  and finite like my life ?

Can they build a bed to lay on ?
Fabric, metal springs, foam, cushion, soft, plush, lifted, comfy, useful,
Can it be a good place to rest when it’s been a long
day?

Can words kiss?
How solid can they become?

Are they able to get real close and
ask to peck your right cheek
while slowly making their way to your upper lip?

Can their temperature carry over –far above the pacific ocean– to the place you're in?

My poems are like cargo trains. Can you tell what cart each poem comes from. Whose musk and whose motherly pen they hark back to?

In relation to what? and whose words summon courage into my belly? Do you care to know? If the answer is no, then at least answer these questions about yourself. It is no good to run on empty or to not know which cart you’re on.

I am cataloging the thoughts that pull me into a whirlwind of incompassionate self-talk
observing them
carefully watching them in hopes of not repeating old patterns
in hopes of breaking away
in hopes of being more conscious of the way I live
and the way I want to spend this life
my little notebook and I held together by my hope writing down each painful thought we wish we did not have to admit to

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

I love you
so I let you go
here,
beyond this
I might not be able to add beauty to your life
and I want there to be beauty for you
I do not want here to be unnecessary struggle
or shame or sadness
may your will be done

If I cannot add joy or a smile on your face
what is indeed the point
I may not be the best thing for you
so I lovingly with all my heart
let you go

human attachment released so I as a parting gift can hand you love
beautiful things will come to you
I am sure of it

eternally and foolishly,
– your cheerleader princess

My little home with its little desk
juxtaposed with my big desire to live deeply in my skin
and just cherish this
this
these tiny hands
this, this real and very precious life
this that is me
is cherished
I start with this
this me
this growing, stumbling
precious being
this me
that extends to this precious cherished you

They are so precious
each and everyone of them
their eyes can be taught to be wide
their minds to dream
and their hands to create
how vast they are
and how needed in this world are they
when they smile the sun truly rises