placed inside the mortar are my grandmother’s carnations
and petals from the roses in my mother’s garden
to them I add California poppy oil and I spread them over me as a remedy

I do not want to chase a life that is not mine.
I want to flow like water down a mountain.
Stretch myself
unite myself
with more streams and rivers traversing  
their way down to the ocean.

I do not want a life that is not mine.
Mine is good enough;
grace is my guide.
I close my eyes and it leads me
through the pointy rocks of dogma
and through the curving shape of time.

What is for me
will flow to me like water;
this is the nature of things.

Someday I will reach the sea
like everyone else,
but I want to do it in good company

(I want to do it as water.)

the birds flutter through the sky and some suddenly dive  
only to emerge again from below the skyline and into my line of sight

where as the things below the outline of the cityscape remain distant
life remains ever close and present in the palm of my two hands

here I hold life, as I stare at my purple and green veins that give route to the warm blood
I also witness the unflagging effort of this heart
that joyously flutters too while keeping me alive
                                               ...

Joyous is the living heart alwaysstayclosetoit      a  n  d

i  f     y  o  u    f  i  n  d     y  o   u   r   s   e   l   f    
        
            g     e      t     t    i     n    g               m       o        r      e
                

d       i         s        t        a          n        t

            
                          f
                       ­                              r
                                                               ­              o                
                                               ­                                                      m
      


                                                         i     t

             y  o u   c a n  alwayscomebacktoit;theheartwaits

                            ­                        ...

It does not need to be summer for me to be a fountain where the birds can come to drink before they flutter and are gone from my line of sight or even for me to overflow and nourish the small weeds that too would like to grow and live. It does not need to be summer or be spring or be an easy life for me before I choose to become a fountain spouting water

                                                   ...
"Joyous be the truly living heart" she whispered
and my heart grew wings and fluttered
                                    the things the flora whisper astound me
                                    even the birds come to them for words of wisdom
                                                  ...
were­ we ever apart, the birds and I
we both like to sing and no one knows why
and we both love to fly even under a grey sky

It is good to travel alone, to venture into my being
no people to distract me
no vision of tomorrow to blind me
nothing but
me
and everything I neglected to feel together in one room

my body naked in the morning rising
to shower, rinse and pat dry
my headscarf over my wet hair
the peeling of an orange
the boiling water inside the kettle
my willingness to face the day

I send photographs to my mother
she calls me her butterfly, her bird
her brave girl
on a wall of my old room she
had painted “fly “

and I think back to being five years old holding onto her leg
scared of letting go on the first day of preschool
anxious to swim in the ocean for the first time
shaking at the thought of rock climbing

I thinking back to her smiling
telling me to go and be free
this her greatest gift in this world bundled in words of encouragement often too harsh
she used to get mad, that at first I would not take it
but I know I treasure it
her toughness, her zest, the courage it takes a mother to open her palms

my nakedness to feel, the nabi flying
                    my obsequió is
meu vida pra ser quem sou

the woods are moist with the fever of fear
suckling the after thoughts of speech
spit out without regard
for the crickets venturing to sing
or the widening of the streams
strong with neglect of the rusting branches touching tip to tip

(but) this is what we are, a forest

For the immensity of a heart I am grateful
for the ways life can be gentle even when the waters are rough I am blessed

I reach like a flower towards the sun
just as I did the first time I opened my eyes

I have not given up on tying to reach
for the rays of sunshine
and the for a loving tomorrow

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.

I look at the decorative paper with colored illustrations of moths. They’re beautiful–why don’t people write more odes to moths? A moth is free.
The moth just like the butterfly comes to know flight, but when it’s sedentary it rests with its wings open unlike the butterfly. Why don’t we champion how it waits within this state of openness.
How when the moment comes it’ll be closer to readiness.

I look back at the many drawings on that same thin sheet over my desk and I want to cry. I guess I’m staying here a little longer; I will sit and rest like a moth–
preparing until I, too can take to the skies.

I live on this rocking boat that
                            sways forth
and sways back

loosens me up as if  teaching me
how to dance
                          one step forward
two steps back

For the first time I feel uprooted
and I want to cling to the earth
I want to belong to this body

I want to search for my place of belonging
I am done hustling for affection

I want true partnerships
I do not want the fear anymore
the fear of losing you or anyone
because I came too late, was born too late
or said the wrong thing

...
Baby I deserve some real sincere
****, **** me all night, cry with me when I’m not doing well, walk in peace with me,wow lets work together to heal that, you got your life I got mine kinda love

I just want a shot at the real thing
not at illusions or romanticized stuff
I want my place of belonging only if it wants me back
...

I am going back to art and words
into creating expansive landscapes. I have the need to grow me like a lovely cactus in this desert I find myself in.


...

I reach for this very human brokenness to hold it in my arms and nurse it. I reach for the true beauty of life and for the me that can be
...
I close my eyes and see a kind hearted woman, devoted to many things, always learning always growing

I see this body boldly aged and I can my hair long and white
an elder
full of wisdom and my soul light as a feather

I am still here .

I am okay now with all the nights I spent longing for someone
I am okay now with trying to book flights every month only to have them canceled or delayed and spending the whole night crying in my bed until sleep got the better of me
I am okay with having set alarms in the middle of the night
just to try and show up for someone


I am okay with having trusted
I am okay with having pouring everything I could muster into sharing myself
I am okay with being that girl who really wanted to believe


I am okay with having been naive
I am okay with understanding people are just trying to get through thank and that’s okay, too
I am okay knowing that through other eyes I am the villain
I am okay with forgiveness

I am okay with what others may say of me because I followed my conviction till the very end
And I jumped
and now I understand
how wonderful free falling is

I have laid lilies at your door, close your eyes and smell them; there is nothing pretentious about them.

There is no bill enclosed in the greeting card nor needle tucked between  the stems. It has been a gesture of love, simple things that grow
like moss on rocks and pearls in oysters

I have laid them gently, made a horticulturist of myself

I have worn big hats and ventured into my own fields
to snip the loviest of the bunch –and in my basket I always gather for two.

One for my kitchen table and the other one for you

She has escaped us
reached past the bend and cracking of her own bones and left us
stretched out her hands past the copper plumbing of her mind
and made a hug glorious because it came from her
ever present her warmth rings
over this bell of a body that feels
every vibration even in death she rings through me
as does the eyes of her mother
and her mother’s mother
–their eyes have not escaped me
(they ring from the tower that I circle)

estoy con la almohada en la boca
con el sentimento que escurre
parezco fuente que fluye

You are like the clouds above, like the silence and the laughter
...the birth and the mysterious happenings of a destiny unfurling.
You are the recipient of the ever flowing love that brings my consciousnesses into tangible fruition.

You are a kingdom unto your own. I know, you are the ruler of yours, as I am the ruler of mine. (I do not aspire to control you.)

I am content to gaze upon you and appreciate your plenitude (everything you are),which is as natural as the sky above me.

our bodies stand side by side, fingers intertwined as the sun comes turning dawn into morning. Here earth's mouth exhales
forming cold dewdrops over the pastures of past migrations

our hands cusping wild cosmos stretch past the western highlands
to touch the grammar of coastal basins where central avenue runs down the middle back of Los Angeles

there, too we lift our palms to feed the hummingbirds with our sweet nectars of wild cosmos


Translation to Spanish:

Sueños de tu y yo

Nuestros cuerpos parados de lado a lado
nuestros dedos entrelazados mientras el sol convierte el atardecer en mañana

Aquí la boca de la tierra exhala formando gotas de roció sobre el pasto de migraciones passadas

nuestras manos son flores cúspides
que se extiende más allá de las tierras altas occidentales a tocar gramática de las cuencas costeras donde la avenida Central recorre la parte media de la espalda de Los Ángeles.

Desde allí crecemos flores de cosmos para alimentar a los colibríes
con nuestros dulces néctares
y los colibríes viene y nosotras sonreímos

Get ready lovely being.  It may get rough and there will be some tumbling but your spirit  is strong enough and your heart is kind enough that it will love you consistently through the toughest terrain.

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

What do you do when too many words clutter your mouth?

When like a small child you are caught with a mouth full of cookies, unable to quickly and cleverly interject.

Sweet dear words of yours, too stuffed into the narrowness of your own mouth
and poking out from the space in between your lips.

Too many thoughts simultaneously obstructing the possibly of eloquence
no baked goods could emerge unbitten and wholesome when spit out at the same time

Go deeply and then you see there is a lot of love
below everything there is love
from the moment you inhale your first conscious breathe to the moment you drift into the subconscious there is love there to hold you

Go find people who will talk to you on a bridge, who will meet you in vulnerability. Who will not leave you in silence under a street lamp. Go surround yourself with those who will ask “what ails you?”
You deserve to find respect in the way someone considers you. Find those who are sure of you, who can see you are a charm not a thorn. Folks who make you feel like you belong; folks that choose you. Do not spend your life crying over those who could not hold you. Forgive them and forgive yourself for asking the naked for a coat. It may be that you were naked, too. Hold nothing against anyone just be on your merry way, see where other roses grow and what spring looks like when winter releases its grip over your heart. You cannot stay in the past, no matter how sweet or how troubling it seems. You are here on this “x”. Take heart and go find people who like you –wish kindness, love and joy for all those around them. Go, go bravely, go quietly into life.

Hoy me e cansado
de alejarme
de no buscarte
de pensar que el no tomar tu mano
significaría no tener que cargarte


Pero mírame aquí, agotada
reconociendo
descubriendo
que te he cargado desde el cuarto de las golondrinas

es por eso que me encuentro exhausta
viendo pájaros volar fuera de mi ventana

I need good soil; no one can do things alone. How strong you are, how bright your light remains depends a lot on the richness of the soil that nourishes you. The less nutrients in it the more you have to compost the more minerals you must add every so often to your life just to get by. And now your adding more and more –without fixing the root of the problem: you need good dirt. Yes gratitude is a fertilizer and does great things  but you need to plant yourself somewhere divine & loving.

I will not tell you what to fear or believe  instead I will show you
what brilliance can stir from the wells of one being when it grazes upon spring and with a sorrowful heart decides that all starting points are good enough starts
and proceeds to slowly walk under the timeless rain nursing  in its belly the desire to not just to live life but live a life of wellness

the scent of orange blossoms will guide me and the peel
of a grape may be deemed too thin, but it encloses
the softness of flesh, the outer & inner mesocarp, the sweet dream
of the migrant—
my grandfather over a field, surrounded by his sons
somewhere on the surface was a point of rupture
but I know there was a seed, too

it is spring again, the planting furrows will blur
as some drive past them but I see with clarity
where I am going

Gratitude
a big shower
of appreciation
of the ever constant  
opening and reopening
to the precious
happenings
of this formless intuition
running from the tips of toes
beyond the crown
and into a field of unity

You walk and breathe and claim your stake on earth
with every blink
the sun arises and sets
For you I grieve that I cannot
come

I can no longer write poetry
I get lost in images

I unlearned synonyms, words
how to run my fingers over verses
while reciting them to be able to tell
what is stressed and un stressed
aspired for their depths and left them at the door (as far as they could go)
so I cannot write poetry
if it lingers in a vacant lot


the last womyn in the grocery store strolled out with her cart to her car and never turned around to see she dropped her vehicles’ keys at the door

I need poetry: the keys

This must be how we grow. 
I have always loved trees. So, I can’t help but to think to myself
“This is how a tree must feel
when its trunk grows a new ring.”

This must be how we grow.
All the pain was like bark being pushed out while this tree was growing.
I could not help but to ask myself
“Is this how a tree feels when it is growing a new ring?”

the guava flowers are in bloom
late in summer they dismount
from the circular green lumps free-falling
down onto the grass

specks of white fill the ground
lulling like dancers do
to the rhythm of song
sinking down in the absence of gust and lifting up when the wind picks up

We ruptured hastily from la tela collectiva the same way a drop of blood emerges from a small puncture wound –round, wholly, and bright-hued.
Yes, we bursted slowly bajo el sol que todo alumbra hacia la sanidad needing no reassurance to which direction to take to. (We know, nosotros sentimos el flujo y el ritmo de esta vida)

I have come to accept crazy hair days
as my everyday hair-day condition
I awaken with some curls at the top and some wavy strands in between, and then some straight ones
All of these paired with a voluminous bounce magnify the chaos of it all
and make me look like a little lion emerging from her blue-green duvet cave
in need of stretching and in search of food

It is raining dear
do you hear it trickle down
can you hear the cars passing by
and the droplets hit your window

the freshness of the air is comforting
it refreshes
not just my skin, but my mind
enough so that I want to sleep and dream
as I lay here with the window half open
I’m still awake trying to coerce a mosquito to exit through the window, but it too hears the water pouring down
and it won't take a half-open window exit

She doesn’t want to belong to her mind so often anymore,
so before bed she walks out into her garden and takes a handful of moist soil,
brings it with her to bed, and holds like a rosary.

and they escaped the weight of darkness peering over their shoulders
where do these people go,
what belongings do they pack
is there a limit on the heaviness of ones' soul

Can they bring love as parting gift? Hide it in their handkerchiefs, and then go

it as if we disappeared
our hands never making it past the hanging  veil
voices muffled by cloth
20 arms stretched forth holding in a cry
worker’s limbs, your daughter or sister
racing heart when they shouted out of pain
they could no longer stand

When labor too pressing too demanding stood in front of them a well dressed  smooth talker and asked politely for just one of their fingers
they again screamed

Gotta have a sense of humor
carry it with you
hide it in your back pocket
and whip it out when it's getting too grim
a joke, a pun, a silly little dance
it can be the arrow
that shoots the harrowing times

and they escaped the weight of darkness peering over their shoulders
where do these people go,
what belongings do they pack
is there a limit on the heaviness of ones’ soul
Can they bring love
as parting gift?
Hide it in their handkerchiefs, and then go

Hoy se habré el portal
y te siento cerca
Las hojas se cristalizan
Bajó la luz

La rara concepcion del tiempo se

deshace y se desliza como pequeños listones naranja
sobre los párpados
De esta materialidad

Tomando en mano cada átomo
Y uniendose a el


Te encuentro en tu casa
Dentro de tu jardin
Regando tus plantas con tu manguera larga
flor de piedra

Heart
illuminate my travels
turn my attention towards my emotions
and let them be my map
my mind does not see

I have forgiven everyone
every hurtful thing
has no space within my heart

that is why my words towards them bare lightness
it mercy for myself and for them
nothing is worthy of carrying

I am alive and there is warmth inside my chest
The sun again makes its trajectory over the sky into yours
Standing at the door of dreamworld
Half anchored,  eyes closing
I begin to understand that the warmth in my chest also rises

This cracked vase, shatters
leaving only the space around it to witness

I pass my hand through the space
only air, I breathe–

I am here
in the vastness
surrounded by the best thoughts I can muster

I am there
in the openness
willing to accept these great opportunities for change

I am over there
waiting for the door to unlock
engulfed in hope, I patiently sit
listening to the mystery rattle its keys
as it stands outside over the welcome mat

Hiding in your smile are the fresh flowers
in the vase and the hours you spent decorating your mind with book lines
Hidden in your smile is the mediation cushion
and the feeling of your healed sprained wrist touching the mat

Hidden object in your beautiful eyes
is the dark soil with dying insects, and crumpled brown leaves you turned
into a radiant garden

they see, but who knows
if they really see
water in a cloud
or the challenge in your expansion