James Bond was a dissolute youth
who spent his nights drinking Vermouth
I was shaken, not stirred
when they gave me the word
that his blood test came back ninety proof.

On the first day I sat
I stared at my hands
I silently prayed
Please...get better.

After a week
Things only got worse
Family began to show up
Some from far away.

I didn't know how to act
Seemed like a reunion
People greeted me saying
"Oh honey,  it's been too long!"

I wanted to scream
I wanted them to understand
My dad was dying!
But, I knew he wouldn't like it.

My dad would say
"Show some respect mija"
He'd want me to say hi
He'd expect me to greet my elders.

So I did.  Every time.  
Every newly arrived relative
I faked a smile
Then sat and silently prayed

Book of Poetry
ARIEL . . .  poems by
        SYLVA PLATH
published 1965 , two years after her death .


Tears are the toils
       I've taken
The splinter in your eye
       The rock
That your foot
        Stumbles upon

I was the albatross
         Around
The neck of your dreams
         Of oblivion

Was I the
         Ravager
Of the pure
         The innocent
The apple
         Of Desire


. . . was I

Freud says tattoos
Are
The Manifestation
Of a
Trauma

Every point
A
Separate pain
We
Have
Suffered

It took
Two
And a
Half
Hours

To complete
The
Diary
Of my
Trauma

And half a million perforations

To convert
Those
Memories
Into something

New

And

Beautiful

To finally
Let go
Of the past