every year she cut the biggest and brightest
keeping them in a brown bagged pantry to dry out
reaching in to crumble them at season
winnowing the chaff to wind
like her mother and aunties before her
back home in their island paradise

a magical notion
jostling seeds in slow motion
looking like crests on the ocean
neither too high nor too low
broken petals fly free
as seeds fall back of their own gravity

the kids would come ‘round
as projects kids do
to watch and maybe try something new
she would pass them an old melamine plate
a small handful of crumblings to ply
tossing and scooching to catch them again

crimson reds and magentas
lemony yellows
monarch butterfly oranges
violet and lavender purples
crowning petals layered
resembling elizabethan collars

they caught the morning
protected by snail and slug repellent
people came from all around
to admire her oversized zinnias
occasionally picking one and running
garden’s variety of dine and dash

we gifted them to mourners
small packets of zinnia’s seed
extolling them as one of her favorites
soil, water and sunshine
all you need to sow and grow
and watch the memories bloom

distant fading dulled blue mountains mist
cerulean eyes peek through rolling gray smatterings
rain’s aloneness petering her drops; quiet dribbles splash
outwardly radiant circular wakes renew the fresh
an already illogical current slowly skips over treasures beneath
chaotic babble chants to movements
a river’s concertos streaming in the key of cold
evergreenest grasses sprouting in spurts and clumps
bright colored wildflowers intermittently decorate her ostentatious banks
as he wades in toward the challenge; a thrown gauntlet of smooth rock
a natural outcropping base as platform
he stacks one rock atop another, atop another, atop another
in improbable, impossible, asymmetrical design
ordered without regard to size, weight, shape or color
randomly selecting whatever rocks the river offers
discerning surfaces support point and counterpoint complements
exploiting gravity with unconscious physics and body language
a wiggle this way, a lean that way, trying to find the balance within
“becoming the balance”; feeling it in your core
strong hands breathe stillness
his creation held with steady gaze and o’ so deep concentration
relaxing fingers first; then pulling his arms away to reveal
a consummation of peace
a manmade natural temple; testament to the art of patience
a magnificent mystery
a satisfying moment frozen in time
precariously awaiting eventual collapse

sun’s light plays through disbursing clouds winding the day down; long legged spidery shadows
glinting reflections ignite phosphenes inside his closed eyes
cool finger-like breezes a sensual treat for warm body and tired mind
beyond papa’s peeling painted porch, sparse leaves on a rose bush’s bramble of dying brown branches sway and tickle with wind chimes
white wood railing diminished by dry rot
carnitas’ aroma remoras, zephyring eastward, riding in from a nearby restaurant; the faint perception of hunger
birds and traffic rush silently by; muted by hearing loss, drowned by tinnitus’ ringing and snapping
neon’s colors flash down the daytime street too far to read
miniature pedestrian people peddle in the distance, dwarfed by utility poles and power lines perspectively
from the hospital bed set up in his living room, he watches his open front door like tv
amidst a clutter within arm’s reach

for Steph

a shroud of low clouds
dampens the cemetery’s mood
a chubby stone cherub
sits amidst the mists
his green gold patina
weathering the cycling seasons
throughout the years
bathed in spring’s renewal
April’s showers and morning’s dews
basked in summer’s thermal waves
expanding like the days
chilled in the crisp crackle
of autumn’s change
enduring bitter snows
of frozen white winters
but every Christmas Eve he’s comforted
moved by dance of candles
warmed by heavenly halos’ glow
little cathartic coronas twinkling
like a mother-made indoor constellation
commemoratively flickering on her mantle
in annual visual manifestation
of her lifelong heartstrings
illuminated by the depth of their reach
honoring her child
her little angel
born too soon
and too perfect
for this world

there's a shadow in the house
lurking in the kitchen and hallway
sometimes peeking out
into the living room or dining area
I catch its movement peripherally
a flash in the corner of my eye
gone before I turn my head to look
a ghost of the past?
a haunting in the present?
a purposeful visitation?
something insidious?
imagination's figment?
should I be afraid of karma's regurgitation
or comforted as I sit alone?
or is it just a shadow
the movement of leaves and branches
breezing in the window's wind
outside this cold, drafty old house

fourth of nine
I was nineteen years young
when he asked me to stay
he went “back home” and got a young wife
knew he would pass before her
asked me again when I was twenty three
crediting my older brothers
as having lives of their own
I guess he thought I wasn’t entitled
to mine

at first resentful
feeling trapped unfairly
especially since I was never a favored child
but ended up not minding obligation’s onus
appreciating her more in her elderly fragility
realizing a caretaker’s privilege
even underneath the family’s
unappreciative eyes

when he had his “fatal” heart attack
I’m glad I was there
to administer CPR
but I carry the question always
did I really help him?
or did I prolong his suffering
for two and a half months?

after awakening
from semi comatose’s state
his memory was in and out
some were upset
by his lack of recognition
but he never forgot me
and in that I take solace

he reiterated his wish
on his deathbed
like an anointing
its oil poured upon my forehead
and radiating inside me
he thought I was good enough
and equal to the task

 
I’ll never forget his final words
a barely audible muttered plea
that I figured out later
he raised his eyebrows and nodded
with a seemingly joyful expression
as if we had an agreement
he closed his eyes
and went to sleep

don't know what it's like
to be super healthy
but I remember running at full speed
knees lifting high with long strides
fists pumping hard to keep my rhythm
with elite athletes cheering the fat kid on
I remember knocking down and through
every opponent on the football field
including my older brothers
no one could block me or get by me
I remember jumping shoulders above the rim
before slam dunks were popular
grabbing every rebound
and making court length passes
like they were nothing
I could kick a soccer ball
from end zone to end zone
and hit a softball into the next diamond
I could do more sit ups and push ups
than anyone thought a fat kid could
I've always been strong
my older brother called it my "brute" strength
meant as both compliment and put down
but I've never known lean and fit
they've always been strangers to me
health's basic formula has never changed
eat right, exercise, get plenty of rest
lean meats, fruit and vegetables
healthy fats and nuts
keeping fiber's eye on glycemic's index
portions are everything
green tea, vitamins, supplements
working out to burn the fat, baby
I've never known lean and fit
but we're going to get well acquainted
they're going to become my new middle name