here we are.
drinking coffee at 9 pm.
i am reading poetry
and you are making lists about lists.
here we are.
trying to fill the distance between us
with something.
i do it with comfortable silence,
but you start talking to me
about how iPads could replace computers one day and about iOS eleven
and i nod my head and smile to myself
because i see you
and what you're trying to do:
trying to shorten the distance
the way you know how
and instead of nodding again
i tell you how my friend is selling her phone
and how i don't know
whether to buy it or not
because the storage space
is the same as my phone's
and while you talk to me about cameras and megapixels and iCloud space
the space between us is smaller.

i am sitting in a taxi cab
reading poetry
and thinking
that there must be some metaphor
hidden here
some deep meaning
something greater than just a woman
reading poetry in a taxi cab
a thought
something like
i am the only one who does this
and that my beauty lives in choosing
poetry to fill my days with
something like
this is what will make someone
fall in love with me
but maybe
maybe the poetry in this moment
maybe the greatest thing in all of this
is that i am a woman
reading poetry in a taxi cab.

do not let me
give you
anything less than
milk and honey.
do not let me feed your soul
with emptiness.
empty words.
empty beauty.
empty love.
let every space
that i fill
be occupied by a love
that was worth all we did
to find it.
let me fill in the blanks you keep
with words that come from truth
let the beauty that i give you
mean something to you.

here we are.
trying to fill the emptiness
the places where we hurt each other
with small talk
and offerings of cups of coffee
and slices of chocolate cake
and flan
as if the sweetness
is enough to cover our faults.
as if sugar is the cure
for the wounds we keep.
and today.
it is.
it is a place to start.

make this sorrow
this suffering
this pain
worth it.
tell me stars will be born
out of my darkness,
a spring from my winter,
wholeness from brokenness.
tell me
my bones have been broken
so that light finds a way through them.

si alguna vez
llegas a leer un poema,
ojalá me leas a mí.
ojalá encuentres la poesía que se esconde en mi cuerpo,
en mis ojos que riman, en mis pies que solo saben bailar,
ojalá encuentres la poesía que se esconde en las curvas de mis labios
y en la canela de mi piel.
si alguna vez llegas a leer un poema,
ojalá me leas a mí,
ojalá encuentres las palabras escritas en mi piel,
y veas como mis ojos deletrean la palabra
‘luz’
y como mis manos hablan de arte
y como mi corazón canta de valentía y esperanza
y si alguna vez llegas a leer un poema,
ojalá sea yo.

let the poems
live in you.
let the words know you.
let them wear you
like a skin.
then
you will know them.
they will burst out from you
like flowers on the ground
and you will be the spring.