viviré en una casa amarilla
pintada por el sol
una casa en la calle Alegría esquina Luz
y en mi casa amarilla habrá un jardín con flores
sembradas en amor y regadas con esperanza.
de mi casa amarilla hablará todo el mundo
y vendrán niños en bicicletas a ella
para conocer a la mujer con flores en su pelo
y estrellas en sus ojos,
la mujer que usa vestidos con bolsillos llenos de canela y miel.

the bookshelves in my room
are filled up with poetry books
and the bookshelves of my soul
keep their words
they keep the heart of the ones who wrote them
inside my heart
they keep stories like mine
and unlike mine,
a reminder that we’re all making art
and beauty out of our lives,
that we are making songs out of our days,
making our burdens and the things we carry lighter
and that we belong to each other.

i’ll live in a yellow house
painted by the sun itself
a house that stands on the corner of
Joy Street and Sunshine Avenue
and in my house a garden will grow
with flowers watered with hope, rooted in love.
my yellow house will be the talk of the town
and children will come on their bikes
to meet the woman that keeps flowers in her hair
and a few stars in her eyes,
the woman that wears dresses with pockets
filled with honey and cinnamon.

they buried your bones,
but not what was inside them.
they buried your bones,
but they didn't
they couldn't
bury your light, your love,
the story you told while breath was still yours
they didn't
they couldn't bury your laughter,
your song,
the memories the ones who loved you keep.
they buried your bones
but they didn't
they couldn't bury you,
for you are not there,
in those underground houses of dirt.
you are in the hearts of those who loved you,
in the faces of your children,
in your grandchildren's eyes.
you are in the words you said,
the places your feet touched.
you are everywhere
everywhere
everywhere

i'll want you the way
i want coffee:
in the morning,
in the afternoon,
in the night.
all the time.

i crave you
but not wildly
and i don't crave a kind of love
in which i am madly lost in
(although i hope i am)
but i crave you normal
like waking up late on a saturday morning
i crave you steady
like your hand holding mine
when you're driving in the car
and i crave you simple
like ice cream and a movie
and i crave you
like you
like a kiss where my neck and collarbone meet
like my skin getting used to
the touch of yours
(although i hope it never does)
like my lips molding
to the shape of your own
and i crave you
i crave you
i crave you.

he said,
"help me remember."
and i thought he meant
something from my childhood
or something we did together
or something.
but he meant that i help him
make lists of the things he has to take
on his flight on sunday
and while he made lists
(cellphone.
charger.
toothbrush.)
i made lists too
(waking up every morning to his loudness.
breakfasts of cereal and milk.
kisses on my forehead.)