these curls
these waves
they tell the story
of the people before me
how they came across the ocean
an ocean with waves like mine
these curls
they are springs
they are the spring
they are the life inside me
the earth that grows flowers
they are telling you that i am here
and that i am the story
the story of stories
the retelling of the lives that came before me
they tell of home,
of movement and flavor
these curls
they are mine
and they are good

i am giving you
my heart
carry me
gently
like a bird that hasn't learned to fly
carry me
like a song
don't forget my words
keep my heart
alongside yours
because i, too, carry your heart with me ( i carry it in my heart)
keep my heart
it belongs to you (and i don't want it back)
i am giving you
my heart
carry me
in your hands, i will make them my home
keep my heart
in a honey jar
so that my love is infused with its sweetness
i am giving you
my heart

my name is gabriela
but most days
i don’t fit in these eight letters
some days
my name is poetry
my name is flower
my name is wild curls
my name is i am so filled with joy
that if i were a cloud it would rain for years
and some days
my name is sadness
my name is hello, love, come find me because i am tired of looking for you
my name is ocean
my name is feelings i have no words for
my name is the songs that make me cry
my name is when do i get a turn
but most days
my name is gaby
my name is the sweetness of these four letters
my name is honey and cinnamon and coffee
my name is gabriela

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