Teresa climbs on the bus
before the sun, if she has
the fare

to get there, where she
makes the bread; she's been at this
two of her nineteen years  

yet she has fears, they will
come for her--green card or not;
though they like her rolls

she kneads the big *****, pulls,
pinches, a sculpting of dough, a laying
of trays, one after another

then, from the Iglesias,
they come, decked in their finery
though she does not see

she only hears the litany
of language she can't comprehend,
a clanging of trays, laughter

the urging of the jefe to work
faster, bake the bread; the communion
wafers did not fill them

now they are here, breaking fast,
forgetting the words they just heard
the songs they sang

Teresa does not complain; she
is glad to feed the worshipers, though
they will never know her name

nor will they stop for
her in the pouring rain,
the blistering sun

Teresa never wavers
next Sabbath will be the same:
dawn, the dough, the oven

it is the work--her hands
which make the bread others break,
the grace granted to serve

holy, holy, holy...

I knew you were something else the moment you answered my question.

"What's your favorite color?"
You shrugged before replying with, "Whatever color the sky is."

From then on I couldn't help but stare at the sky every chance I had. When I was bored out of my mind at school, while listening to music in the car, or simply walking home.

I saw the fiery reds and oranges, the cotton candy purples and pinks, the brightest blues, and the softest pastels. I saw them all and I saw you too. I have never seen something so majestic yet simply beautiful. I have never come across something so awe-inspiring yet something so out of reach. I have never met someone so different, the good kind of different.

Everyday, I stare at the sky then look into your eyes and I see a tinge of sadness underneath the unending awe and undying love. I felt it all too. After all, we both loved something that was way beyond our reach.

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

if i believe
in death be sure
of this
it is

because you have loved me,
moon and sunset
stars and flowers
gold crescendo and silver muting

of seatides
i trusted not,
                    one night
when in my fingers

drooped your shining body
when my heart
sang between your perfect
*******

darkness and beauty of stars
was on my mouth petals danced
against my eyes
and down

the singing reaches of
my soul
spoke
the green-

greeting pale-
departing irrevocable
sea
i knew thee death.

                              and when
i have offered up each fragrant
night,when all my days
shall have before a certain

face become
white
perfume
only,
          from the ashes
then
thou wilt rise and thou
wilt come to her and brush

the mischief from her eyes and fold
her
mouth the new
flower with

thy unimaginable
wings,where dwells the breath
of all persisting stars

I've heard people who are away from each other say-
"at least we're under the same sky"

but we're not,
because it doesn't rain here the way it does back home,
the sun isn't warm enough to tingle my bones.
the sky here bends to meet buildings and towers,
not the hills and mountains and their wonder

So I say-
*"but we're not. the sky here is different."

sometimes i trace over my scars with my eyes and my hands
the memories proclaim their ownership over i
i remember that i am the master who conquered and vanquished those demons
                   failing at an exponentially alternative universal rate i fall
the abyss swallows me up
the sunshine glitters over us
                                                                                            i glance up and see
                                                            i see him and i see what he sees in me
                                        and i remember
i am the master
                                       that vanquished
                                                                                            and conquered
her *demons.

You are like the sun.

Sometimes spots and rays I get glimpses of under the shade of trees; calming.
You always held my hand. Sleeping, walking, do or die situations. No matter what, when and where, the spaces between mine were always filled with your fingers. You always gave it a little squeeze, an assurance that you would always be there.

Sometimes warming heat against my skin; weirdly pleasing.
You always made those extremely goofy faces and told those godawful jokes. Anything and everything just to make me laugh. You always put my happiness above your own.

Sometimes full on heat burning me at every touch; afflictive.
Like every other couple, we had our bad days. You were always painfully honest, could never tell a lie. You couldn't help being mean but I knew you were telling the truth. You always did.

But days don't last forever on Earth and stars have long yet inevitably doomed lives in the universe.
You loved me deeply. You loved me so much, too much and that was exactly the problem. You loved me so much, your love was an outcry, outflow, an explosion of affection. You loved me so much that one day you just stopped. Neither you nor I knew the reason. Was there even one?

The sun will set and die, gone temporarily and forever.
I never thought we would come to an end but no one ever sees something like this coming. No one is ever prepared for heartbreak, loss, grief. No one is ever prepared to say goodbye but you deserve one. Goodbye, my love. Today, tomorrow and beyond.

dear self,

if it ever gets too hard, i want you to cry. cry so hard that your tears will form seas. cry so hard that your wails will echo throughout the mountains. cry, not because you want to be heard but because you want to hear yourself. stop only when you feel empty enough. empty enough that when you look at the mirror, you no longer recognize the face blankly staring back at you. then wipe away the tears, smile and tell yourself, "i was once a painting that has been washed anew. i was painted in dark colors but those no longer matter because from now on, i will be colored in the brightest of the bright."