Like a bird on a buoy
there's a lot of wasted space
between me
and where I want to be.

The shore never looked as good
as when I couldn't see it anymore
but I'm too busy dreaming
about what's on the far side
of this divide to notice
I'm slipping away with the tide.

I'm singing my song far from the dry
river beds and nests in the sand
and not a soul can see my feathers
ruffle in the breeze.

I wouldn't have it any other way
because I'm finally far enough
away you can't see my colors
and think that's all I meant to be.

The grace in the way things move feels
like the fibers of a mantilla veil until
the wind blows and turns
grace to something
worthy of fear.

I've got everything going
and they're all wondering if I'm coming
along but all I want is to keep
going my own way
even when I'm a little lost
in deciding what really is my own.

I've got the veil
I've always had
happy to know I had much more
beneath than beyond
but I think he proved me wrong.

The trouble with going
and still going strong
is that I do it best when he's gone.

I know what I want isn't
the best thing but
I want it just the same
nobody could blame me either way.

Now the wind's blowing
and blowing embers
burning my veil
clean away.

I'm finding all I hid
was worth something
to someone besides me and now
that I'm happy to be
alone they all want a piece.

Content beneath my mantilla watching
the best and the worst inch by
I had no Holy Week
and kept no days holy but my own.

Burnt to the scalp
I'm learning to dance without
the skirts and shawls that made holy
what I thought it had to be.

Fear driving my fingers to Flamenco
twists and my feet to wind-blown flames
I've got nothing to lose because the worst
is mine to claim and the best
isn't coming but going
my own way.

My heritage is martyrdom and I was raised in the shadow of its strict religion
Empathy has moved mountains
so have I
for those who could not
--would not--
move their own
A child of silent strength
mine is a lineage of
survivors of the ones they love
We are a calm
fighting breed
whose cause is never their own
and of them
I am proud as I could ever be
I've yet to see
dynamite
that could as
gracefully
move mountains
as my maternal ancestors taught me
They have bred me to be
a Joan of the Dark
Valley-born babes
find their way
to me
because they know
long
I will stand by while they face the mountain
casting shadows across their face
My blood is the roots of palm trees
weathering the scars of winds and earth-born quakes
They have served many well
in times of harsh valley winters and flooded springs
But I've found
my roots have yet
to serve me
I'm a martyr by instinct
and there has yet to be a cause
that's lost on me
My blood burns at the thought
but its taken me
this long
to find
all martyrs burn for troubles that know them only by name
I have mountains of
my own
and I would not ask
anything
past my own palm leaves
to brave their shadows
I know the trouble with the troubled
is all too often that they cast their own shadows
and prefer to be that way
Heretic of a dying religion
I've cast enough stones on the behalf of babes
Now I think
I'll keep my bricks
and build my own set of stairs
up
out of these shadows
and into my own hard-earned
sunlight

The candid truth
is I'm not looking for answers
I'm much more interested
in asking the same age old questions
a million new ways
but I've got too much in mind these days
when I say I don't mind
don't listen to me when I claim I have
nothing to say
I've got stories worth telling and a voice
worth hearing
and the only thing I'm searching for
is a pair of ears
who is willing to do more than let me fill
the space between them
with truths I've learned while learning to live
listening to answers
given far too quick to answer anything at all.

I love the way these things echo off the walls around me
But I haven't seen many floors that weren't scuffed tile or linoleum
He's got no concept of freedom or how to spend his time when he's gone away
I'm looking too forward to counting on the warmth of the rising sun
It's taken this long but I'm finally done wondering if you really understand
Caught in a cage without windows or walls I can be my own light
I didn't want him touching my toes because something about my veins tells me
My feet are the beginning and end of the rest of my everything
Glass and porcelain chatter like a China cabinet tipped on it's side
The only thing that matters now to me is that I can dance like something wild was born in me
I kept my secrets, thin as they are, like promises made myself when he gave me none
Leaving now, the way I did when flurries fell and caught his eyelashes and mine
A paint-peeled patch in this cinderblock wall mocks my sentimentality
The warmth of the sun and the cut of the breeze gave me wings as much as anything
Falling porcelain and the glass of water I didn't drink find a little less of my sanity
I haven't got much that wasn't once given me but somehow I know
Hiding in the hand-me-down pieces is something I was always meant to call my own
To trade this linoleum for tile is no trade I have much choice in making
I'm not lying when I say I don't mind the crash of spinning plates I can't always carry
If it means I can keep the echoes of these walls made whole by my time-earned bruises
I'll keep my arms turning and let the melody shatter my sharpest corners
But now that my long lost summer sun is up I'm already missing the home I didn't expect
Now that I'm going back to smog-kissed sunsets where I can't hear the emptiness of change
I must hold tight like nothing else I could imagine and after all this crash and crumble
My last pleading hope is that I'll be left with more than the same lonely tingle in my toes