As we crossed the icy bridge,
we knew we would never forget,
the act that is discouraged.
Change was the ultimate message,
it was obvious that I was upset.
As we crossed the icy bridge.
Thinking of the ended marriage,
brought me to a cold sweat.
The act that is discouraged.
The sleet soon blocked the image.
Making the road dangerously wet,
as we crossed the icy bridge.
Unaware of the damage,
the decision that he would regret-
the act that is discouraged.
Unable to understand the language,
of the quiet hum of the worn out cassette.
As we crossed the icy bridge,
the act that is discouraged

Everything fades.
forgotten elements compile,
neglected .
I never thought,
I would be tossed aside like a rusted hubcap.
Amongst all the *******,
corroding silently

Encased in enough tape,
I struggle,
peeling off the layers
as slowly as you would peel an onion.
The pile cascades to the floor.
Each fragmented piece of tape,
blending into the coffee colored carpet.
Sticking to the soles of my shoes,
Each movement becomes progressively harder.
I open the box.

I start to panic, a fear of being trapped inside emerged.
From stories imprinted in the mind.
with every gear shift I cringe. I’m safe this is absurd.
Still thoughts race through my head. No one would ever find...
Exerting my nervousness, my body begins to shake.
Fear is the fallen tree decaying as time goes on;
until there is nothing left, except for me to make,
my irrational state of mind eradicate. The pain drawn-
out for all to see, as it  alludes to insanity.
The screeching metal masks my internal screams.
I tolerate the sound by saying profanities.
As elevation alters my heart rate changes in extreames.
My fear diminishes as time progresses, for I soon realize,
that avoiding it would work against what I am advised.

We walked down the path,
Overgrown weeds jut out from every direction.
The harsh textures rub against my bare legs,
as if being kissed by an unshaven man.
The narrow sodden trail unwinds,
revealing translucent waters with distinguished elegance.
It feels as if the eye can transcend forever.
The water is tainted,
it is the furthest thing from purity.
It’s beauty once extolled is as meaning less as a grungy penny,
for it is an artificial beauty.
-Marissa Navedo

The metal cart intertwined,
forcefully ****** it free.
I wipe off the microscopic organisms,
that manifest in the plastic fibers.
Push the cart across the cracking linoleum tiles.
Hearing the rusted wheels squeak,
as I veer through the narrow aisles.
Collecting an assortment of desired items,
that seem appealing despite the harsh florescent lights.
The radio ads try to entice me to purchase new things.
I grudgingly ignore them.
Crossing the goods off my list,
with a swift black x’s
the same black that is seen on the signs for sales.
2 for 3 dollars?
Is hard to resist.
Blackberries, Greek yogurt, a head of broccoli,
soon I have a heaping cart.
To my dismay the lines are long,
they slowly begin to dwindle down.
Cashiers frantically punching codes,
scanning coupons, counting change.
What is this?  Okra?
The black conveyer belt constant hum,
as it carries my purchases down.
Until they are all awaiting for me,
in paper bags.

I sat in the third row.
Staring at the red velveteen,
the gleaming black exterior-
of the open casket.
My abuela’s black veil masked her face,
however could not hide her gentle trembling.
Discarded Kleenex crumbled,
on the harsh wooden floors.
That resonated the sound of her heels
as she pace d the floor.
While she recited Hail Mary’s,
and prayed to God.
Abuela no lloran,
She held my hand.
I saw what my mother tried to prevent.
Abulo with bruises on his skin,
similar to the coffee stain on my father’s ivory shirt.
His amputated leg, and still expression

I walked away, I learned my lesson.

*Abula no lloran means Grandma don’t cry in Spanish

-Marissa Navedo