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Robert Stanley Nov 2018
September 5th 2018, Dear Diary i'll say as I start a fresh page
Tap tap goes my finger on my desk
Flick flack goes the pen cap as i tap tap tap
What can I say im lost in thought
How can i feel about everything im just awfully distraught
September 18th 2018, Dear Diary same dance different day
I just want to feel a certain way
Is there any way i can break free?
Of this normal routine
The people here they seem sincere
Only to hurt me in the same exact ways.
September 27th 2018, Dear Diary now im just yelling at the page
Another hard day
Just too much of the same
Someone look my way for even a second
Just for today.
October 5th 2018, Dear Diary it's all just a blur
My head says one thing my heart another
My hands are starting to stutter
My mind is sound but my heart is a flutter
What do i do my life is confusion
Right now I just don't see a solution
October 12th 2018, Dear Diary a new developement on my stage
Theres just a sparkle in the rain
Someone different starting to look my way
I don't know what to say
Just lead with maybe and see if they go away
I just can't do it not right now not with who I am and what my life is about
October 19th 2018, Dear Diary same old same old
An occasional glance in my direction
But I go home to the same mess and imperfection
But you know I just can't let them go
The past is the present and it has kept hold
October 26th 2018, Dear Diary now im just lost
What was there before can be again
But won't history just repeat itself in the end?
The yelling the fighting the screaming the crying
All to just go back to the forgiving and forgetting
But even as this new road seems enticing
How can I bring someone in when my life is this frightening
November 2nd 2018, Dear Diary what do I do
My tears stain this flawless page
My writing choppy and dismayed
To him im nothing but im also everything
But to me hes something but I need there to be nothing
Then theres still this feeling with the new soul I've been discovering
Could there actually be something?
No absolutely not this is something I'm done discussing.
November 8th 2018, Dear Diary this time hes done it
I've had enough I just want to run
Get me away from this evil that be
I don't care who he was but right now all I see
Is this demon that's chasing me
Grab my friends we have to flee
Get me to somewhere where I can be free
Drink till the lines blur and my head stops making the decisions for me
November 3rd 2018 Dear Diary I really think that he loves me
But still I'm me this torn sheet of paper
This indistinct human this imperfect creature
I can't walk down that path not again
I'm filled with fear
"What if he's just like the others"
It was just a fluke just forgive and forget
You know that you belong in this trench
He's not that bad let me just go back to bed
November 11th, 2018, Dear Diary Just keep your head up and look straight forward
Still confused of everything thats behind
I don't want him to hurt
But I don't want him to see
That there are all these dark sides to me
People change
But then again they don't
If I don't take the leap i'll never feel the fall
I guess that's not so bad after all....
November 18th, 2018, Dear Diary, You've always been here
Through confusion and mess
Never been jealous
Never given me a second guess
Who am I filling these pages about
Am I ever going to let all this out?
Just one big split decision
I just don't ever want there to be a collission.
March 14th 2033, Dear Diary, It's been a while since ive written
I broke free of my prison
All it took was just one person
And a few years of them holding my burden.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

September 16th 2018 1:34 pm

The war started between the illegible instructions and chunks of wood. I decided to enlist, well, more like volunteered. I arrived at the camp today and met a few loose screws. They don’t have time to train us, we are being shipped out as I write this in my journal.
I hope to god I survive this thing so I can see her face at the end. She will be ecstatic to see me alive, I know she has her doubts. We can not let the engrish win.

September 16th 2018 3:17 pm

We have arrived to our camp. It’s a pigsty. Styrofoam specks cover the yard like snow and cardboard chunks are blown to bits just over the trenches. No time to settle in. Just enough to down a cup of dirt coffee before we charge in. It’s been storming all day, everything is covered in mud.

September 16th 2018 3:56 pm

Stage one has been complete. We have a wall up. This should help stabilize anything that comes after us. It was no easy task and we have been told this was the easiest part.

September 16th 2018 4:32 pm

The foundation has been completed. There were casualties. Henry, a brave man, lost a hand and had to be evacuated. We can hold them back if our aim is true. I hope there are angels watching above.

September 16th 2018 4:33 pm

There are no angels watching, only devils in the disguise of pictures with the number on the wrong side and the finished side flipped around. The foundation had to come down. Back at square one.

September 16th 2018 5:56 pm

The foundation has been rebuilt. Correctly, I hope. More men have been lost. I know this is dark, but one had a flask on his body that hasn’t been emptied. It is now emptied.

September 16th 2018 6:29 pm

The wheels have finally been installed. We are now mobile! Thank god. We can now trek over anything that gets in our way. It’s still pouring rain. I wish I could find another flask.

September 16th 2018 6:53 pm

Hooks and roll and top have all been fitted and examined over. We may have done something right for once. There’s hope that we will win this thing after all.

September 16th 2018 8:48 pm

We stumbled onto a cache of cold ones. We lost sight of our goal for a while. We are back on track marching forward.

September 16th 2018 9:17 pm

The last wooden peg has been hammered in, the last ***** has been ******* and locked. This is it, it’s finally over. We won!

September 16th 2018 9:18 pm

“It’s about time” was my only reward.

It’s ok, I came out stronger than what I was. I have scars I can tell my kids about. The blisters from using hand tools and the knowledge on how to decipher Chinese disguised as English. Useful talents I’m sure.

September 16th 2018 9:20 pm

Finishing off that cache.
Today I put together a cabinet island.
Her  Dec 2018
2018
Her Dec 2018
The beginning of 2018 I was struggling beyond words
I was struggling to get out of bed
I was struggling to find happiness within myself
I was struggling to eat a simple meal
2018 was the year I attempted to end everything
2018 was the year I sat in treatment in the hospital after a suicide attempt and opened up for the first time in my 21 years of life at the time
2018 was the year jersey shore medical saved my life and made me feel something again
2018 was the year I knocked down every wall I ever built since the age of 7
2018 is the year I went back and accepted the fact that I couldn’t save my 7 year old self no matter how much I wanted too
2018 is the year I rebuilt my life, making it more open and filled with scenery
2018 is the year I took my life back
2018 is the year I threw my emotions into writing
2018, you’ve been one hell of a chapter in this book, and my god I am so thankful it wasn’t the last chapter


2019 I’m ready for you baby
Vladimir Lionter May 2020
THE 1st
I have known you not long, believe me
Girl - friend, and I am not joking
You have become so dear to me,
Like a light ray, endlessly darling.
You are warming me by radiant hopes
You are valuing me, my feelings, you.
Your moral aid’s giving me vital force,
You are awake the whole night through.
Being together we won’t die
Our plans to live are plain!
Two stars bright’ll light up in a blue sky
After our dying again.
{2018}

THE 2nd
Winter has burst forth again. Nature is
Measuring the camisole of snow hard.
“It always happens year in year out”,
Say you and you seem to be right in this.
You say looking at me. What affecting
Tenderness’s your glance containing. You’re almost
The princess in a holiday attire hobbling
When it is so necessary, the horse
At full tilt, don’t quit, be with me longer, please!
Your character, steel will, features are dear
To me up to pain, no one’ll find your peer
I love to be with you, my honey bliss.
{2018}

THE 3rd
Country meadow as the carpet of camomiles,
A nice girl’s standing in the field.
“Volodya, your poems give me creeps, thus”,
She says without being bewildered.
Her plaits as cornfield have spread over her
Shoulder- blades as a brook. The girl is
Very beautiful, her voice’s ringing so
Clearly as if it were the nightingale’s bliss.
Her eyes are like winter waters
I am enchanted by their depth.
Freedom’s wind secluded corners
In soul. Peace’s in my soul’s wealth.
{2018}

THE 4th
I’ll sit down by you, my sweet, filled with joy’s
Tune, under crown wood noising by blessedness
You are the most lovable among girls
You are my most true, darling, princess.
Your bust can be compared with ripe poppy-heads,
Your pimples juicy are luring me.
You are my long- awaited berry, my goddess
Pure for my being able to be.
We’ll crown our conjoint life’s happy
Cup by the last straw not being in the cold.
You are ineffably beautiful now, sappy
You’ll be beautiful whrn you grow old.
{2018}

THE 5th
Hard parting is the wisest of the wise
And the word’s expressiveness’s in my soul.
Oh, woman’s lot, what for are all these pangs?
When will it end once and on the whole?
And what for is this punishment at last?
It is related to sword of Damocles.
The distance separated both of us,
Every night I sob of all days those.
Every day I read in correspondence your
Poems–how sweet is to be Muse! And
I’ve erected obelisks in your honour
I won’t be able to forget your type grand.
{2018}

THE 6th
Accept me, please, my wonderful girl- friend,
Accept me absolutely and my poems.
And I’m ready to reveal you my yesterday’s
Sins in my rear leisure’s hours.
Understand me, a poet artless, please,
Who’s got used to love so elevated.
My sonorous style’s more terrible than pistols’
Shot, feeling’s calling’s as the vow on blood yet.
I don’t smoke or drink brandy or whisky,
And terrors are often unknown to me.
You are my Angel so dear, close, friendly,
And my idol sung in my poems free.
{2018}

ЛЮБОВНАЯ ЛИРИКА

ПЕРВОЕ
Я тебя недолго очень знаю
И поверь, подруга, не шучу:
Для меня ты стала как родная –
Ты подобна светлому лучу:
Ты меня надеждой согреваешь,
Мною непомерно дорожишь –
Мне морально сильно помогаешь,
Хоть ночами целыми не спишь!
Мы с тобою без вести не сгинем –
Наши планы – жить – они просты!
После нас, подруга, в небе синем
Две зажгутся яркие звезды!
{2018}

ВТОРОЕ
Зима вступила вновь в свои права
Камзол из снега меряет природа.
«Всегда так происходит год от года» –
Ты говоришь, и, кажется, права.
Ты говоришь и смотришь на меня –
И как же много нежности во взгляде –
Почти принцесса в праздничном наряде,
Что на скаку стреножит и коня.
Не уходи, побудь ещё со мной!
Характер твой, стальная сила воли –
Черты твои мне дороги до боли!
Такая милая, мне нравится с тобой!
{2018}

ТРЕТЬЕ
Сельский луг как ковёр из ромашек!
Чудо-девушка в поле стоит.
«Мне, Володя, твой стих до мурашек!» –
Мне, стесняясь, она говорит.
Её косы как хлебные нивы –
Растеклись по лопаткам ручьём.
Эта девушка очень красива –
Её голос звенит соловьём!
Её очи – как зимние воды –
Околдован я их глубиной.
На душе снова ветер свободы,
На душе наконец-то покой!
{2018}

ЧЕТВЁРТОЕ
С тобой сяду я рядом, любимая,
Под древесною кроной шумящею.
Ты из девушек – самая милая,
Ты принцесса моя настоящая!
Твои груди как спелые маковки –
Меня манят бутончики сочные!
Ты моя долгожданная ягодка,
Ты богиня моя непорочная!
Чашу жизни совместной счастливую
Завершим мы последнею капелькой.
Ты сейчас несказанно красивая –
И прекрасною будешь старенькой!
{2018}

ПЯТОЕ
Мудрее мудрого тяжёлая разлука –
Невысказанность снова на душе.
О, доля женская, за что такая мука?
Когда она закончится уже?
К чему сейчас такое наказанье –
Оно сродни домокловым мечам:
С тобой нас разлучило расстоянье –
Я каждый день рыдаю по ночам!
Я каждый день читаю переписку,
Твои стихи – как сладко музой быть!
И в честь тебя воздвигнут обелиски –
Я не смогу твой образ позабыть!
{2018}

ШЕСТОЕ
Прими меня, прекрасная подруга –
Прими как есть, прими мои стихи.
И лишь тебе в свой редкий час досуга
Готов раскрыть вчерашние грехи.
Пойми меня – нехитрого поэта,
Привыкшего к возвышенной любви.
Мой звучный слог страшнее пистолета,
Признанье чувств – как клятва на крови.
Я не курю, не пью коньяк и виски
И часто мне совсем неведом страх.
Ты ангел мой, такой родной и близкий,
Ты мой кумир, воспетый во стихах!
{2018}

Translator - I. Toporov
"...And as if I set fire to matches,
I’m pronouncing amorous words.
“For ever”, “honey” and, of course, “dear”
Carrying always in my head the same.
If you touch passion in the man, it’s clear
You will never find the truth again..."
Sergei Esenin, 1925
«...И, как будто зажигая спички,
Говорю любовные слова.
«Дорогая», «милая», «навеки»,
А в уме всегда одно и то ж,
Если тронуть страсти в человеке,
То, конечно, правды не найдешь...»
Сергей Есенин, 1925
Victor D López Dec 2018
Victor D. López (October 11, 2018)

You were born five years before the beginning of the Spanish civil war and
Lived in a modest two-story home in the lower street of Fontan, facing the ocean that
Gifted you its wealth and beauty but also robbed you of your beloved and noblest eldest
Brother, Juan, who was killed while working as a fisherman out to sea at the tender age of 19.

You were a little girl much prone to crying. The neighbors would make you cry just by saying,
"Chora, neniña, chora" [Cry little girl, cry] which instantly produced inconsolable wailing.
At the age of seven or eight you were blinded by an eye Infection. The village doctor
Saved your eyesight, but not before you missed a full year of school.

You never recovered from that lost time. Your impatience and the shame of feeling left behind prevented
You from making up for lost time. Your wounded pride, the shame of not knowing what your friends knew,
Your restlessness and your inability to hold your tongue when you were corrected by your teacher created
A perfect storm that inevitably tossed your diminutive boat towards the rocks.

When still a girl, you saw Franco with his escort leave his yacht in Fontan. With the innocence of a girl
Who would never learn to hold her tongue, you asked a neighbor who was also present, "Who is that Man?"
"The Generalissimo Francisco Franco," she answered and whispered “Say ‘Viva Franco’ when he Passes by.”
With the innocence of a little girl and the arrogance of an incorrigible old soul you screamed, pointing:

"That's the Generalissimo?" followed up loud laughter, "He looks like Tom Thumb!"
A member of his protective detail approached you, raising his machine gun with the apparent intention of
Hitting you with the stock. "Leave her alone!" Franco ordered. "She is just a child — the fault is not hers."
You told that story many times in my presence, always with a smile or laughing out loud.

I don't believe you ever appreciated the possible import of that "feat" of contempt for
Authority. Could that act of derision have played some small part in their later
Coming for your father and taking him prisoner, torturing him for months and eventually
Condemning him to be executed by firing squad in the Plaza de Maria Pita?

He escaped his fate with the help of a fascist officer who freed him as I’ve noted earlier.
Such was his reputation, the power of his ideas and the esteem even of friends who did not share his views.
Such was your innocence or your psychic blind spot that you never realized your possible contribution to
His destruction. Thank God you never connected the possible impact of your words on his downfall.

You adored your dad throughout your life with a passion of which he was most deserving.
He died shortly after the end of the Spanish Civil War. A mother with ten mouths to feed
Needed help. You stepped up in response to her silent, urgent need. At the age of
Eleven you left school for the last time and began working full time.

Children could not legally work in Franco’s Spain. Nevertheless, a cousin who owned a cannery
Took pity on your situation and allowed you to work full-time in his fish cannery factory in Sada.
You earned the same salary as the adult, predominantly women workers and worked better
Than most of them with a dexterity and rapidity that served you well your entire life.

In your free time before work you carried water from the communal fountain to neighbors for a few cents.
You also made trips carrying water on your head for home and with a pail in each hand. This continued after
You began work in Cheche’s cannery. You rose long before sunrise to get the water for
Home and for the local fishermen before they left on their daily fishing trips for their personal water pails.

All of the money you earned went to your mom with great pride that a girl could provide more than the salary of a
Grown woman--at the mere cost of her childhood and education. You also washed clothes for some
Neighbors for a few cents more, with diapers for newborns always free just for the pleasure of being
Allowed to see, hold spend some time with the babies you so dearly loved you whole life through.
When you were old enough to go to the Sunday cinema and dances, you continued the
Same routine and added washing and ironed the Sunday clothes for the young fishermen
Who wanted to look their best for the weekly dances. The money from that third job was your own
To pay for weekly hairdos, the cinema and dance hall entry fee. The rest still went to your mom.

At 16 you wanted to go to emigrate to Buenos Aires to live with an aunt.
Your mom agreed to let you--provided you took your younger sister, Remedios, with you.
You reluctantly agreed. You found you also could not legally work in Buenos Aires as a minor.
So you convincingly lied about your age and got a job as a nurse’s aide at a clinic soon after your arrival.

You washed bedpans, made beds, scrubbed floors and did other similar assigned tasks
To earn enough money to pay the passage for your mom and two youngest brothers,
Sito (José) and Paco (Francisco). Later you got a job as a maid at a hotel in the resort town of
Mar del Plata whose owners loved your passion for taking care of their infant children.

You served as a maid and unpaid babysitter. Between your modest salary and
Tips as a maid you soon earned the rest of the funds needed for your mom’s and brothers’
Passage from Spain. You returned to Buenos Aires and found two rooms you could afford in an
Excellent neighborhood at an old boarding house near the Spanish Consulate in the center of the city.

Afterwards you got a job at a Ponds laboratory as a machine operator of packaging
Machines for Ponds’ beauty products. You made good money and helped to support your
Mom and brothers  while she continued working as hard as she always had in Spain,
No longer selling fish but cleaning a funeral home and washing clothing by hand.

When your brothers were old enough to work, they joined you in supporting your
Mom and getting her to retire from working outside the home.
You lived with your mom in the same home until you married dad years later,
And never lost the bad habit of stubbornly speaking your mind no matter the cost.

Your union tried to force you to register as a Peronista. Once burned twice cautious,
You refused, telling the syndicate you had not escaped one dictator to ally yourself with
Another. They threatened to fire you. When you would not yield, they threatened to
Repatriate you, your mom and brothers back to Spain.

I can’t print your reply here. They finally brought you to the general manager’s office
Demanding he fire you. You demanded a valid reason for their request.
The manager—doubtless at his own peril—refused, saying he had no better worker
Than you and that the union had no cause to demand your dismissal.

After several years of courtship, you and dad married. You had the world well in hand with
Well-paying jobs and strong savings that would allow you to live a very comfortable life.
You seemed incapable of having the children you so longed for. Three years of painful
Treatments allowed you to give me life and we lived three more years in a beautiful apartment.

I have memories from a very tender age and remember that apartment very well. But things changed
When you decided to go into businesses that soon became unsustainable in the runaway inflation and
Economic chaos of the Argentina of the early 1960’s. I remember only too well your extreme sacrifice
And dad’s during that time—A theme for another day, but not for today.

You were the hardest working person I’ve ever known. You were not afraid of any honest
Job no matter how challenging and your restlessness and competitive spirit always made you a
Stellar employee everywhere you worked no matter how hard or challenging the job.
Even at home you could not stand still unless there was someone with whom to chat awhile.

You were a truly great cook thanks in part to learning from the chef of the hotel where you had
Worked in Mar del Plata awhile—a fellow Spaniard of Basque descent who taught you many of his favorite
Dishes—Spanish and Italian specialties. You were always a terribly picky eater. But you
Loved to cook for family and friends—the more the merrier—and for special holidays.

Dad was also a terrific cook, but with a more limited repertoire. I learned to cook
With great joy from both of you at a young age. And, though neither my culinary skills nor
Any aspect of my life can match you or dad, I too am a decent cook and
Love to cook, especially for meals shared with loved ones.

You took great pleasure in introducing my friends to some of your favorite dishes such as
Cazuela de mariscos, paella marinera, caldo Gallego, stews, roasts, and your incomparable
Canelones, ñoquis, orejas, crepes, muñuelos, flan, and the rest of your long culinary repertoire.
In primary and middle school dad picked me up every day for lunch before going to work.

You and he worked the second shift and did not leave for work until around 2:00 p.m.
Many days, dad would bring a carload of classmates with me for lunch.
I remember as if it were yesterday the faces of my Jewish, Chinese, Japanese, German, Irish
And Italian friends when first introduced to octopus, Spanish tortilla, caldo Gallego, and flan.

The same was true during college and law school.  At times our home resembled an
U.N. General Assembly meeting—but always featuring food. You always treated my
Closest friends as if they were your children and a number of them to this day love
You as a second mother though they have not seen you for many years.

You had tremendous passion and affinity for being a mother (a great pity to have just one child).
It made you over-protective. You bought my clothes at an exclusive boutique. I became a
Living doll for someone denied such toys as a young girl. You would not let me out of your sight and
Kept me in a germ-free environment that eventually produced some negative health issues.

My pediatrician told you often “I want to see him with ***** finger nails and scraped knees.”
You dismissed the statement as a joke. You’d take me often to the park and to my
Favorite merry-go-round. But I had not one friend until I was seven or eight and then just one.
I did not have a real circle of friends until I was about 13 years old. Sad.

I was walking and talking up a storm in complete sentences when I was one year old.
You were concerned and took me to my pediatrician who laughed. He showed me a
Keychain and asked, “What is this Danny.” “Those are your car keys” I replied. After a longer
Evaluation he told my mom it was important to encourage and feed my curiosity.

According to you, I was unbearable (some things never change). I asked dad endless questions such as,
“Why is the sun hot? How far are the stars and what are they made of? Why
Can’t I see the reflection of a flashlight pointed at the sky at night? Why don’t airplanes
Have pontoons on top of the wheels so they can land on both water and land? Etc., etc., etc.

He would answer me patiently to the best of his ability and wait for the inevitable follow-ups.
I remember train and bus rides when very young sitting on his lap asking him a thousand Questions.
Unfortunately, when I asked you a question you could not answer, you more often than not made up an answer Rather than simply saying “I don’t know,” or “go ask dad” or even “go to hell you little monster!”

I drove you crazy. Whatever you were doing I wanted to learn to do, whether it was working on the
Sewing machine, knitting, cooking, ironing, or anything else that looked remotely interesting.
I can’t imagine your frustration. Yet you always found only joy in your little boy at all ages.
Such was your enormous love which surrounded me every day of my life and still does.

When you told me a story and I did not like the ending, such as with “Little Red Riding Hood,”
I demanded a better one and would cry interminably if I did not get it. Poor mom. What patience!
Reading or making up a story that little Danny did not approve of could be dangerous.
I remember one day in a movie theater watching the cartoons I loved (and still love).

Donald Duck came out from stage right eating a sandwich. Sitting between you and dad I asked you
For a sandwich. Rather than explaining that the sandwich was not real, that we’d go to dinner after the show
To eat my favorite steak sandwich (as usual), you simply told me that Donald Duck would soon bring me the sandwich. But when the scene changed, Donald Duck came back smacking his lips without the sandwich.

Then all hell broke loose. I wailed at the top of my lungs that Donald Duck had eaten my sandwich.
He had lied to me and not given me the promised sandwich. That was unbearable. There was
No way to console me or make me understand—too late—that Donald Duck was also hungry,
That it was his sandwich, not mine, or that what was on the screen was just a cartoon and not real.

He, Donald Duck, mi favorite Disney character (then and now) hade eaten this little boy’s Sandwich. Such a Betrayal by a loved one was inconceivable and unbearable. You and dad had to drag me out of the theater ranting And crying at the injustice at top volume. The tantrum (extremely rare for me then, less so now) went on for awhile, but all was well again when my beloved Aunt Nieves gave me a ******* with jam and told me Donald had sent it.

So much water under the bridge. Your own memories, like smoke in a soft breeze, have dissipated
Into insubstantial molecules like so many stars in the night sky that paint no coherent picture.
An entire life of vital conversations turned to the whispers of children in a violent tropical storm,
Insubstantial, imperceptible fragments—just a dream that interrupts an eternal nightmare.

That is your life today. Your memory was always prodigious. You knew the name of every person
You ever met, and those of their family members. You could recall entire conversations word for word.
Three years of schooling proved more than sufficient for you to go out into the world, carving your own
Path from the Inhospitable wilderness and learning to read and write at the age of 16.

You would have been a far better lawyer than I and a fiery litigator who would have fought injustice
Wherever you found it and always defended the rights of those who cannot defend themselves,
Especially children who were always your most fervent passion. You sacrificed everything for others,
Always put yourself dead-last, and never asked for anything in return.

You were an excellent dancer and could sing like an angel. Song was your release in times of joy and
In times of pain. You did not drink or smoke or over-indulge in anything. For much of your life your only minor Indulgence was a weekly trip to the beauty parlor—even in Spain where your washing and ironing income
Paid for that. You were never vain in any way, but your self-respect required you to try to look your best.

You loved people and unlike dad who was for the most part shy, you were quite happy in the all-to-infrequent
Role as the life of the party—singing, dressing up as Charlie Chaplin or a newborn for New Year’s Eve parties with Family and close friends. A natural story-teller until dementia robbed you of the ability to articulate your thoughts,
You’d entertain anyone who would listen with anecdotes, stories, jokes and lively conversation.

In short: you were an exceptional person with a large spirit, a mischievous streak, and an enormous heart.
I know I am not objective about you, but any of your surviving friends and family members who knew you
Well will attest to this and more in a nanosecond. You had an incredibly positive, indomitable attitude
That led you to rush in where angels fear to treat not out of foolishness but out of supreme confidence.

Life handed you cartloads of lemons—enough to pickle the most ardent optimist. And you made not just
Lemonade but lemon merengue pie, lemon sorbet, lemon drops, then ground up the rind for sweetest
Rice pudding, flan, fried dough and a dozen other delicacies. And when all the lemons were gone, you sowed the Seeds from which extraordinarily beautiful lemon trees grew with fruit sweeter than grapes, plums, or cherries.

I’ve always said with great pride that you were a far better writer than I. How many excellent novels,
Plays, and poems could you have written with half of my education and three times my workload?
There is no justice in this world. Why does God give bread to those without teeth? Your
Prodigious memory no longer allows you to recognize me. I was the last person you forgot.

But even now when you cannot have a conversation in any language, Sometimes your eyes sparkle, and
You call me “neniño” (my little boy in Galician) and I know that for an instant you are no longer alone.
But too son the light fades and the darkness returns. I can only see you a few hours one day a week.
My life circumstances do not leave me another option. The visits are bitter sweet but I’m grateful for them.

Someday I won’t even have that opportunity to spend a few hours with you. You’ll have no
Monument to mark your passing save in my memory so long as reason remains. An entire
Life of incalculable sacrifice will leave behind only the poorest living legacy of love
In your son who lacks appropriate words to adequately honor your memory, and always will.


*          *          *

The day has come, too son. October 11, 2018. The call came at 3:30 am.
An hour or two after I had fallen asleep. They tried CPR in vain. There will be no more
Opportunities to say, “I Love you,” to caress your hands and face, to softly sing in your ear,
To put cream on your hands, or to hope that this week you might remember me.

No more time to tell you the accomplishments of loved ones, who I saw, what they told me,
Who asked about you this week, or to pray with you, or to ask if you would give me a kiss by putting my
Cheek close to your lips, to feel joy when you graced me with many little kisses in response,
Or tell you “Maybe next time” when as more often than not the case for months you did not respond.

In saying good bye I’d give you the kiss and hug Alice always sent you,
Followed by three more kisses on the forehead from dad (he always gave you three) and one from me.
I’d leave the TV on to a channel with people and no sound and when possible
Wait for you to close your eyes before leaving.

Time has run out. No further extensions are possible. My prayers change from asking God to protect
You and by His Grace allow you to heal a little bit each day to praying that God protect your
Soul and dad’s and that He allow you to rest in peace in His kingdom. I miss you and Dad very much
And will do so as long as God grants me the gift of reason. I never knew what it is to be alone. I do now.

Four years seeing your blinding light reduced to a weak flickering candle in total darkness.
Four years fearing that you might be aware of your situation.
Four years praying that you would not feel pain, sadness or loneliness.
Four years learning to say goodbye. The rest of my life now waiting in the hope of seeing you again.

I love you mom, with all my heart, always and forever.
Written originally in Spanish and translated into English with minor additions on my mom's passing (October 2018). You can hear all six of my Unsung Heroes poems read by me in my podcasts at https://open.spotify.com/show/1zgnkuAIVJaQ0Gb6pOfQOH. (plus much more of my fiction, non-fiction and poetry in English and Spanish)

— The End —