Visiting my parents I learned
that I am being played,  a game
in which I am board and piece and ****** weapon.
When a picture of me sulky toddler evokes “You always hated me”
roots uncurl hibernated spores stored
through my salad days and youthful spring.
Broach the soil as I ****, ankles grabbed,
leg-locked planted firm reaching.
What do you think grows down there? Digging has
turned up rotted fibers, matted hairs and husks.

The world grows from the ashes of the bones of those before us
stomp on your ancestors who are this great world that once walked among us

With the house they are selling their childhood and adolescence, five funny brothers and grandmother's sweets, late night dramas and the unattractive maids they inherited, cigarettes they puffed secretly and lessons they learned with jackfruit pulp. Now the roots are being pulled and I wonder what'll be left. I wish people live there, generations come and play on its front yard and I hope my ancestors understand new generation urbanism and modernity.

When I gaze into the mirror
my mother's eyes peer out
on the first day with a twinkle
on the next a wistful pout
Though our eyes are different colors
more alike we are then no
still her thoughts to me a mystery
she may never choose to show

The mirror on another day
my grandmother becomes
watching birds at breakfast
saving them the finest crumbs
Formidable and frightening
she could also often be
all too human and imperfect
still she helped to make me me

Great-grandmother another day
the mirror then became
though much lighter of complexion
now the eyes were much the same
Though a humorous and honest soul
emotions quite repressed
she affects me still more deeply
than I ever would have guessed

Today within the looking glass
the only face I see
is the youngest culmination
of these elder women three
And I see them all within me
in my talents and my quirks
still I wish that they had taught me
how to stay away from jerks.

Superpowers,
superheroes,
Humility,
vast,
Ancient,
great,
Small,
­solving,
Twisted,
en vogue,
Gregarious,
modest,
Active,
undeniable,
unrecognizable,
Sp­iralling,
Spirited,
regal,
Challenging,
Loving,
bearing,
unleashe­d,
Audacious,
Horrible,
gentle,
True,
beautiful,
Ferocious,
super­natural,
Colossal
familiar
Beyond human
Humane.

Afraid to sleep,
we keep on working.
Afraid to sleep,
We meet the dawn
from either end.

When light comes,
its continuity calms us
and ancestors watch over us,
as we sleep in fits and starts.

Outside the kitchen door,
Señor Romero's own grapevine
says: "Buenos dias!", says
"Gracias a la vida!"

A white herd of buffalo--
angelic ancestors manifest--
galloping in silence
as they cross the Vast.

And here I lay small
in the cooling wake of their shadows
that caress and whisper to me
just as they do the gentle hill beneath
me, and her sisters,
covered in velvet pastures
of gold, of green, of grey, of blue.

And here I lay down
like the animal defiantly far
from his hurd. I'm abandoned
from the blistering heat
and coarse unholy asphalt.

There is a peace in feeling small--
in feeling alone--
and my mind drifts along
with the shadows all around me.

My hair takes up life and plays
like children with the grasses in the wind.
I stare beyond the eagle's cry
where the noble ones above have
become purple from carrying
with them for miles and miles
Hope, pouring clear and wet, and
Grace, flashing a pure stream of light.

And with the first call of thunder
I stand.

With my bones aching with anticipation,
my fingers reaching for the connection,
I stand.

Alive and made plain.

How many mouths whispered silent prayer
And sat in these halls wishing for god.
How many lives were celebrated and mourned here.
Unions made and broken.
The family, the hearth, spirit, life and death.
All flowed through here.
Now it stands proud and open to the heavens.
Holding the glory of what has been and is now.

Stone upon stone,
Piece by piece until it was made
That church that castle of the soul
It stood, it stands, a monument to man, toil, sweat and reverence.
Time honours it, blesses it.
Now it is part with the land
As it was always.  

Do not look upon it for you may not see it's glory
And a shame to miss and pass by
and to not think what things happened here.
What joys and sadnesses,
What moments and sorrows it witnessed.
Do not pass by but do not look either
For we cannot imagine. To know
The stories it holds and the memories it keeps.

In the ash
Burnt pit of despair
I find my fear
Dipped in the blood of my ancestors
My blade greets me
I am whole
a man
amongst men
My bones echo back through the centuries
Through the earth,
Mountains,
Rivers...
Carrying the spirit of the land
To rejoin the souls of old
With those now standing tall.
A robin sings
and moves from branch to ground
Hunts
Fearless
Protective
Arisen from ash
Pit
Harmony