A tribute in our golden years,
As  I recollect, no poignant tears,
I glimpsed him in my peripheral vision,
By now, we're both older editions,
A friend of a friend of  a friend,
Floating away like golden pollen,
I trust my thoughts to him do wend,
That was  once a quote, I sigh,
" I did but see him passing by,"
Crying and weeping is not for me,
Glancing at such distant memories,
Yes, a friend of a friend of a friend,
Floated away like stardust pollen,
I reminisce, such a dear,
A tribute in our golden years.

Those **** things
lurch around each turn
as if they are lost children
who's mother is also lost
in some isle at Costco.

I know those arching
towers of rows
that hold cardboard boxes
reaching to skylights--
where each passing cloud
blinks for me
as I wander wide eye
for Costco brand cat food
hidden somewhere in the back.

*** holes are not the best at digging
but it's impossible for
my town to fill them,
as each one is a reminder
to our people
that we are irreplaceable.

That when time comes
and the clouds find their resting place
we will no longer crowd the isles
of Costco nor will clouds keep
blinking for us.

Instead our personality
will have dug it's trench
a minor engravement
into the cements and asphalt
of which we called our home.

For us they will leave
our history, appraisal
to the life that has thrived
a marker
that there was beauty
before us
and beauty with us.

A year ago today my grandfather passed away, but he did not die. He lives.. and if you want to find him, find him within the crevices of my actions, my tenacity, and success. Crouch down and find him underneath all that I believe in, all I stand for, and all I will accomplish. Open me up and find him in everything that empowers me. He is the fight inside me.

Abuelo, a year ago you passed away, but you did not die. Your story radiates through my reality. Because of you I wear Cuba on my sleeve and I made sure that when you passed you did not take our story with you. Abuelo, I knew you were of Cuban pride, but I did not know that the shop you struggled to open is what allowed Cuban culture to cultivate so strongly in Elizabeth, NJ. I did not know you gave refugees gold jewelry for free so they could sell it for profit, and that you trusted them to pay you back whenever they could and settled that on a handshake. I did not know you were part of an organization of Cubans. I didn't know that hundreds of men revered you within that organization. I did not know you can make a room full of grown men cry. I learned this at your funeral.

A year ago my grandfather passed away, but he did not die. I am here, in the US, succeeding without financial burden. I am here because he left everything behind, including old friends, a successful business, his money and his culture. I am here because he took all four of his children with him. I am here because he refused to stop there. I am here because he had deep-seeded ambition and pushed through every challenge with his chest out and his head adamantly on his shoulders. I am here, I am happy, and I am secure--And because of that, he lives.

Abuelo, I must confess I took some things from you without asking. In the pocket of my heart I hold your ambition. In the pocket of my conscience I hold your integrity. Abuelo, you are in peace, but never will you be put to rest. Not within my lifetime.

The call came in at five a.m.
Weren't we supposed to
Meet for lunch today?
I guess we never will now
Forever

I had to tell mom the news
Not sure I can ever forgive
You for that walk to her door
Then again, I guess I have no choice
Forever

Your children were with me
For the first 48 hours
The first time in a year I'd seen them
Now they can visit anytime
Forever

All that's left is a box of ashes
Cracked photographs of the two of us
More of the whole family with you missing
There will be more
Forever

With all of your pain and not taking my hand
When you needed it most
It may be selfish, I know
But I won't see your signature smile again
Forever

There was a certain shade of blue
That I happened to only find in you
A certain song I would often hear
That now lets me know that you are near

Neither sad nor joyous
You seem to love and embrace us
A memory so faint and all so clear
I see you in my dreams and sense you're near

In darkness I fear not
For, by my side you have a spot
A watchful eye, an attentive ear
Present or not, I still know you are near.

A loud booming –
the sound of everything I fear coming true;
of everything I treasure falling apart at the seams,
like the thin thread connecting us snapping into two.

The pitter-pattering –
having everything coming together and then falling apart;
breaking away seems so easy, natural even;
as with all the things that could have been.

The bone-chilling cold –
a feeling that would stop anyone dead in their tracks;
same as your words: sending chills down my spine

Life and sunshine –
absent from your distant gaze past me;
I don't remember the last time your presence enveloped me in warmth

Strangely, all I think about on rainy days is you. You, you, you and just you. Maybe between me and you, the roles have been swapped: you are now cold and unfeeling, and I warm and full of emotion. But foreign isn't always harmful, and safe may not be safe after all. So really, thank you.