Marisol hated doing the dishes. She would stomp the ground and slam the doors.

She hated!

Hated!

HATED! doing the dishes.

That is, until one day, when the sink swallowed her up!

Little Marisol
twisted and turned
through the pipes,
up and down around the house,
until finally!
she was
spit
out
of
the
pipes
into a magical underwater kingdom!

The colors of your shirt stick
to your skin
Swollen, tired, tattered
The dirt collecting
Under, Over, On

In the stillness of the new moon
You became a mother
A wife
A daughter
Through the thickness of the humid air
the sweat collected on your brow
the nape of your neck
A crying child
A barking dog
Some butter on a scalding skillet

Oh, Marisol!
If your hands could speak
The scars and lines would serenade the sun
and soothe your cousin's swollen cheeks
the gold in your teeth
would shine each time you smiled
and said goodbye

but
your chestnut hair is whipped by the wind
instead
and laced black leather boots
tower over you
in the haze
they grasp your arms
as if they are their own
and cover you in white
to protect themselves

Oh Marisol!
it is now late at night
but you shine for the love you brought
with you
across six nations
all of them packed
and stacked neatly
you carry them strapped on your back
like the sun kissed streets of Cuenca
cultivated, preened, and compressed
put into the back pocket


It is in dusk when you lay your head
Down on that cold, dry, earth
And grasp that plastic bottle to your breast
Closed eyes and memories of sunrise
20 miles away from the southwest


America rises still beyond
Fences lined with flowers pale
As white and rich as all those men

But towers over you of course
and in the shadows of the Joshua trees
You can depart for home again

Every Saturday for the past two years has pretty much been the same.
I wake up to the sound of my momma knocking on my door,
"Go watch your sister, I'll be back soon."
I stagger out of bed and head on over to keep an eye on my little sister, Raylin.
She returns usually an hour later,
It's 8 am at this point,
With five young girls,
Five very sleepy young girls.

The oldest, 16 now, Adriana,
Collapses on the couch most of the time,
Too tired to make it to another bed.
Roxana and Mariana, 14 and 9,
Will sit and watch tv all day from the moment they get here
To the time they leave.
Maritza and Marisol,
7 and 6, will sleep until Raylin wakes up to play with them.
It usually doesn't take very long.

Two years ago is when it all started.
Having to wake up early to get the girls,
Having to pick them up from 30 minutes away
So they could have a safe place to call home.

Two years ago,
my mother receives a call from my tia Cindy,
"Adriana is hurt,
Adriana can't move,
She went too far this time."

The entire family had been trying for months to get the girls,
Their mother and father a complete mess.
"In love", they called it.
They would show their love with marks upon their skin,
Bruises as proof of their undying love for each other.
My tia Perla would wear her blood and tear stained love upon her sleeves
for the world to see,
But she didn’t care.
This was the life she chose for herself,
And when she grew unhappy with it,
Her daughters would hide in fear,
Adriana and Roxana taking the worst of it.

Once,
I heard Roxana yelling at my own momma,
Who only wanted Roxana to listen.
"I don’t care, I just want my mom, I want to go home."
I couldn't understand the words that were coming out of her mouth.

Later that day,
after my momma and I dropped the girls off at tia Cindy's house,
I asked my momma what could've possibly caused
Roxana to say something like that.
"It's her mom, it's the only type of love she knows."

Two year ago,
These sleepy girls showed up at my house,
In the dead of night
when the bats would fly around,
Maritza and Marisol holding each others hands,
The older three with panicked expressions they couldn’t hide,
The beginnings of several bruises
Forming on Adriana and Roxana's arms and legs.
They slept huddled together on my bed,
Refusing to leave each other,
Shaking even when it wasn't cold.

Two years ago,
These five sleepy girls couldn’t sleep
without being scared of what waited for them in their dreams.
Arms and hands that were supposed to shoo the bad dreams away
caused them instead,
But last Saturday was pretty much the same as it has been
For the past two years.

My momma knocked on my door,
"Go watch your sister, I'll be back soon."
The five girls show up at my house,
No longer scared,
No longer shaking when it's not cold,
No longer so sleepy.

Fair angel thyne blessed wings
tis heaven has spoken your name
I have humbly touched your face in repentance
do not speak of tomorrow where young fledglings take flight to clouded forests
turquoise gorgets basking in the opulence of Espeletias
do not speak of Fraser Magnolias and their scarlet cones
inveigling stalwart lovers in ephemeral courtship
do not take the summer abloom in your light.

In contrast with the cold morning air,
The house was cozy and warm
As we all arrived to participate
Like worker bees starting to swarm.
The smell of pork and refried beans
Permeated the room.
The champagne bottles were chilling on ice--
How much did we consume?
Sally brought some egg McMuffins.
I thought, "Something's amiss:
Egg McMuffins and NO pan dulce!°°
What kind of party is this?"

But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.

The giant bucket of masa°°° awaited
Marisa's kneading hands.
While she kneaded the dough, the rest of us
Listened for Sally's commands.
After a brief champagne toast,
Our assembly line started.
Everyone had a job to do;
It wasn't for the faint-hearted.
Spreading the masa on the husks
Was a messy task.
I wondered, "How many will we make?"
But I was afraid to ask.

It wasn't very long before
Everyone in the casa
Was practically covered from head to foot
With fluffy tamale masa.
We spread and stuffed and folded and wrapped
While Sally entertained us.
The conversation, laughter, fun,
And champagne all sustained us.
The wonderful smells of lunch also
Encouraged us to work hard
Lest we be known as shirkers and our
Reputations be marred.

But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada

After a few hundred tamales,
The masa was getting low.
I said, "Yay! We're almost done!"
But Alice said, "Oh, no.
That was just the pork; now we're
Making chile and cheese."
Blurry-eyed I held up my spoon
And said, "More hojas,°°°° please."
On and on we continued to work
Like hive bees making honey.
But it was worth it, for these tamales
Are more valuable than money.

Alice, Yvonne, Kathy, Yolie,
Aida, and Sally know why--
As do Marisa, Rebecca, Karen,
Marisol, Nancy, and I--
We always look forward to getting together
For laughter, fun, and cheer
And this spirited, heart-warming gathering
Whenever December is here.
Homemade tamales can't be beat
When made in our special fashion
With love, care, conviviality,
Warmth, goodwill and passion.

I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.

__
°tamale-making party
°°Mexican sweet bread
°°°dough
°°°°(corn husk) leaves

- by Bob B

We--YOU and I--both know
That rain will make the flowers grow.
It also makes your windows blur;
MARISOL and I concur.

SHE and I have never seen
A dog whose fur was emerald green.
But if you see one here or there,
Please make HER and ME aware.

When SHE and WILLIAM went to swim,
The lifeguard rescued HER and HIM.
“Please don’t tell a soul!” said he.
"Keep it between YOU and ME."

William and I play soccer each day.
That’s the only sport we play.
Give both HIM and ME a break,
For winning’s not a piece of cake.

HE and I will sometimes win.
When not, we take it on the chin.
The other team is good, and thus,
It’s perfect for both THEM and US.

When THEY and WE play soccer games,
We don’t lose sight of our clear aims:
To do our best and have great fun.
But fun’s priority number one.

William, Marisol, and I,
Instead of aiming low, aim high.
Folks like THEM and ME profess
To always seek out happiness.

"You must dream big," we always say,
"And keep your doubts and fears at bay."
HE, SHE, and I will strive
To keep our goals and dreams alive.

But always, always be on guard.
For YOU and ME that can’t be hard.
If YOU and I both concentrate,
We can keep our pronouns straight.

-by Bob B (7-10-22)

When reading this poem, I hope you can see
When we should use "Not I" or "Not me."
The context determines what should be said.
I hope I don't have you scratching your head.

If somebody asks, "Who's a good dancer?"
Please do not let "Not me" be your answer.
If you are NOT, then you should reply,
"I'm not," or simply respond with "Not I."

However, if somebody asks, "Last week,
Who(m) did Marisol kiss on the cheek?"
IF "She didn't kiss me" is how
You'd answer, "Not me" is sufficient right now.

"Who wants this book?" "Not I" you'd say
If you do not want the book today.
"Who(m) did Mario call a ****?"
He DIDN'T dis YOU? "Not me" then would work.

Didn't you learn "Not I" as I did
When being read to as a young kid?
"Who'll help?" asks the little red hen with a cluck.
"Not I," say the dog, the cat, and the duck.

As you can see, it all depends
On what one means--on what one intends.
Whichever expression you use will suffice,
But one's always clearer and much more precise.

-by Bob B (6-20-23)