let’s become addicted
to amazement
that dizzying electric surprise
when the unexpected
explodes
before our eyes
on our taste buds
over our skin
let’s take it in our coffee
in our water
in our wine
until we can’t live
a single hour without a
surge of glorious disbelief
to calm us
we will claw the earth for it
find it under stones
in the hearts of
little shells
peel it with our teeth from the
bark of tender trees
maybe gerardo was right.
maybe there is something sinister
after all about the robles,
those twisted branches
bewitched with luscious
humid blooms in the
driest sun of february’s
scalding curse
he always said
los robles jalan rayos and
i rolled my eyes
but now i wonder.
the robles were blooming their
wicked flowers
when i knew
something was wrong
you tried not to be sick
but i saw the night sweats.
i remembered jenna who had them
before she died
and your skin’s undertone
went from peach to blue.
i saw it,
while on the robles
impossible flowers surged from gnarled twigs
and fell
from the sapphire colored sky
no me hables
abra los ojos y
mírame
dame tu mano
para
memorizar
mírame fijo
y no digas
nada
las palabras engañan
el silencio
no
you will be amazed
when the sky begins
to gray
over the sea.
a horizon
emerges
distant as never
before your eyes
that gentle curve of
now
blending into
always
dividing water
from air.
(A love poem for a dark place that ceases to be terrifying when it becomes familiar. I call it The Cave.)
o deep black
space of silence,
place before time,
dark lung that
pulls us in with the air.
this is where we must
find our way
without sight,
the place where the eye
cannot speak and
only our crying echoes
to show us the
shape of our
sorrow.
the texture of air in our
clutching fingers
is so thin and strange.
you said take me home
to the sea and
i promised
i would
neither of us imagined then
on those last days of
pain patches and tireless visitors
the weight
of a carry-on bag
with ashes
i tried to lift it
into the space above
my seat on the plane but
couldn’t
the gentleman who helped
eyed me strangely
when the plane took off pointing
toward the endless Atlantic, i
reached for your hand
i really did
but your hand wasn’t there
it was in tiny pieces in
the overhead compartment
and i had only air
to hold on to
i cried then
as we lifted
everyone could see me
you said take me home
to the sea
and i promised
i went down into the water
with your teeth and
your bones pressed into
my skin
and watched
as the tiny pieces
fell slowly like snow
around me
i can wait
you told me not to but
i can
i can sit so still
even the monkeys
forget about me and
fall asleep in
my trees
i can wait longer
than you
can hold your breath
until the clouds clear and
colibrís
come looking
for flowers
