Fill the Chasms With Zealous Life

I can take your pain,
bond it to me, pull the ribbons tight
pluck me in the night
I will vibrate dissonance
and when the discord is torn,
weave a new tale.
I turn sludge into laughter,
still call you friend after,
want to talk about the seasons
stare into your eyes
ignore the chatter
of the room, your mind
our souls.
Come wander with me,
step into the shadows
hear the echoes falling off alley walls,
as we let the light of the night and moon
blind reason,
set one foot over the threshold
into the fairies ring
let this enchantment begin
place your hand in mine
your heart upon my sleeve
come along with me, love
from a place without end,
no competition, scarcity or shame
mirror with me in hope
hold me, inflame
for once in your life
stop being afraid.
Rise with me from
wells of knowledge
wash clean the surfaces
fill the chasms with zealous life
soften our boundaries
be moss on a river bank
grow an emerald carpet, rounded cliffs
jagged edges softened to the touch
take-up the mirrored light of affection
absorbing shadows into darkness.
What if it didn’t have to be either or
didn’t have to suffice with less or more
what if contentment is found in the in-between
the parts of love unseen
what if love is
what happens when we bleed
trust?

In Intervals

As long as we are firm in our skin
bounce to our breast
taut in our flesh
presented as the best
we are not left to guess.
Now, mirrors occasionally
reflect in jest
knowing outcomes of this mess,
waning eyes asking for less
and time marches on.
I wish I could tell you more
some knowledge
dug easily from the ground
fracked flesh, pouring forth
life forces
a gourd filled to dispense.
But all I know is this:
every line in my skin will fill-in
like grout,
spaces in between a mosaic
tiles, telling a tale of by gone days
full lip pout will turn to thin lined doubt
tight grips and burning flames, will go out,
regrets left behind in the choosing,
womb left empty
leaving room for ideas
sallow, shallow, hell if I know
what belongs in this cage
vague promises made
no longer fresh, a guest in this flesh,
and time marches on.
Unwinding my bindings,
I loosen the ties
lace by lace, revealing,
finally able to breathe,
deeply, releasing the pressure
until I reach my soul,
the piece of me that knows
truth.

Terraform

In your room we are one,
sacred mass flowing
from nightfall until dawn
our skin blends, creating
landscapes
of rosy clay and brown earth,
a fresh terrestrial plane
forming upon one another
our eyes, like the sun
dance across the surface
trying to reach light
into the darkest crevices.
Our hands, like fauna,
delicately stepping across
unclaimed wilderness
pushing through shadows
terraform scenes emerge anew
as if they always knew
this trace of love.

Out of the Mouth of Innocents Comes Driveling Pomposity

I hear it, a dialogue inserted between the stacks of books,
hidden among shelves, secret whispers shared in nooks.
“They are almost always criminals, the Mexicans, the illegals
are bad people, murderers and rapists,
that is why we need to build the wall,
to keep them all out.”
Out of the mouth of innocents comes driveling pomposity,
of abhorrence and horror.
I have heard it coming like a tide,
creeping closer along the shadows,
as a whisper over my shoulder in a restaurant,
in the lines of some distant relatives status update,
but somehow it doesn’t become real until I hear it fall,
tumble with fluidity from the mouth of a child, practiced.
It is then that I recognize how real it is –
frozen against the stacks of books,
caught between tears and rage,
my heart cracking, fracturing.
A terracotta pot left in the sun,
my pieces begin to shatter and fall.
She is speaking about me, about my people,
about my familia and so many of the families I know
from LA, the Central Valley, Texas, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada
this place. 

She doesn’t even know it is me
she calls dangerous,
a rapist, a criminal a good for nothing law evader.
My mind is astounded
that I would have to have this conversation
with one of My students,
one of my sparkling diamonds in the rough,
one who stares back with awe and wonder when I read aloud,
but, they don’t see me, not the real me,
not the girl born in the East LA Barrio,
who bounced on the knees of Cholas and OG’s at three,
the me who was loved by those with permanent tear drops chiseled into cheeks,
as well as cops, nurses, and bank executives,
not the girl who lived in trailers on the hillsides of farm communities
a moonlight runner through orange groves
looking to pluck free fruit from the branch,
the girl whose first swimming pool was a milk crate
and a garbage bag atop a garage,
Santana blasting alongside Led Zeppelin
in the smog filled sunshine.
I am the girl who grew out of a lisp
caused by a tongue wedged
between two worlds that never quite fit.
The one whose brown skin grows thin.

I wipe away a tear before turning the corner to ask about this fear.
She only sees what I have created,
the educated educator, the thought maker,
the literate clear speaker of fine words and stories –
I could never be one of “those” people,
the ones she was trained to fear, to hate,
to believe they are a mistake to keep out at all costs.
But if she believes those words, one day she will look up,
no longer will she see me, or her brown-skinned classmates,
we will have become like those phantom faces
creeping across borders in the night,
to wreak havoc in her fair land,
we will be things to eradicate, like weeds,
the cause of ills she has no name for,
a face erased and nothing more.
We will become “them”, a new target
lined upon some new and unknowing face
until the wall of hate becomes so dense
all that will be left is enemies.

On A Wire

I hate you for what you’ve done to my heart
I hate you for your love, tricked fresh start,
before this day I was fine all alone
proud of empty cage behind breastbone,
solid in my belief, vacant heart tomb
stoking fires, tightening my flume
sealed tight behind brick and mortar,
content sideline supporter
with just enough room for a few
sitting alone, never expected anything new.
I never anticipated affection to happen
fine to keep vigil, in darkness dampen
no expectation of damage,
believing in my adage,
love is for fools
coupling for tools
unable to stand on their own.
Now my brain is dosed
my veins are exposed
raw and pulsing red
craving more, wishing I were dead
wanting to run, filled with lead
a blank slate with absent fate
alarmed it’s too late
to turn and back away
terrified to leave, petrified to stay.