A POEM A DAY

I'm just happy to be here.

Tag: poetry

April 11, 2020

10/30: Today’s Perfect Moment

For Adela, my fiance.

Happened on Harrisburg
five minutes from home
with your hand in mine
The sky was alive behind
the downtown Horizon.
Pink light dripping
from the overgrown Oaks.
Oh, the beauty of a sun’s goodbye.
I did not trust my memory
to hold this moment
without ruining it.
That’s when you tell me
to take a picture, and so I do.
You are outside the frame,
smiling the way you do.
When we get home,
I post the photo on Instagram
with the caption
Today’s perfect moment.
Then I wrote this poem.

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April 11, 2020

9/30: NEVER A CURSE

Cutting squash and zucchini
I’m talking to my mom on the phone
listening to her tell me about her day
at the end of the day. I called her
because today is my grandpa’ Fred’s birthday.
He turns 79.  I was not there to celebrate you,
grandpa, like the years before, surrounded by family,
where we ate BBQ, and cake made just for us,
both April babies, blowing out candles and
laughing forever. Today, my gratitude shines through.

And yet, on this same day, I cannot find the words.
It’s been a year since my grandma passed.
Her name was Theresa.
I was not there to say goodbye.
It’s been a year since one of my best friends passed.
His name was Keaton.
I am still grieving
Not yet ready to give a voice
to that quiet monster.
This is so new.
My grief and gratitude,
sitting in the same room.
Listening to my mom
laugh over the phone,
as I ask her who
all I’m supposed to invite
to the rehearsal dinner.
I’m getting married in December
to the woman I love. I will always
choose this life. Even when I don’t have
the right words. Yeah, it’s strange
to carry so many emotions at once
But I consider it a blessing.
Never a curse.

 

 

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April 9, 2020

7/30: Ode To My Newfound Grey Hairs

You exist in the deep night of my hair
despite the sunshine outside
When I bemoan your existence,
and attempt to remove you from my life
my fiance warns me against it.
I don’t even think about you until
I’m standing in front of the mirror
watch my hand get lost in the
Pitch-black battleground
that is my skull
only to find you all there
my newfound grey hairs
little knights in shining armor
like waning crescent moons
silver seeds that stress sowed
I thank you
for being a tiny blessing
that continues to grow back
evidence of change
the proof of time passing
that things won’t always be
the same.

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April 7, 2020

6/30: TODAY

Today I am and nothing more than that.
Contemplation offers no cure the present cannot fix.
Whatever hurt I had I no longer hold.
I am no longer filled with yesterday’s pain.
To become who I wanted took so much time.
I will be who I worked to become.
I promise to continue the work every day.
Today I am trusting who I still have time to become.

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April 7, 2020

5/30: GENERATIONAL WEALTH OF A DIFFERENT KIND

For most Mexican-American families
our only heirlooms are stories. Sometimes,
a cross carved by hand or found at a garage sale.
Maybe enough saint candles
for a small, simple miracle.
A box of photos, an album perhaps.
if you’re lucky enough.
Or some old, faded jewelry from a lovestory
that probably played some part
in your small, simple existence.
The best part of every story, of course,
belongs to the voice that told it,
echoing through time,
the tales of our bloodline
paraphrased through generations
a legacy in its own right
and a gift for the next one, if done right.
The second best part of the story, of course
belongs to the recipes we can only hope to recreate.
Not every recipe is a story, but most are.
Recipes are passed down like spells,
the tales of our bloodline.
The specific amount of each ingredient?
Only a myth,
which is its own source of pride.
Counting the heirlooms, I lose my breath
trying to keep count.
I know it is a responsibility; carrying
a family’s history to the present.
To leave a legacy worth retelling.
Something for tomorrow.

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April 5, 2020

4/30: In the Month of April (For Adela)

After Robert Bly

In the month of April, when the rain blesses us,
notice the song it makes. Like today, a chorus
kept me awake. All morning, kept me from dreaming
away the bad news telling us nothing is the same as it was.
I see a world afraid of stillness, asked to be still and hold its breath.
Then I understand— I love you with what in me is still hopeful.

I love you with what in me is unmovable.
So hold my hand in the rain. Hold my hand in the morning.
Hold my hand in Costco. Hold my hand in the dark. Trust me:
in times like these, the only place to be is next to you.
In the early morning hours, we rediscover our arms
as branches, outstretched like the oak tree outside our house.

Just this morning, you wake up before the rain wakes me.
Slide your body out of bed and across the hardwood,
disappearing into the dim blue room. And I am perfectly
still, in a world afraid of stillness, disappearing
back into the subconscious, stretching this simple moment
into a thousand more just like it.

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April 5, 2020

3/30: A poem, with light at the end of the tunnel

Sitting down to write always feels like

giving my memory the keys to the house.

As if, somewhere the real me ends,

And the narrator’s monologue begins.

A voice takes over, calls out from the dark.

A shape takes form, casts a shadow on the page.

A line takes time, craves a place to breakdown.

How I get from here to there is a gateway

only language can open. Afterall, language

is memory, is past tense, as in, the door to yesterday

unlocked. Ring the bell and walk in.

This is the tell, not show. I know

the words to this song. It’s a strange chorus,

but the one I know. Sitting down to write,

I don’t need a map. A path is found in every poem.

I suppose it’s why I let the mind wander like it does.

Dig myself a tunnel. Find light at the end.

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April 3, 2020

2/30: A THOUSAND LITTLE JOYS

“I hope you found little joys to celebrate today,
and more than enough reason to smile.”

– A birthday text sent to me from Ayokunle Falomo,

Every smile has an origin story.
And mine begins with the unexpected gift
of knowing I’ll never be alone.
What a relief,
saying goodbye to the old emptiness,
forgetting what was lost,
holding what stayed,
abandoning grief like a rival
not fast enough to catch
the speed of my joy,
scattering across the April air
like a thousand little black birds.
This gift opens itself up every time
I look up at the sky of my life,
and count how many ways I am loved,
stunned at the simple song of being,
lost in a thousand shining suns.
Light trickles through the space
between my crooked teeth,
staining my bones like glass.

So I’m doing this new thing,
on days other than my birthday,
whenever I need a pick me up,
I open my mouth,
and I fill up the bedroom,
or the kitchen,
or the street,
with a thousand little joys,
with the names of every moment
I ever gave my smile to.

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May 1, 2018

30/30: I EXIST NOT TO BE BROKEN

I make a promise to myself, and like a law, I exist not to be broken.
Though I know breaking. Whatever the reason you have for going
where you are going, I think it’s best you leave an hour before sunset.
Time the drive home with the sun’s low descent towards the horizon.
Keep going into the sky. Take the long way home like an oath to remember
how far you have come. I’m running out of time. I’m trying to show myself
the meaning behind all my tiny moments. I’m in love with the miracle of detail.
With the way I tell a story. With the way a story begins with a voice and a purpose. Keep going if you can. I’m here at the end, and I’m miles and miles past worthless.

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May 1, 2018

29/30: A POEM FOR JESSI

Jessi,
bird of my heart,
monkey in my bed,
giraffe of my dreams,
you sing to me in your
baby-talk, in your
gimme-dat clap, in your
nap-time nuh-uh cry,
oh my Jessi, you are everything
you are supposed to be. Right now,
you are shouting for the sky as the
swing-set in the park down the street
from my house brings you closer to the
moon, the stars, the sun, each one: all shining
for you. This is what the light does: it tells us
to reach, to look up, to swing into our shadows
so that darkness will not ask for this dance.
Even now, the Oak trees see you becoming one
with yourself, and I am helplessly in awe at the
call of your voice, the raw power of your smile,
and how I wish you could stay a little while longer.
In this swing, your joy sings me a song. I watch you
rejoice in the shade, alive and singing, here with me.

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