Diamonds

I thirst for rushing wind and hazy skylines

like diamonds.

there’s an addictive brilliance in the stars

of a foreign sky. 

I lose everything to follow their shine,

drunk on happy lonesomeness,

missing Christmas in exchange for diamond

wings.

but you are the Queen of Hearts.

not even open fields can cloud my memories 

of rainy apartment days,

starlings and tree parks and green streams,

crying on the deck in your lap,

in the car with Chips Ahoy and Van Morrison tapes,

to the day you told me I was too old for

books before bed.

our orange and apricot trees and your jams and

lemon pie, blueberry birthday pie and

banana milkshakes for my wisdom teeth.

tv nights with popcorn and christmas mornings

with scones,

Julys of fireworks and neighbors

and Starbucks on mondays 

where we could complain, and laugh, and be similar.

maybe nostalgia isn’t a reason to return,

and I have been hardened, yet weakened,

by my liberty. 

but you are the question and answer 

etched into my mind,

like any daughter’s, 

so wait at the gate for me,

         I’ll be home soon.

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tonight

sangria, french fries, nightly waffle and syrup.

nocturnal, alive, bustling at 4 a.m.,

empty apartment, in the dark,

in love with your soul;

we are apart and together,

I taste your love, like God–

from the wind.

someone died in the ocean today

from lightning,

and people fought in the street,

bloody cement and videocameras.

you are cold as your sister yells,

swimming through the snowy Andes,

drinking loose sky diamond stars,

and we are alone

in our fears and our sleep.

but I love you–

 

memory flood

4:30 AM amidst fear of sleep, fear of sharp sun awakening to poisonous words leaking into my mind on a broken record, alone in my independence throne.

time cracks my head into a rolling film…

standing in her dad’s kitchen, deciding whether to make brownies for breakfast, and which movie to see. back then i hadn’t stayed up past four and I didn’t share drinks.

putting the girls down for bed. singing in spanish, arabic, and french, painting nails as the dog barked, smell of old guitars. I haven’t seen them for a year which will grow into five, then ten …

first time in the waterpark, wood chips and pencil boxes, when I dreamed of college, which has shattered as easily as thin glass.

La estrella fugaz (the shooting star)

some nights are empty

when I have the ocean but stand on the beach

his dark figure my demon,

can’t figure out if I’m alone

I’m trying to hold onto my hours

but they don’t belong to me

God pulls time out from under me

no wonder life feels like a dream,

both are fleeting stars.

how can it be this is the life I am choosing?

breathing in wind like driftwood

letting every voice fall to a whisper in my head

yet I feel I don’t deserve you,

I know I love you,

could it be too much,

like a stellar explosion, all at once,

blinding and burning.

If I’m beautiful I can’t see myself,

I feel so low these days

I must be ugly,

I hear it in his eyes

but he says he’s tired,

I’m tired of me too.

 

 

Hollywood

we spin through the nights and streets

after-hours Venice Beach. 

sabe que no podemos seguir asi,

fuera de control.

he has strong arms 

like my father, 

so I hold him close and ask him

to walk with me through the rogue 

beach night, 

drive me home beyond the

summer bar fights.

we live in a jungle

of dim red lights and

whisky on the job.

we sell our smiles to get tips,

a Hollywood family;

shining with gold and tears.

he’s handing me a stack of bills

because he can, he calls himself

God and El Rey of Venice Beach.

he’s fire now;

one day he’ll be ashes.

their eyes are red but 

I’m the one crying

and I know I am far away from home

as wordless tangos deafen

my doubts and the screams of my soul.

Los Angeles cries and her eyes shine

like skyscrapers and starlit dreams.

snow from far away falls upon her empty Hills, 

but we stay warm and dry, and

at daybreak we’re left with dust

and masks to wear til sunset.

Soy la princesa, 

alone in the bar,  

maybe I’m rich now because I live off nothing–

and kisses and loopholes and vino rojo,

but I’ll be leaving soon.

maybe I’m drunk because I have nothing,

and now I’m full of everything.

 

Hollywood

we spin through the nights and streets

after hours Venice Beach. 

sabe que no podemos seguir asi,

fuera de control.

he has strong arms 

like my father, 

so I hold him close and ask him

to walk with me through the rogue 

beach night, 

drive me home beyond the

summer bar fights.

we live in a jungle

of dim red lights and

whisky on the job.

we sell our smiles to get tips,

a Hollywood family;

shining with gold and tears.

he’s handing me a stack of bills

because he can, he calls himself

God and El Rey of Venice Beach.

he’s fire now;

one day he’ll be ashes.

their eyes are red but 

I’m the one crying

and I know I am far away from home

as wordless tangos deafen

my doubts and the screams of my soul.

Los Angeles cries and her eyes shine

like skyscrapers and starlit dreams.

snow from far away falls upon her empty Hills, 

but we stay warm and dry, and

at daybreak we’re left with dust

and masks to wear til sunset.

Soy la princesa, 

alone in the bar,  

maybe I’m rich now because I live off nothing–

and kisses and loopholes and vino rojo,

but I’ll be leaving soon.

maybe I’m drunk because I have nothing,

and now I’m full of everything.

recuerdos perdidos

mucho que hacer. 

vivir esta vida para hacer. 

y que hiciste en final?

besaste los labios de una boca vacía

te encontraste con un alma 

que no sabe soñar.

apenas te acordas de los días antiguos

los fuegos artificiales y vidrios

por las rieles, sabanas en el bosque

un sol que ya no mas brillara en tu vida así.

 

 

 

 

hope on the road

sitting on her couch, watching movies on my laptop

Energy drink, styrofoam pasta bowl on the table

only the kitchen light on,

wish I had a place of my own.

she makes a cake in the LA night

talking in her apartment under yellow light

I’m still on the road

and I’ve been living off of hope.

between my dreams of Chile and Argentina,

my heartland mountains calling to me,

and my chicana mornings of platanos and crema,

it’ll be forever difficult to choose.

I miss his arms and my city’s soul

but I will long for the nights here,

I am sure I will need

my city of angels once more.

I am sticky with fever and

dizzy with dreams;

missing her

humid nostalgic memories…