Ocean Water

i will keep you warm when cold waters flood the present with the past

I won’t let you freeze from the glaciers of pain I used to cause

but you’ll have to feel for me with all the empathy you can find

abandoned homes under the sea where tsunamis used to strike

don’t let your heart remember, you’re above water now

I didn’t know you, I didn’t mean to sink your trust again

I didn’t know myself, I didn’t mean to sink so low

there’s no oasis in the middle of the sea

no way to make it up to you but spend every day

steering us to shore.

I waited at the water’s edge, dried by the sun

seeing your shape on the horizon I began to focus

my vision and now my eyes only swim with memories

of the future.

Silent Day

Today I wish to be silent,

and hear only wind rustle over my ears.

My blood cannot handle voices

or it will boil through my skin

which trembles from the vastness

of the Void

which my dreams have become,

stained by reality’s harsh sunlight,

nothing like soft summer,

only jaded delights

and comfortable sadness.

I repose in this silent day,

bathe in the distance and melancholy

I’ve created.

Mountain breeze and car alarms

replace my hometown melodies,

my childhood dream security

becomes anxious tranquility.

I wish to exist outside of my heart,

which owns the broken nostalgia

of my soul

like waterfalls of sun

pouring through windowpanes

that I can never move beyond

or my spirit will burn to ash.

Say you understand me,

and lock me in your arms,

don’t let me go so easily

or I’ll believe you’ve barely wanted me.

I step on white hot pavement,

the road to Central Station,

paths in all directions,

I want to float into the sky.

you don’t know how to handle me,

or how to contain love,

the shortage deep inside of you

disintegrates my empathy.

I sense you walking far from me,

the Void between us widening,

tracing back our steps in time,

back to the lonely beginning.

My Hands are full of Thoughts of you

my hands are full of thoughts of you

my fingertips conscious of your presence

my skin steams with memories

as edible as dreams

you lay simply in my palms, like frankness

your weight as inconceivable

as love.

my eyes swim with words for you

every color my heart has gathered this year

saved for you

each melody and desire bathed in nostalgia.

my lips hold beautiful sights

I want to share with you,

every inch of me is skin pulsing with intentions

and wishes under my surface, over my bones

my body sings when I am alive with you

so much I own I wish to tell you,

you are mine, in silence,

in heat, in rush, in repose, in kiss,

in glance, in gaze, in truth…

Silueta

Vivo como una sombra.

no verás mis ojos

no me sentirás

soy liquido como un color

sin palabras como la respiración

sólo ves una silueta

bajo luz como si fuéramos

ángeles lejanos

lejos de nuestras viejas ciudades,

usadas para absorber

nuestras lagrimas

que no encuentran donde caer

que desean el caos

de la cambia constante

que es la vida de una fantasma.

Me verás como silueta lamentable:

callada como la briza

que te toca como terciopelo azul

pero nunca te dice

una palabra que entiendes.

Esperarás que comparta contigo

un pedazo de mi alma

una sola palabra

del centro de mi ser

pero lamento que no puedo.

Mi piel es de piedra.

bajo el superficie de risa elegante

voz baja y manos inmóviles,

mi alma ardiente te desea

y cree que me dejarás

al final,

porque yo te quiero

demasiado.

Snapshots of City Memory

I am a queen of nostalgia, dark like cold nights, awake and asleep, all at the same time, like memories you can taste again and again, life begins to live, moments begin to happen, my eyes open like wind on adobe building desert midnight, stay with me, in my blood, protecting by the membrane of my veins and my esperanza, holding you forever and ever, on our new soft terrain, I was accustomed to a usual dissatisfaction so it’s difficult to know how to handle you, your teeth glistening like snow under streetlamp night, New York but latin, cobblestone dust washed into relentless tango rain, streaming at the curbs like garbage rivers racing to escape but drying before reaching the city’s edge, whirlwind life, remembered in fragments of his coffee eyes, dorado ears, corner of devilish smile,  arch of stretched back, existence now tasted in snapshots of flavor like memory dejavu reenacted in my present bones,

love, love, pushing me over the city’s shore like toes on balcony tile cold as cement at daybreak heartless as selfish desire and foolish impulsion my soul eternally filled to the brim with carelessness because nothing matters to me but love, and sadness has filled most of my days like darkness fills shadows, which wait to be painted black, as that is their purpose,

I was created melancholy and wistful like willow tree, solitary and yearning

but roots are city glass and stone mud streets and cumbia windows, plátano crates, long strides into freezing bridge night;

don’t let me go, gray sweater and flourescent bus dream, love known in flashes like polaroid unregrettable futureless time–

In Times of Cholera (English Version)

Originally written by me in Spanish. Read the Spanish version here.

In times of absence

what does the heart do?

She sleeps,

she lets the eyes divert their course.

She dreams of nostalgic times.

Sentiment is half of love,

conviction is the other.

You have my heart;

make yourself responsible:

He who loves

has the responsibility

to care.

and she who needs

has the responsibility

to wait.

In times of aging,

one must not abandon

conviction.

Love in times of cholera;

through the hours that we forget each other,

between the seconds when you seem absent,

love is the internal promise

to continue on.

Fragments

The way his eyelids fold above his eyes when he glances upwards.

A radio station I’d only heard online, blasting in a clothing shop

where I traded $20 for 200 pesos.

The first taste of cold Fernet and coke, with ice.

Standing to wait in the street, instead of the sidewalk.

Hearing “feliz navidad” as I buy 2 liters of water for a sweltering day.

Walking on the handprint of Maradona, as though I were in a Hollywood

one million times more personally meaningful.

Every shower freezing, like a baptism each time.

Crepes of caramel and the blackest beer in the house,

lying sick in my bunk, next to a future lifelong friend

who offered me a walk on the beach,

but I was leaving that day.

last night, ultimately alone, Mendoza,

empanadas, spaghetti, too much, never enough

of that restaurant with the flag in the window.

the chico in the plaza playing mad guitar with his

girlfriend watching proudly on the bricks.

no shame anywhere, and personal sadness

only under a thick layer of empathetical radiance.

our last moments in each other’s presence,

spent in pointed silence.

regret for not loving you sooner,

passionate nerves vibrating for the future.

My small green silk journal from abuela.

the chair he pulled out for me

salsa I pretended to dance,

wondering if he was intentionally edging

so close to my mouth.

the City at dawn, garage doors over each shop,

-except the Farmacia-

the cigarette between his lips,

no fingers used to keep in place,

instead interlaced with mine,

despite my numb.

Chinese food and flan,

dinner on the hostel’s bench by his side,

why didn’t I kiss him in the shower

upstairs, while everyone ate?

the hostel worker who “waved good-bye”

to his return plane to Mexico, D.F.

the New York man, searching for his “latin lover”

no Spanish in his yankee vocabulary,

curing a hangover with a mar-gar-it-ah,

memorable.

the taxi driver who took me to my return airport,

promised me “nada es imposible”.

demasiados adioses.

the stars of Santiago city lights shimmering

along with my tears, crying together in solemnity

as Soda Stereo filled my ears,

knowing I had not meant to leave.

Ten Minutes

8:09 p.m.  Te alcanzo dentro de paredes lineas de metal ondas de

20:10        Steel, the ocean is an iron fence most nights. Freezing Celcius water on my feverish Farenheart,

8:11 p.m. Nado como un ritmo y te anhelo como rima poética aunque

20:12     You’re in distant cafés or smoking on a Santiago porch in dead night with somber wings painted on your back,

8:13 p.m. Pero decís que no sos un ángel. Sos un espíritu que comparte mis deseos

20:14      Rebel off-the-grid fleeting aquarius love of my life, filled with patience

8:15 p.m. para mí, y asco para la ciudad que te rodea, sabemos que el destino queda en el París latinoamericano,

20:16    You, interlaced with destiny and destination, interlaced with the journey of

8:17 p.m. conocer todo lo que nos espera y llama, la ausencia ya no me duele

20:18      the nostalgia

8:19 p.m.  me quiere, pero también dejamos en el pasado las pieles cambiadas

En tiempos de colera

En tiempos de ausencia

qué hace el corazón?

Se duerme,

aun que deja que los ojos se desvíen.

Se duerme con el sueño

de tiempos nostálgicos.

El sentimiento es la mitad

del amor;

que también es la convicción.

Vos tenés mi corazón;

hacéte responsable:

él que ama

tiene la responsabilidad

de cuidar.

y la que necesita

tiene la responsabilidad

de esperar.

En tiempos de envejecimiento,

uno no se debe abandonar

la convicción.

Enamorarse no es el amor entero.

sino el primer paso

en su camino.

Amor en tiempos de cólera;

por las horas que se le olvida al otro,

entre los segundos que pareces ausente,

el amor es la promesa interna

de continuar.

Old Poems: Summer Baby

We walked all the way down to Venice

the sun set on our glass liquor heat

our infrared smiles, lost girl mouths

we sat, she smoked, he drove and

we were forever young

every light told me to stay

the paradise air tried to establish me

the city may pulverize my dreams.

I’m a Summer baby,

under a bed I sleep and hear their dreams

and hope mine isn’t a product of loneliness