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.

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Drifting Thoughts

One slim glass of coca-cola iceless on wood mueble by my pillow where I rest my skin in motionless tranquility so as not to sweat in summer afternoon

adobe tile room,

150 pesos rusty golden coins, a receipt for tomatos, and old Motorola accompany the dewy glass as I sit

and occasionally miss my city as she drifts through my head like breath or waves,

and sometimes her memory even pounds against my bones like veins of blood trembling with heartbeat,

she will always be fuera de la realidad, for her hospitality is rough like pavement and her heart a jungle of chaos;

but her Dream is like roses, an oasis to my soul’s reality.

her promise has fed me, no matter if I fulfill, for the wind has always pushed me where I need to be…

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.

Alone with the Town

my last friend left to Reno

drove through wildfires with his girl

and I’m alone in town

once I told him to get out

now I’m the only one who still comes round.

nowhere to cruise

in this country night of blue

Wal-mart and traffic lights glow

warm bodies stay inside

and watch the television glow

eating jello

heating water for tea in their midnight micro-

waves, oh

hell, I’m alone

again

on tile cold.

maybe I’ll shoot the bull

with the absent-minded, directionless voices in my head,

or blow my nose,

get the smoke out of my soul.

or play reggae guitar to the light of the moon

on my bed for two

missing you…

Yearning for Big Sur and salt and even Venice Beach,

when I’m really nostalgic,

tacos and lime

even Hawaii

your tongue and lips and throat

pronouncing my name

kissing my breath

on city wind night morning light sky roof

desolation,

that we were,

shouts and ATMs and sleepless Christmas

you were drunk and passionate

I was jaded-

I remember too often,

since life is small here–

but grand and golden in my heart:

its warm nights and my father’s eyes and mother’s arms

hometown heart beating the drum of my soul tune

and I want to cut through every town

and walk on dirty cement

trip on cobblestone

sit on crumbling curb

I love to dig the city, her footprints

her red, yellow, green stars

gas station moons

and diner suns

empty cinemas 1 a.m. drinking coca cola icees

by the light of the marquee

and her violet hair

my velvet and moonshine friends,

all silent now,

in far-off places

leaving me, for a short time,

alone in Desert town,

washed-up

past high school days

lingering

in longing…

Sol del Barrio / Barrio Sun

I did this assignment before but now I feel like delving deeper…

Toes over cobblestone,

tumbleweed, cracks in pavement

train station

blues.

echoes of a suitcase

rolling down a quiet road

one girl

miles away from home.

restless wind

stirs in the corners

of the barrio

as faces watch

from porches of cumbia

and sweat.

soccer and dust

creaking railway

dusk and waiting

for a bus full of silent lips.

fear sits like food

in every stomach

filling us up to the brim

with love for the seconds

we spend breathing quietly

in summer tranquility

near and far from where we’ve come,

chokingly saying nothing

and softly knowing everything

under Buenos Aires sun…

Suburban Sun

hot sidewalks, dry trees 

kissing in a dusty sunlight dream

teen kings and queens of Suburbia

overgrown grass in abandoned baseball fields,

holding hands like the world will never end,

concrete drive-in and summer cigarettes,

coca-cola and my dying ’87 Honda engine,

fed with gasoline so I could race back to him

baggy jeans and wild hair, now a hometown memory 

some days all I want is to sit by the tracks,

watching the stars, under sheets and glowing stars

sweet air and innocence, breath calm and mind sound…

Road Irreversible

I long for the 15-year-old me,

as if she were a perfect tragic entity

I yearn to be.

she was soft like afternoons by the train tracks,

not yet hard from weatherbeaten city streets.

she was warm like summer park benches,

not yet frozen by loveless winter apartment nights.

she was in love, alite with melodies of sun

not yet jaded by routine and adults’ run around games.

she was free, to learn and to drink all of love’s promise,

to watch the sky and see nothing but hope in the stars,

to kiss lips and never picture him falling through her hands,

to dance and trust completely

his lead and the tranquil suburban night surrounding.

but she didn’t know this

until now,

as I wonder if I am still so free.

 

I speak to her at midnight

by my childhood window,

where I can almost meld her soul with mine,

exchanging gray dusk with violet dawn

sometimes interchangeable

other times too separated by black hours of night.

Each time I swim back to her heart

mine beats more slowly

and I cry because I want to love the world again,

yet the road is irreversible,

If I turn around now I’ll lose the horizon,

which she too was facing,

never turning her back.

So I’ll follow her lead

and swear to never look back…

Flavor in the dark

I understand flavor, and it charges my bones like batteries

merengue drums like my sensual soul

I want to spin across the room and drink in the orange lights

the dazzling cherry gin and juice in your dark hands

and I want you to take me to heaven

is it ok that I hold it all in?

that I don’t like to stand up and I don’t like their eyes

scanning me like their fast thoughts?

is it ok that it’s hard for me

to block every inhibition from my sporadic spirit?

sometimes I forget the music and hear only shadows,

and night, and I’ll want to be alone,

cocooned in a pressureless atmosphere,

no complicated voices, 

only starry solitude. flavor filling up my soul

when I can enjoy it without fear,

then we can truly dance-

us, introverted bats and lava lamps alive with

moonlight and kisses and rocks and open air

 

 
 

Expectations

I live for the moments i can say ‘this didn’t turn out like i thought’ because that is the essence, tragedy, thrill, and beauty of life…

Even midst tears like mountains of melting snow like my heart dissolving into nothingness soon becoming my reflection in a clear pool of emptiness evaporating into dust like God’s secret in the sky, penetrating my skin, saying he loves me, never expected to meet him, not here, not on my first night in a crazy town that is and was and will be home, and also will always be dark and unknown like magic at night, I didn’t think I would love him, I thought I would forget him after we sweat and yelled from the top of Buenos Aires on the angriest Christmas I’ve spent, sleepless and drunk on lostness and dirty like all my nights there, I never thought I’d be flying back for good, to get myself stuck in wild locura whirlwind life on foreign roads, 

and I hope a few moments come, which I didn’t expect, which turn out more beautiful and dulce than I imagined…