Vignette
Wails in the spotlight
Date, weight, time—here I am world
Wonder in my eyes
Creature of the wind
Conch shells and fairy tails mend
Unkept promises
Disillusion
Student loan and car payment
Is this really it?
Finding peace of mind
Cultivating vibrant paths
Actualizing self
Final curtain call
Reminisce of multitudes
Winter white goodnight
Cat
A cat loves in whiskery ways
A cat plays in clandestine chase
A cat hisses to say, ‘I don’t play’
A cat zooms when the human sleeps
A cat calls bird with chitter-cheeps
A cat says ‘you’re family’ with a slow blink
A cat is a pawsitive companion, to be sure
For even when it rains, a cat, does she purr
Cruel Summer
Once upon a cruel summer
I found you, a shimmering
shell on the beach.
You locked eyes with me
From then on
We would walk and talk about nothing in particular
Kept dreams in my pocket I gradually turned out for you.
Those days of my youth
Are rose-colored by the lilt of your laugh
The crease of your dimpled cheek.
That stupid thing you said that had me bent over dying.
The day that you told me you’d love me forever.
Should have found a way to bottle that up.
It’d sell like funnel cakes at the fair and remind lovers of when finger brushed hair, tight embraces and sucking faces was the only care.
Cut to—the smell of your skin on mine.
A remnant of the night we shared.
A keepsake of how we breathed, chests heaved, bodies wreathed.
Do you still think about the way you twirled me in the rain?
My clothing clung to me and you said, “You’re so fucking pretty, it kills me.”
I kissed you so hard I tasted blood
but you just carried me away and we made love.
Once upon a cruel summer
Walking and talking about nothing in particular.
Those hot nights of my youth
I bet you miss them.
I know I still do.
An Ode to Living in the Ghetto
Neighbors come and go--
Kent was shot, case of mistaken identity
The Jacksons were evicted
Don't know and don't care if Jose
is an illegal immigrant.
I like the music he plays on holidays
Heavy mariachi, exulted gritos
Simmer in the sweaty air
The most savory notes of tannins
The sideways glances on peoples' faces
When I say I live in the hood
You?
Why, You don't look "the type"
But listen to this hype:
Sure--I've fed the vagrant or two
Who've come knockin' on my door
Yet, they know the only constant
is change
They know life--
it hangs in the balance
Especially when gunshots
rip roar
Just blocks away, down Pearl
Cats spit and linger on the front porch
The jowls beg and beg,
Until they are fed
or on the side of the road dead
They too remind me
We
Are
All
Tryin
To
Quell
Hunger
Trying to find some shelter
From the summer thunderstorm
And keep alive
And keep warm
And so, I say when you step
Out your front door
Are you reminded on the daily
What you're livin' for?
Well, I think we are
here in the dirty air
I for one know what for
I see how the passersby flex
Used to wonder and I don't any more
If you don't look like prey
Onlookers will let you go on your merry way
Kent, The Jacksons, the Mexicans across the street
Are a picture of our humanity,
Even in indignity
Who've loved, suffered and lost
Just like me.
Toilet paper
“The Romans would use a communial sponge which soaked in a pool of chemicals to clean their asses,” my husband, the history major said.
”The idea of using the same sponge as a number of people for cleaning my butt is just gross,” I called out.
My father-in-law, Tim, chimed in, “What about a bidet? We could buy one off Amazon.”
“I am not having cold water shoot up my ass, thank you,” Maritza lit.
”We can buy one with a heated setting and even a dryer, if you’re willing to spend more money,” I said.
“Hmm. I just don’t know how I feel about it. Let’s just cut back on how much toilet paper we’re using. My sister says she only uses two squares to wipe her ass. And then she folds it and uses the other side too!” Maritza declared.
We all made faces of disgust and laughed as we unloaded the groceries and put them away as usual. Except my mother-in-law, already the germaphobe before the pandemic, instructed her husband to throw away all the bags that entered the house and clean the surfaces where any bag lay upon the counter.
”I saw some doctor on the news explain how to properly bring in groceries safely,” she explained.
It struck me as an odd juxtaposition to be carrying on laughing and putting away groceries like we always did when it felt like the world had altered so suddenly with the outbreak of the coronavirus.
Toilet paper may seem an important resource, and sure, keeping yourself hygienic is an important part of wellness. However, it occured to me that my family was the most precious of resources. I’m not going through this alone because I have them to joke and laugh with. I only wish other families were as lucky.
Inspire
I exist in seasons of color
You’ll catch a glimpse and fall under
A spell
A well
Of words
Too terse to tell
A wave of familiar fatigue
Muscularskeletal small tears
A monumental feeling of pride
A cataclysm of doubt remedied
Sweet red ambrosia memories
Coupled with a voice of silk
Singing reminescent songs
That spur you to go on.
My worst fear
I was always cynical when mothers would say, “There is no stronger love like the love you have for your children.” Then I had a baby and my world changed. Nearly every facet of my life was touched by having a baby. My focus changed. I was born into motherhood. I’m now one of those mothers who proclaim there is nothing like a mother’s love.
Today my son was playing with his toys on the floor while I was having my coffee nearby on the couch, my family around me. It was a typical Sunday morning. CBS was on T.V. We were in the middle of conversation when Maritza, my mother-in-law, said, ”He’s choking.”
In a nanosecond I was by my son’s side, I held him with one palm on his chest, his body adjacent to the floor and I beat his back and quickly dislodged the foreign object. He threw up and I held him, checked that he was breathing and when I realized he was okay I whispered, ”my baby.”
A minute or two passes and my leg is flooded with pain. Maritza calls for my husband to take Teddy from me. I become dizzy and feel nearly faint. In my race to my son, I landed full force on my son’s toy cup. It left about a four inch cut accoss my shin and started turning blue. My first thought was, I can’t afford to go to the doctor. Fortunately for me, Maritza jumped in, iced, cleaned and bandaged my leg.
T.J., my husband, pulled a grape stem from our son’s mouth. It was still in his mouth, he had tucked it in his cheek and apparently tried to keep it. Maritza and T.J. had to work together to get it out of his mouth. I heard all this from the baby monitor in the living room where I was confined to iceing my leg on the couch.
My worst fear is my son dying. Today reminded me of a quote I read about motherhood, that it makes your life twice as bad and twice as good. I love my son so much it hurts and I am all too aware of how fragile life is and how quickly he can be taken from me. The close call has shaken me, but my quick actions prove that I am a fierce mother and I can rescue my son in an emergency. I just never want to have to rescue him ever again.
To my students
I was once in your seat.
I told myself the teacher was not referring to me.
I believed I was not that aspiring
or capeable.
Well I speak to each of you now—
As one who was filled with self doubt.
You are more than you know.
The naysayers reap what they sow.
I was fueled by their disbelief
Now nothing can stop me.
I am the epitome of strength
I beat my own self hate.
I think you got what it takes.
A feeding
The night light illuminates the crib across the room. A soft lullaby plays. My son has just latched on and his eyes are closed as he rhythmically suckles and swallows. I am a little uncomfortably perched, legs crossed, strapped into the orthodic feeding pillow my husband bought me on the bed, back up against the pillows, one is slightly off kilter. I had to maneuver myself against the pillows and headboard, one hand craddeling my son, the other pressed down against the mattress in an effort to bolster as much back support as possible. That must have been when the pillow shifted. I bite my nail and will myself to stay awake. My stomach grumbles; I’m hungry. I decided to go to sleep sooner rather than eat the night before knowing fully well I’d wake up hungry. My other breast is full and sore. I’ll have to switch him soon. I try to remember what I need to accomplish today and instead I’m lulled into a stupor by the lullaby “Oh how I love you. Oh how I love you Daddio.“ I open my eyes and notice my son’s nursing has slowed. I gently unlatch him with my finger and turn him around to latch on to my other nipple which is more sore now from engorgement. He suckles for a second and falls asleep. I sigh and lightly try to wake him brushing my nipple against his nose and back to his mouth. It doesn’t work. I bear him against my chest and with my free hand I place the pillow in the gap between my bed and nightstand. He nuzzles against my shoulder but doesn’t wake. When I place him on the changing table his eyes open faintly; he looks concerened or confused. I speak to him in a whisper, “Hi, sleepyhead, I’m going to change your diaper.“ I give him a kiss on the cheek and the right side of his lip curls up in a half smile. As I unfasten each side of his diaper he stretches his legs so it’s difficult to remove the the diaper between his straightened thighs. I yawn loudly and he startles but doesn’t cry. This allows me to remove the diaper as his legs ease up. In an automatic procedure, I wipe him clean and fasten his new diaper on with finesse. No sooner than a minute I pick him up and rock him is he asleep in my arms.