as far as little girls went i was not very normal i read
and understood language on a different level i could imagine with my mind’s eye
seeing the words float up from a page or sign or billboard or holy book like
smoke when the Vatican has chosen a new pope
i thought i could genuinely speak to non human life forms through my thoughts and at a young age the whirlwind of the lives of the adults while in my Topanga canyon years caused me to believe in the spiritual something that was always there invisible but tangible only to my soul ever present warning me hide the keys flush those pills down the toilet before they get them and die for the day don’t go home with that man don’t touch mommy’s things hide by the creek
always the presence during the part of life when the
soul seizes to be tender and becomes a little hardier the spiritual something
became overbearing not like Joan of Arc’s but just getting in the way i wanted
to do my will even though it wasn’t the right thing to do for the sake of my
soul and well being i followed the human aspect that surrounded me and forsook
the spiritual something
now that i’ve traversed several planetary rotations i know it’s there and sometimes i can feel it most often i can’t or i can’t tell if subconsciously i refuse to feel it however the mortgage of my misguided self agency has come due
the wood peels from the shanks of the inside of the ghost temptation rots teeth grind in the daymare of desperate desire the room with no view the floor is on fire and the sea she is angry boiling up to the chair of judgment it’s not your time yet the mistress and her kin invade my gossypium cabin fever out i say no room in my nightmare you would not understand day three the muscles stalactites reaching up to a god out to lunch remember holy time is different than human seven heads are better than none my hands in outer space the heart percolates in mother’s Turkish coffee pot ssshhh she doesn’t know licking out to anything that moves without a pulse to send some help a little bump a little drop a little cup to ease lubricate the crumbling road to the reality of seals breaking slowly
little Valentina jumped up and
down by the crosswalk waiting for the light to turn lime jello green her little
black patent leather shoes tip tapped on the dirty dusty sidewalk she let go of
her mom’s hand to clean the dust off open little palms were no match for the
dirt those were her prized church doctor and special school event shoes they couldn’t
get dirty Valentina had an excellent day at the dentist and her mom and dad
promised her she could go to Olvera Street and get her treat as the family made
their way to the Plaza Valentina’s eyes search like a hawk she didn’t see Don
Chema the paleta man with his cart filled with frozen delights it was a humble
little ice box covered with ice pop stickers shaped like action heroes Sponge Bob
and even the Disney Princesses once they got to the kiosk and the giant tree
Valentina’s hopes dimmed she looked up at her dad with the biggest brownest
sullen eyes and he offered a dreadful solution would you like a churro instead
Valentina searched once more and as a small crowd of Japanese tourists
dispersed she saw Don Chema she hopped and squealed with delight Valentina
pulled on her parents to walk her to the paletero Don Chema in a nasally raspy
voice asked her que le gustaria mi reina Valentina whispered up to her dad and
she asked for the prized watermelon paleta juicy red with the little black
seeds frozen inside
words less spoken 