la princesa guerrillera de la sur central

pequeña niña un sol con cara

triste que a la misma vez sonríe

porque así dice la ley paternal

florecita de todos colores

tus pequeñas raíces se esconden

detrás de palabras que ahorcan

tu garganta por no poder decir

lo que sientes en la casa

en la escuela en la telenovela

siempre debes de ser

de una u otra manera

pero cuando nuestros ojos

se estrellan los tuyos morenos

llenos de vida

los míos verdes escurridos

porque han visto mucho en la vida

tus labios se parten en dos

arrancas de tu mami y me miras con valor

oiga porque tiene esos dibujos en sus manos

y con mucho miedo me haces responder

son tatuajes quieres ver

y dices que feos tiras tu mirada al cielo

vuelves a la mano extendida de tu madre

pero solamente tú y yo sabemos

que un día vas a disparar tus propias palabras

a los cuatro vientos

mientras que las mías se quedan trabadas

en mis pasajeras manos

a princesa guerrilheira do sul central

menina um sol com cara

triste que ao mesmo tempo ele sorria

porque é isso que a lei paterna diz

florzinha de todas as cores

suas pequenas raízes se escondem

por trás das palavras que pairam

sua garganta por não ser capaz de dizer

o que você sente em casa

na escola na novela

você deve estar sempre

de uma ou outra maneira

mas quando nossos olhos

seus pardos quebram

cheio de vida

meu drenado verde

porque eles viram muito na vida

seus lábios se dividem em dois

você arranca da sua mãe e olha para mim com coragem

ouça por que você tem esses desenhos em suas mãos

e com muito medo você me faz responder

eles são tatuagens que você quer ver

e você diz feio você olha para o céu

você volta para a mão estendida de sua mãe

mas somente você e eu sabemos

que um dia você gravará suas próprias palavras

a quatro ventos

enquanto o meu fica trancado

nas minhas mãos que passam

south central warrior princess

little girl with a sun for a face

sad but at the same time she smiles

because that’s what the paternal law says

little flower of all colors

your tiny roots hide

behind words that stick in

your throat not being able to say

what you feel in your house

at your school in the soap opera

you must always be

one way or another

but when our eyes collide into each other

your brown ones full of life

my green ones drained

because they have seen so much in life

your lips split in two

you tear away from mommy and you look at me courageously

hey why do you have those drawings on your hands

and with fear you make me answer

they are tattoos you want to see

and you say their ugly while you look at the sky

and run back to your mother’s extended hand

but only you and i know

that one day you will launch your own words

at the four winds

while mine stay locked

in my aging hands

Eunice

Eunice

sits

by the

twin doors on

her porch waiting for the

mail to arrive and have a conversation with

Yan the carrier who always asks about her past and what she’s doing

it’s time for the Moon Festival and Eunice enjoys hearing Yan’s stories too and when his wife sends her Moon Cakes

her heart skips a beat with joy today she wore a peach silken robe her hair is wild and white legs tucked neatly under thighs and her lap nestles two brown gray Siamese kittens

eyes deep black filled with wisdom earned through pain war and humiliation but if you look closer her irises are flecked with bits of gold these are the triumphs of her life i want to be like Eunice graceful with the power of her forgiveness she is eternally untethered from the mortal coil of man

strong in her conviction to love without having to be loved free to walk through the doors of challenge steadfast in her beauty shining from within soul armor for the soldier Queen her lips sea shell pink have spoken with the angels her thin vein covered hands have opened promise closed opportunities for mass destruction Eunice swift of foot feeds the weeds and prized flower bushes the same life is life she says and through this ancient simple third eye view the weeds have nourished the orchards of love

Eunice with her basket feeds the multitudes with far less fish than Jesus can provide today but in her patience and plentitude of faith the cup of satiety somehow runs over in the inky crescendo of the twilight Eunice sits in her back porch by the door where she cried hiding sorrow when the universe collapsed as seen on the 11 o’clock news many Aprils ago clutching a holy book to ensure it’s protection in case that night’s devil came to her own door i know i’ll never be like Eunice with spirituals circulating in her veins while her licorice skin warms the spirits of the children next door who dress like ninjas for the Fall and every year as she pretends to be the frail victim for them to save her reward is the blooming of a brighter future in their innocent laughter

J

beloved little j

a few words that i want

to say

you are the bravest in the world

my world and that of God’s

you don’t even really know who i am

you like all the stuff others like and you eat

just like them too

you like mathematics which i don’t

but we sound alike when we speak

you count and you obsess with time

and allocation

i count and obsess with dispensation

j when you go Home

can you put in any word for me

i don’t know how to help you

or to be of service

i feel you on my face

when the tears roll down my cheeks

i don’t know if you feel me on your palms

you are my little old man

so wise beyond all time

i am angry at your circumstance

but your aura is all love

what can i say

the trance floats my feet across London Bridge where i meet the Sex Pistols for tea then i met the Dalai Lama for goat yoga and he read the Scottish Play to me i raised my head down from the clouds to capture the perfect hue of turquoise when Loololama cusped my hand to teach me Hopi geometry upon seeing the bracelets of my thoughts in such opulent colors Billie and Frida brought May West and we had a slumber party in the morning Rosa and Harriet took me to church in Aretha’s Pink Cadillac after June and Johnny sang Amazing Grace Bowie said to Lou Reed if she falls from the sky she’ll break her nose all the while Mother Teresa looked to Peter as she wildly agreed and while he did not stomp his feet Archangel Michael was ordered to fly me down and he dropped me off between Normandie and Western

by the tower

harmony clashes

pounding through the drums of fate

floating messages

on the wings of lonesome doves

pennies for the angels’ breath