spiritual hear
the march in our blood listen
dont let our dreams die
spiritual hear
the march in our blood listen
dont let our dreams die
tall telephone pole
over pale distance crows caw
sun rises once more
parking lot safe house
for last night’s oil puddles
aglow in morning
pushcart troubadours
seek out their daily bread place
chow lines slowly move
weeds grow cautiously
in vacant junky yard suite
fast food wrappers scream
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
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
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
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
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
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
harmony clashes
pounding through the drums of fate
floating messages
on the wings of lonesome doves
pennies for the angels’ breath