Bright light behind me
only shape remains
resting, hovering, suspended
clouds blacken against an orange-pink glowing sunset
black, too, the white-breasted hummingbird and the pink-striped hibiscus
against the golden burst of a fresh-out-of-bed sunrise
the curve of a jaw
the connect-the-dots peaks and valleys of wind-tousled hair
my own light, energy eclipsed
features undefined.
Continue Reading »Posted in Aging, Existential, impermanence, Mortality, Youth | 2 Comments »
Lo que dijeron los lirios
Rivera pintó a las mujeres que reunían los lirios de alcatraces en sus brazos
que se cayeron de rodillas en un campo de flores, de vegetales, de maíz
mujeres que hemos visto solamente por atrás
sus espaldas y caderas amplias debajo de blusas blancas y faldas negras
su pelo recogido o trenzado
dos trenzas recogidas entre sus hombros
un delicado lazo de tela que los une
la vida de la mujer es poner lo que crea con las manos
para domesticar algo indígena, salvaje.
Continue Reading »Posted in Diego Rivera, Flowers, Indigenous peoples, Lilies, México, Painting, Women | Leave a Comment »
The young couple
just a few weeks into their love
sheltered together
the aged couple
side by side so long they rarely speak out loud
remained in, quietly
children stayed home from school
university students returned to their parents’
people sheltered with their dog, their cat, their bird
their recipes, their baking supplies
their Facebook pages, their Twitter feeds,
their closets overfull, their hedges overgrown
their papers to file, their new exercise videos
their Zoom meetings, their redefined work lives.
Tulip bulbs, planted last fall, refusing to read headlines
have burst forth from their underground shelter
disregarding the laws of physical distance and masks
entering the world boldly upright, comingling colors,
blooming with promise and the sheer delight
of coming unrestricted into this world.
Continue Reading »Posted in COVID-19, Encerrado, Guanajuato, Isolation/Belonging, Love, Quédate-en-Casa, Yoga | Leave a Comment »
La oscuridad de la madrugada exige a la tristeza
una dosis exactamente igual que la de ayer
y de cada mañana antes
desde que dimos un nombre a las horas interminables
y supimos que somos las personas invisibles
nadie puede distinguir la cara del viento
el cabello del cielo nocturnal
el negro en el ojo del negro en el sueño
el nombre del silencio.
Continue Reading »Posted in Dawn, Emotions/Inner World, Isolation/Belonging, Solitude, The Soul | Leave a Comment »
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