poetry

cataloging romance and nature

Poetry Book: Secret Languages

Exercepts of poems from the book are located below.

My Toes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i shoved hours under the carpet of sunday staring
out my window.
i noticed with squinted eyes the silhouette of my foot
against the blazing summer light.

i wondered to myself:
how i have grown. how i have aged.
where are all those smells i remember as a child.
the scents of freedom i could almost put in my pocket
they were so thick.
the hundred signals of a coming summer
after the last bell of school rang for the year.

i would blaze a trail home. sneakers i can no longer recall
even the color of.

all those smells exist now for some other young boy.

i spent a day looking at my foot.
i spent a day hearing my grandma's voice from that morning.
it was in my head.

i noticed today as i had not on others. how fragile her laughter
really is.
how thin her time is, and i havent seen her in a while.
i am afraid to move towards her now, like the smoke of my incense.
approachable only in theory.
what if i move and she's no longer there?
what if i see her and the wrack of time against her face.
the same rubbled struggle i hear in her voice.

i want to be young again near her.
when summer brought my freedom from books
and pints of not so cold milk cartons.
from smocks wreeking of tempra paint.
back to when the sun of july brought
my grandmas freckles out even against her bronzed italian skin.

its strange
how a day of a foot silhouette can
can warp the space of my mind
in such ways.

i forgot to say i love you to my grammy when i hung up on sunday.
i shouldn't do that again.

i think i will call in the morning.

we are all incense.

 

mi alma pide

mi alma pide el cielo de la noche,
¿cuándo tu vendrá a mí?
y las respuestas de la noche con silencio.
este silencio me lastima.

my soul asks the night sky,
when will you come to me?

and the night answers in silence.

this silence hurts me.

this silence is dusted like the wings
of forgotten angels.
this silence wrecks the clouds
and so the end of the day is always red
and purple

as are the fingers of my heart
from reaching out to you

to you
to you
to the side of me where i can only smell you,
but not feel.