love’s lifetimes

September 25, 2010

the Sunshine of your eyes
rose one sweet 16 day
in the horizon of my heart.

a swarm of butterflies
filled my belly.

my hands
were sweaty.
my body
my heart

and i ran…
across that bridge
under the pouring rain
just to get down
on my 16-year-old knee
and ask you to marry me.

young fool.

all i could afford
was my love
and a $5 dollar stuffed bear
you named charlemagne.

accepted my proposal
while telling me,
“you so crazy.”

i left roses inside your locker.
and when the bell rang
we’d find each other in the hallway
passing love notes dressed in handshakes.

and i was all for you.
and you were all for me.
and all for one had our song
playing on every radio station…

“i swear…”
our love would last
infinite lifetimes.
and yes, “i’ll be there.”

but that was first love.

that was love before it got complicated.

cause now…

it’s no longer about the butterflies
or the love notes.
it’s much more complex.
you need all your strength
just to make it work


your heart breaks.
you break hearts.

but the memory of how good it feels
keeps you coming back.

in hopes…
that this time,
it will last.
that this time,
you will figure it out.

and you need it.

like some addictive drug,
it calls you.
and you surrender everything
to have one more shot at this.

one more shot
at growing old
with someone.
one more shot
at companionship.

one more shot
at that love
that survives
the challenges.

that love, that will rise
in the horizon of so many sunsets.


the likes that is felt through lifetimes.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2010 ©

not poetry

September 21, 2010

i’ve been trying
to put into poetry
the excitement
mixed with anxiety
that has taken
over and under me.

making me feel
like a little kid
counting down
the days for summer vacation.

i got a calendar
where X marks the spot
of another day closer
to your touch.

and this smile
grows wider.
and my heart
and i act silly(er).

and this isn’t poetry…

…but it sure feels poetic.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2010 (C)

missing crib

September 12, 2010

on dec 7, 2007
surgeons took a knife
to my womb
made an incision
that ran across my abdomen
and removed the crib right outta’ me.
said something about a cancer-like
disease was turning my own body against me.

and just like that…
the crib was gone.
and with it,
two children.
i had plans for my womb:

two kids.
a girl and a boy.
clara elis.
diego rafael.
strong latino names.

i imagined everything:
from the pregnancy,
to the birth,
to college graduation.

clara elis.
my little girl.
slept soundly.
we curled up
on the couch
watching Yankees
games on mute.

diego rafael.
was strong
on his way out.
came out screaming-
yelling at the world.
but so gentle growing up.

they spoke in their grandparents language.
knew their history and their herstory.
diego had the sweetness of my father.
clara carried the strength of my mother.
christmas was always perfect.
the three-kings
brought them gifts.
i was their first kiss on new-years-day.
their first hug on valentines.

and their mother’s day cards…
those were my favorite.
(i kept all of them).

i washed their clothes
in the gentle cycle.
was amazed
that they grew
so fast.
two shoe sizes
in three-months.

i helped them with their homework.
cleaned their room and tied their shoes.

(we played hide-and-seek every day).

their smiling faces
hanging on picture frames
all over the house.
they called grandma
every night.

i went to those pta meetings.
talked to clara’s teacher about her chattiness.
in her defense would say,
“she’s just so excited about life.”
i heard nothing but good things about diego.

i cried with them.
when they scraped their knees.
when they fell off the monkey bars.
when they lost their first tooth…
when they lost their first love.

i watched them grow.
the teenage years
were so much fun.
i went to every single
game, recital, practice…
and they were
never embarrassed to kiss me
hello and good-bye.

college applications
filled our kitchen table.
i visited them abroad.
celebrated their successes.

and seven-hours later
i woke up from the surgery.

took my hands
to my abdomen
felt the gauze pad
and gently rubbed
my stomach…

i talked to both them
and said,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t have you sooner.

I’m sorry I was so selfish when I was younger, I thought that waiting might have helped me provide a better life for you both.

I’m sorry we never had the chance to meet, to play… to laugh.

I’m sorry that I won’t make it to your game,
that we can’t play hide-and-seek… that the frames have no pictures.

I’m sorry that I’m left with a memory that never took place.

But what I’m most sorry for… is that I never got to hold you in my arms.

and all I can do now… is give birth to words.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2010 ©

Writer’s Note: Adapted from my monologue “piece of my self.”