homecoming

April 9, 2011

at the dock
we waited
anxious
excited
happy
relieved.

one long horn sounds…

tears filled our eyes.

it’s the sound that lets us know
you,
are
home

and you are.

you are their home.
your presence
is home.

i realized it when she ran to you
hugged you. holding on to you.
not wanting to let go. she cried.
she couldn’t help it. in your homecoming
she was also home.

you looked at them
noticed how much they’ve grown:
how she’s inched closer to the skies,
how his facial hair is softly showing,
how the little one has so much to say.

and then… with the tenderness of a gentleman
you kissed your wife.  she, all the while waiting patiently.

that’s how she’s been since you’ve been gone
waiting… patiently.
holding the family together. missing every minute of you.

her strength deserves a uniform flanked with ranks
that admirals have yet to receive.
i watched her during your time away.
she fought wars here. launched her own missiles at days
that without you, seemed eternal.
she earns a medal of honor
for strength and courage
under fire without a crew.

your homecoming…is theirs also.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2011 ©

writer’s note: welcome home walker-herrera family. thank you for your service and sacrifice.

p.o.w

April 7, 2011

i wait…

as april’s fool
to see if her showers
may, bring poetic flowers.

your memory
holds my poetry hostage.

[prisoner of words]

but
poetry
has a way
of breaking
free.

~Sarahí Yajaira, 2011 ©

laffin’

April 5, 2011

yo, when we get together yo…
i feel like a fuckin’ kid again.
fo’real.

ay bendito.

we laff’
like stoopit’!
’cause we ‘memba’ them days
when a dollar bought you
a brown bag full of candy
and we’d sit on park benches
spittin’ sunflowa’ seeds
talkin’ maaaaad shit, yo.

them was the days.

cuando tio would
whoop our asses with the belt
for stayin’ up too late
and right afta’ he’d tell us to go
to the kitchen, eat conflai
and play dominos with him.

when we get together
all we do is laff’ son.

talkin’ ’bout stories
that are legendary
in an endangered barrio.

pero fuck it…
’cause that’s our house.
and that’s not what this is about.

age has painted lines on our faces.
hardships have given us canas.
our kids meet each other
for the first time
and they play like we use to:
making fun out of nuttin’!

laffin’

hysterically. tears in eyes.
belly doubled over. face hurting.
laffin’.

’cause our lafter’
mends hearts and heartaches.
’cause our lafter’
heals thirty-year-old wounds.
’cause our lafter’
bounces off project stairwells
and hallways to the tune of
let’s-get-the-fuck-outta’-here-
cause-we-just-did-some-crazy-
shit-we-weren’t-suppose-to.

laffin’.

porque at the end of this visit
that’s all we take wit’ us:
lafter’ and love.

i’d trade my bag of candy
for some time witch’all in a new york minute
anytime.

~Sarahí Yajaira,  2011 ©