dug well

February 28, 2012

sometimes we are so thirsty for Love,
we will drink the illusion from an empty well.

searching for potable water
to quench our dehydrated hearts…

we drown in water-less buckets.

every Sunday, if i wake up in my home, i go to the supermarket and buy myself flowers. i’ve done it for a long time. it started as an effort for self love and care. i usually get happy flowers. sunflowers. flowers with bright colors. but i love daisies. the white ones. i think they’re the happiest flowers. they always look like they’re smiling…

this weekend, after a change in plans, i adjusted to what the Universe had brought me. somehow i felt it say, “be home. be still.”

so friday after work, i ran some errands and went home. i slept. i slept. i slept.

i slept. i woke up saturday. let the beagle out. fed the beagle. slept. watched a movie. ate. slept. watched tv. slept. had the tv watch me. let the beagle out. fed the bagle. ate. watched a movie. slept.

woke up today (Sunday), at 7am. made cafe bustelo en la greca. let the beagle out. went to the supermarket, picked up some flowers and things for the week. went home. my music of choice: old Spanish boleros. cleaned the house a-la-tu-madre sans the pañuelo on my head. i moved couches. bookcases. cleaned behind, over, under, through… washed clothes. folded clothes. ate. went to get a manicure. came home. let the beagle out. took a long hot shower. i moisturized. gave myself a calf massage. allowed myself to take care of She who is most important in my life, Me.

some of us are natural givers. add to that society’s constant reminder to “do unto others” or “help your neighbor.” yes these should always be a part of our life. still, we must learn how to return to us and give ourselves the very things we give others: our time, our energy, our love…

we need to dedicate time to ourselves to replenish and rejuvenate our mind, body and soul. it is in this moment where you gain greater strength of heart. in this time with self, you listen to the message silence has to share. you listen to the message on being alone. it is this very act of self Love that you can find your real strength.

it easy to find strength for others, but can you be strong for your Self?

Self Love and Care is the best way to strengthen the core of you. that very place you pull from when you’ve got nothing left. so take a day and spend it with your Self. i promise, it’s worth it. in fact, you might just like who you get to hang out with all day… and there’s a possibility, you might fall in Love with you.

 

memory: gammy’s seizure

February 18, 2012

when we were kids
you were my favorite cousin.

i’m not sure why.

not that i needed a reason;
but i had 41 other cousins
to choose from…
you made it easy to “pick.”

you never said no to me.
you thought it was just fine
that i wanted to play baseball
(you even taught me a few things),
and basketball… and football…
and any other sport that was reserved
for the boys.

we played all the time.
i loved sleepovers
with you -we slept on the same bed
(tu bocarriba’ y yo bocabajo’)
we were never bored.
we always found something
to do in the neighborhood,
in the house, even at church.

(you and i were grandma’s favorite, remember? 😉

one of my favorite stories
with you, was the day those boys
were going to beat you up -for no reason,
except that you looked like Screech
from Saved by the Bell (and you did, but i
didn’t think that warranted a beating).

you threw yourself on the floor
and started acting you were having a seizure.
i was freakin’ out and the boys that were about
to beat you up, ran away.
you stopped and opened one eye
looked at me and said, “are they gone?”

and we just died laughing.
what a clever way to get out of a beating.

you have this amazing ability to make all of us laugh.

and that’s just it with you… you make all of us laugh even during the scary and sad times.

today, all of our cousins are my favorite.
but you hold the memory of my childhood’s
ten-year-old laughter in your left hand.

thank you for always making me smile. for being you.

today, i celebrate the gift of your life Gamaliel Edgardo Alejandro Caraballo. thank you for shining your beautiful bright light. i wish you peace of heart, health, happiness and laughter in abundance.

i love you Gammy!

sobreviviente

February 13, 2012

“aqui no se vive mi hija,”
dice mi viejo.
“aqui se sobrevive.”

y es que este gobierno
tumba esperanza.
ser ladron es un delito
solo para el pobre.

la corrupción se disfraza de sacerdote
para absolverse de su propio pecado.
de un departamento de educacion
Que ni ABC se preocupa por sus hijos.

crece, generación tras generación
sin saber leer titulares.
por eso los periodicos llevan fotos,
y los partidos colores.

para que en filas sus votantes
se acuerden quien le dio
el saco de arroz
que solo le da de comer
a su familia una semana
mientras su desendencia
se quedara hambrienta…

si mantenemos a un pueblo sin educación
jamas tendran su liberación.
y el 27 de febrero celebraran
la dictadura de un gobierno.

y un pueblo
con caras enmascaradas celebra sin querer ver
que independiente de su partido,
el diablo cojuelo vive en su palacio.

no hay peor ciego, que el que no puede leer
porque a su gobierno asi le conviene.

apartment 5e

February 10, 2012

on the day of your death
pack lightly

because the only thing
that goes with you
are memories and Love.

123 e. 112st
apartment 5e
Titi Isabel’s tight three bedroom apartment
fit Love, laughter, sixty-two people
and still had space leftover for healing.

i remember the sound of our young voices.
i can still smell Titi’s sazon in the air.
i remember exactly the corner
where abuela always sat.

we cheered
when the families would come in
one-by-one we paraded
(macy’s had nothing on us).

her apartment decorated for christmas
at the beginning of october
(she still does it).

we were Home.

in Yanqui’s room
we’d sit and talk
teenage stories
that at the time
seemed so intense
and real -and secretive.

in the hallway
we played baseball
for 12 innings.

we’d have “showtime.”
dress up and go into the living room
to make aunts and uncles laugh
(abuela would smile the entire time)
as we imitated each of them at church
or doing something particular to each of them.
no one was saved from our wisecracks
-not even our parents.

we filled our bellies with food
digested it with laughter
and went home Loved and Loving.

if we could just hold a single moment…
if only we could just be still in that space for one more breath.

Writer’s Note: Titi ‘Sabel, gracias por ser y estar. Gracias por sacarme los piojos, por librarme de par’ de pelas de Mami, por cuidarnos, por estar presente… te quiero mucho y me quedo corta.

sigue lloviendo

February 10, 2012

aquí sigue lloviendo.

el diluvio de tu adiós,
un aguacero constante.
los ríos se desbordan
yo me ahogo en tu partida.

quisiera nadar hasta la orilla
pero te deje mis brazos
en ese ultimo abrazo.

gritaría auxilio
si mis labios no se hubiesen
ido contigo en aquel beso
que prometió volver.

mis pies no sirven
para caminar sobre las aguas.
hasta dios se despidió
cuando el milagro de tu Amor
fue azotado por un rayo
que lastimo esperanza.

aquí sigue lloviendo.

pero el sol saldrá mañana
en el amanecer de un corazón fortalecido.

hasta la vista

February 9, 2012

ella miro
tan profundamente
en mis ojos.
me dijo que los llevaba color ambar
y que en ellos llevaba fósiles
de amor.

ella no podia quitar su mirada de mi,
y yo no queria cerrar los ojos
para no perder su vista.

pero mis ojos se fueron con mi cuerpo,
tomaron vuelo…
y ella perdió mi mirada
en una noche oscura.

i had a meeting with a life coach last week. it was nothing like what i was expecting. but i will write about that at some other point. i want to share part of the homework i was given -or as she called it “soul work.”

the assignment was to write every day for ten minutes from the flow consciousness of little Sarahí (five-years-old to be exact). i couldn’t edit. i couldn’t go back and move anything. it was just ten minutes of non-stop writing as if little Sarahí had been given a crayon and told to go at the walls with confidence.

i’ve always been a good student. so i did my assignments. though i don’t have to submit it. this was just for me. this was tough. a lot harder than i thought. i mean, i am a writer. it’s what i do when i am not working for that job that pays the rent. so i thought this would be “simple.”

so i wrote. and i cried. and i wrote some more. and i cried. i was angry. i laughed. a lot. recalling and reliving moments that reminded me that i had a horrific and beautiful fifth year. and i laughed. and cried.

if we can look at a part of our life for ten minutes and put ourselves in that exact moment, you can savor bitter sweet events. you can smell the air of the times. hear the sounds like classics. you can see smiles. faces. clothes colors. but the only thing you can’t do is touch.

i couldn’t touch little Sarahí. that was the most difficult part of this assignment. i couldn’t hold her. i wanted to hug her. to tell her that everything would be so much different at thirty-three. that the moment was just a moment. but i couldn’t. and the truth is the moment isn’t just a moment. because little Sarahí remains a five-year-old in that time and space for an eternity.

so instead i did what i always do to heal… i wrote to her:

Dear Little Sarahí,

I am sorry that the first thing you think about in this five-year-old moment is that day. I am sorry you carry it in your backpack like it was essential for your walk. None of it was your fault. Not a single part. Let it go little Love. Set your Self free.

I wish you could see your brightness.

Your spirit shines much brighter than the darkness of that day. I wish you knew that when you walk into a room, darkness dissipates. What a beautiful brilliant child you are! Abuela always told you that your light would win the world over; she’s right. It’s your “golden ticket.”

Remember sunny days. Randall’s Island. Night pool. Handball. Softball. Best cousins ever. Church. Sleepovahs’. Central Park. Third Ave. Summers with Manny and David. Dinners with abuela. Christmas. Great Adventure. Action Park. Pigtails. Bofi. Castle Greyskull… surely these days weigh so much more than that day.

You have an amazing ability to recall so much and you will use it when you get older to heal and tell your story. But keep smiling and shining. You are so much light to the infinite power.

Love,
Big Sarahí

it is difficult to forgive a time and space you didn’t have control of. it is even more difficult when you feel at fault for that something. but to begin the healing process we must first give the event light, forgive the Self for being hard on the Self, and then let it go. often times we hold on to something so hard, we think it’s holding on to us. we think it’s holding us hostage. when the reality is, we’ve been holding it hostage.

there’s a freedom in freeing your Self from yourself.

…and so begins my process.

playa

February 8, 2012

quiero
jugar al esconder
entre tus arrecifes.

encuéntrame
en la playa de tus sueños.

soy
la que llega
en una barca
a la orilla
de tus labios
y en un beso
saborea el agua salada
de tus lagrimas.

tus temores
los eche a lo profundo del mar.

te hice una diadema
de caracoles.
algo así como,
corona para tu cabellera
(quiero enredarme en ti).

déjame hacer castillos
con la arena que llevas en tus manos,
construir hogar.

sentarnos
bajo palmas de coco
y bautizar este amor
en agua dulce.

mirar hacia el horizonte
ver caer el sol
de nuestros días.
ser testigos
de la luna que nos
brinda las buenas noches.

hasta el día
que llegue aquella barca
que al embarcar
nos lleve
por los siete mares
hasta desembocar
en la eternidad.

the last love poem

February 8, 2012

“Your task is not to seek for love,
but merely to seek and find all the barriers
within yourself that you have
built against it.”
~Rumi.

the last love poem
will not be written
in my lifetime.

as long as i am a poet,
butterflies will flutter
in bellies distended
with excitement.

palms will sweat.
heart rates will rise.

Love notes
will be stitched in cursive
into pocket seams.

spontaneous Love songs
will play and dancing will happen
in parking lots, busy streets,
quiet corners…

rain will pour
and Love will be soaked.

fear threatens Love.
has people running away from it
like a natural disaster.

exhaustion…

Love continues breathing.
being.

and while you fall down
…Love falls up.

 

Writer’s Note: “Fluttering butterflies was an inspiration from a conversation with Idalia Poetry.”