"as your grandmother would say," your mother says

what is it right now that you are unable to swallow?

the question hits you in the chest even though it is so obvious

(the question that is, not the answer)

the answer is everything

the answer is

    time

    life

    death    daily tragedies

                the impermanence of beauty

                uncertainty

like a pot on the stove

forgotten

                you are waiting for it to 

                                                       boil over

                that is the lump in your throat

                        that causes you fear

living in the past and the present and the future

            the thin line between what is real and what is not

the power we have to define this

                        the weakness we have in its face

the pepto bismol is so pink

in your hand

                    "you can take some, but I don't think it'll do you any good"

your mother says.

i.

 silly girl, how could you think you were alone

when you are surrounded by plants, living

plants giving you air, taking in your toxic waste

with each exhale loving you and making your life

possible.

ii.

foolishly you forget that you are not the center of the universe

iii.

how could you expect to not feel loneliness? to not have days

weeks maybe even years where you felt sadness (hopefully not 

years) you who has always been so

sensitive

vi.

yet even your skin even your breath even your thoughts even your mind

even your feet even your fingers even your fingernails even your bellybutton

even your tongue even your blood even your words even your tone even the way you

look at people has come to you from other people

you are made of other people of other things living and non living 

millions of other things

v.

it is the way you choose to look at the world that is your own.

fingernails (from 10/23/16)

 i once read a story on the train

about a woman and her lover

with dirty fingernails

she said she couldn’t explain it

she wanted to feel 

the way a hangnail feels

when thrust into the darkness

like a seed.

that day when i got home

i took a tweezer and each grain beneath each bed.

the dandelions sprouted first

each leaf left inky shadows on my stomach

small covered paths for ants or eyes to wander 

the blossoms curved around my nose 

and pressed their wispy petals to my cheeks

my skin abloom with pink, with orange-red

the roots criss-crossed my soles like veins 

and quivered with each heart-beat.

i left my suit of armor made of nails  

it clanged against the bedroom’s wooden floor

the earth beneath each crescent moon too large 

to fit the whole of me

all thrust into the darkness

like a 

seed.

my heart is the storm  

with dirt on my knees 

some news is too much to hold 

I turn into rain  

~~~

mi corazón es la tormenta  

tierra rodillas 

no aguanto la nueva 

vuelvo en lluvia

this is what it's about isn't it?

children grow inside us like daffodils

unfurling making life

this is what it is about, you

on the sidewalk wondering about your own opinion, you

not realizing that

daffodils can grow inside my stomach

that i can pick them if i want to that

you do not get to choose if they flower or if they choke me

this is what it is all about

changed lives (not yours)

this is what it is all about

your morality making a decision that determines someone else's existence (not yours)

this is what it is all about

i am not made

to make children

that is not my only purpose

this is what it is all about

we are past should 

we are past maybe if

we are at the point with fingers on the stem

do you not think i know it is painful to pick?

do you think any of this is to say, it is easy

you did not see her body as it curved

into his in the stairwell

you did not see her bent head like the 

drooping head of a daffodil

you did not see the other life she chose for herself

you did not see the other life she was given

you did not see her bloom

this is what it is all about.

outside my window

the birds chirp so loud

screaming with laughter

yelling at each other

heckling going about their business buying seeds

on the corner from one house to another

from one alcove to another

letting themselves sing

black love is forever

black love is forever

like the dirt kissing you everywhere

you could never asked to be kissed

it is not black

and soul sucking

tormenting in a self-satisfactory 

way

it says i will love you

and i will never understand

let's pretend

i.

these days i do a lot of pretending 

it feels sometimes like i fool myself enough to believe

that it is real (but then i catch myself in fear)

i pretend to work, i pretend to know what i am doing, i pretend

to go grocery shopping (i'm very good at it by now, i pick things up

and put them down, i put them in my cart, i do not ask any questions,

and i bring them all home and set them on the shelf).

i pretend to sleep. i pretend to be a grown up. i pretend to have it

all figured out or more often i pretend that i do not have a clue and that is 

an act i am so good at that even i don't know i'm pretending.

ii.

other times, we pretend

spinning cotton candy silks, tasting sugar with our eyes

we change our voices, we say things that do not make sense

and it is delightful! how little sense they make

we are other people we are ourselves we are each other

until life knocks on the door

and comes back in

iii.

prae tendere

before stretch

stretch the truth out like a piece of bubble gum

the gaping holes only a millimeter thick

from your mouth to mine

iv.

in pretending 

there is confidence

there is a path

to not pretend