Poetry

thought bubbles

sometimes when I am still
I submerge myself in memory's warmth
like a hot bath on a frozen night
I dip my toes, a smile ripples on my lips
it stings a little but I never stop there

blowing thought bubbles with the suds
kisses of yesterday, giggles long gone
and then I stay too long, always too long
as the steam fogs my pupils with a wet film
as the heat becomes almost unbearable

I knew the electric wire was destined to swim
I shudder and suddenly I am back
electrocuted to a dry reality
hurtling through the underground
on a rush hour train in mid July

you were there too, in the water
did it make you sweat?
make your fingertips prune?
make your pores sigh?
alone I emerge, but I do not feel clean

I planted a story

A book never stops being a tree,
you can read its breath between lines,
count the rings along its worn spine,
trace ink-stained roots 
to its beginning.

I planted a story in the soil
in the hopes that you’d dig it up
and let it grow within your mind
as you leaf through the pages 
I kept alive.

Granada

saying goodbye to someplace
that can’t say it back,
not mute, but always busy
churning rowdy night into cloudless day
like a heart pumping blood by memory
 
I forgive you as you gave me 
all you have worked to offer:
your fortress paradise balanced on a hill,
your plucked guitar strings and visceral cries,
your smiles crinkled and glass bottles full 
 
thank you for nestling me in your stripes, 
in your proud blanket of red and yellow,
I never once shivered in your spring,
an eternal season suddenly expired
but leaving a savory taste on my tongue
 
 hasta luego, Granada, mi amorcito 
 nos conocemos de nuevo algún día