feels like a weekend
and you’re missing my poems
just like i’m missing my words
me falta todo

rain seeps into every crevice
palm fronds droop
under the weight of water
and no one can believe me
(as usual)
when i tell them,
yes, i’m still coming,
yes, estoy en frente de tu edificio
open the door
let me in,
let me in,
let me be a part of your warmth
for this moment in time

(do you not see?
wet Crocs and all,
your money buys the barras de pan,
the giant bottle of olive oil,
the food to feed my family?
rain? rain? have you seen snow???)

i don’t have the words
to tell you how lonely
these morning moments are.
we watch from the balcony
the strange sounds at 4am,
like our 2.5-hour washer,
only different,
pouring out of God’s hands
and flooding the streets

my children’s first school holiday
inundated with entrapment
as they pitch fits about cleaning rooms
and pace hallways until
a stolen movie subdues them

there will be days like this
nights like this
with no escape
the small piso on level three
our only window to the world

and this
this
is when i miss you most