Author: lovizmytrio

Unemployed Words

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if words could work
i could buy the right food
food to feed them
food to nurture the Earth
rather than strip her of
her natural beauty

if words would work
we could respond yes
throw our three-dollar-dinner
into the wastebasket
and forget the one week and
ten dollars left till payday

if words could cure
the tears would be smiles
and they could have
the ice cream cones of their dreams
instead of the cheap flavorless popsicles
that melt before they can get a taste
of the world with my words.

Come Write In

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step write up
i’ll give you a chair
the keys you’ll need
to get you there

step write up
and come write in
you’ll see the light
i’ve been promisin’

step write up
make your name known
you won’t regret
the words you’ll own

step write up
the door’s unlatched
from your brain
ideas will hatch

step write up
you’ll be all write
put down your dreams
and watch their flight.

Closed Eyes

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with closed eyes we see the world
blanketed by senseless screens
absent of real words
imagery we can’t understand

with closed eyes the world sees us
hidden behind doors
lost from human contact
connections we can’t define

with closed eyes we see the world
painted with desire
immersed in ourselves
love we cannot celebrate

Huntsman

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like a hunter in hiding,
you pounce perfectly
as I try to escape

you think you’ve caught me,
but your trap doesn’t dig–
my ankle is free for running

I offer you a portion,
a tiny morsel to munch,
but you are not a master huntsman.

you will only see me
as the prey you trapped too late,
the remainder of the meal left on the table.

Storyteller

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she tells the tale
from beginning to end
omitting no details

she includes the exposition
the rising action
and the climax

her wrist sliding into the air
with a blue band
so proud

only her mother’s daughter
could she be
my storyteller extraordinaire

Definition

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it could be the Spanish-English mix
from the nanny’s mouth as we sat in the zoo,
my thoughts of the last day of summer
slipping from my hands
quicker than the tears
my baby cried to sleep with,
or the anger inside
that someone would pay another
for everything i love the most.

it could be the defriending,
his cold absence of words in my presence,
or her emphatic insistence
that eight months is enough
time with her baby
when a thousand years
would not satiate me.

it could be the story i love
coming to a bittersweet end,
or the small voices
absent from my home
on the one day when
i need them most.

but i will never be quite able
to define what haunts me.

Mixer

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i cannot replicate the complex crest
nor mimic la bandera de España.
i cannot be the arms of your mother
or speak coherently her tongue.

i can only pour in the ingredients,
spin the mixer of all we desire,
and place before you in red and yellow
everything your presence means to me.

i cannot say in words what the cake will tell
in so many sweet remembrances,
so many little tastes that sparkle
like the teardrops in the corners of her eyes.

July Daughters (2011)

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Isabella

not a tear or a fear
you smile at adventure
we leave you for four days
and the silence of your absence
is brighter in my mind
than the happy photos
of your smiling face
that they send to us

Riona

words escape you
as you blink back dark eyes
and growing-out bangs,
hiding behind my leg,
your babyhood reemerging

yet

when they are gone
you endlessly request
the words that have filled our hearts
(after moments of hesitation)
they magically conjure from your mouth

Mythili

a pile of donated clothes
sit like humped garbage
on the living room floor

i open bags
sift through worn-out knees
and missing-mate shoes

Oh, I didn’t know new dresses were coming in
your six-year-old crone remarks,
lighting a fire beneath my doubts.

Wall

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the distance between
this loveless lunch
and the long drive you’ll never take
is immeasurable in eyes
hidden behind our family wall.

Always an Adventure

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the rain beats down
as we stand in hushed surprise
rush to the endless line of cars
where we wait wait wait
always an adventure

the stars beat down
on a tent without poles
dirt as thick as cream on skins
fires that won’t start
always an adventure

the sun beats down
on a misnavigating device
streets clogged with crowds
underground cracks of hellish heat
always an adventure

my soul beats down
on two jobs, three kids
bills piling like paper mountains
parents who miss what i have:
always an adventure