a true Spanish meal
surrounded by love’s language
five-course renewal
My Spanish English Department Dinner
a true Spanish meal
surrounded by love’s language
five-course renewal
friendship
The Clouds of a Crisis
the clouds move in
on our long walk across town,
the bike ride’s end
tagging along my subconscious
their cacophony emanates
through slick crosswalks
and cart-pulling passersby
as we make our way into
the theatre where they will become
the stage presences
they’ve only seen in pictures
after the show my colleague announces,
heavy accent and all,
It’s raining men,
and his prim-and-proper appearance,
his paisley umbrella,
fit in a warm spot
at the bottom of my heart
i teach one class (solo today),
the chart comparing schools
in Spain to America
too dense to ever fit
within the bounds of
a chalk-dust ridden
minuscule version of education
the rides home, back out,
home, back out, cause waves
of daily inconsistency that
pour out of the sky,
bearing down on the heaviness
of my home across the sea
my country sits divided
on a fence i cannot fathom,
these moments of
familiarity and love
bursting through
the clouds of a crisis
none of my countrymen can understand
in darkness,
on rain-slick tiled side streets,
i make my final pedal,
capture your words on the screen,
and wonder when we can
relinquish the rain
Trigo
wheat.
it’s my favorite Spanish word
learned in studies
to present the idea of hay
for Halloween
for me?
wheat beer,
an entire liter.
we walked across town
in search of the path
that would lead our girls
to a view of 2000 years of history
we were interrupted
by clients who thought
1.5 liters of beer
could never be enough
we walked across town,
our children in tow
and this is my Spain
as pure as anything,
the real beer,
the Pilsner to top it off,
and the warmth we swam an ocean for–
our kids’ words intermingled
like love in a basket
Trigo
wheat
it’s what makes us
who we are
Long Distance
my battery died
our words lost so many weeks
good to hear your voice
What I Miss
There are things I miss so fiercely that my heart aches. A good long, cold and isolated bike ride, breath steaming out of my lungs, coming across the deer along the fence, the perfect mountain view tinted by rays of morning sun, everything just coming into the dawn of a new day. My mornings, solitude and strength building me up for whatever I might face, knowing that I could face the world after that ride.
My recliner. Chosen by me, ridiculed for being too large, but so thick, soft, a perfect armrest I once used to nurse all my babies, it leaned back perfectly, laptop in lap, movie on screen, book in hand, the perfect piece of furniture for every situation.
My Hyundai. Not the car itself, its junky no-lights-on-interior nothing to brag about. Just the freedom it provided, piling the kids in on our latest adventure, trekking across town to the museum, the zoo, the reservoir… how I miss the ability to go anywhere, anytime, for them to share that freedom with me, to be able to explore the world without limitations of bus schedules, car rental fees, and finances.
The telephone. Being able to pick it up and call my friends, my parents, my sister, anyone, without having to worry about an eight-hour time difference, without thinking, what a fucking shitty day, I need to talk, and knowing that I can’t talk to anyone, any time, about all the things in life I need to talk about. That it really is just us, the five of us, and we have to figure out a way to be everything for each other in every moment, whether it’s my girls’ fierce insistence on me spending my last dollar on school uniforms I can’t afford because they already stand out enough, and they need to fit in, or Bruce hating his inability to communicate anything, or me running into one problem after another with the principal (what IS it with me and principals???).
Wal-mart. God, I never thought I’d say that. Wal-mart, I miss you! I know I cursed you every time I walked in, ridiculed your inability to keep items in stock, criticized your exploitation of Chinese products, your destruction of the natural environment. But I wish you were here to save me when I can’t find a decent store to buy what my girls need, to be open when I need to print out a bus ticket or make copies for lessons, to take back all my items without a receipt!! TO BE OPEN ALL THE TIME!! Even Sundays!
Microbrews. I don’t think any description needs to follow the smooth taste of a home-brewed Hefeweizen straight out of the tap from Dry Dock.
My oven!! AN oven. No homemade pizzas. No baking chicken or potatoes. No broiling steak. But above all and everything, never a chance, for a whole year, to make a single batch of brownies. I can almost feel the melted chips sticking to my tongue, the tiny crumbs at the bottom of the pan pinched between my fingers, the smell that filled the house for hours…
Again, my words, my beautiful words. Trapped here in this blog, lost to everyone here who thinks I’m just some stupid American who’s timid and speechless. Oh, how I miss my words.
Two Days Past Full
i am haunted in sleep
my subconscious stolen by bright lights
a coughing neighbor
words on the street sounding so familiar
i feel my language has followed me here
night hovers each time i look at the clock
even when dawn should be ringing my alarm
I have another hour of darkness to endure
the waning moon
two days past full
lights my ride across town
last night another moment of panic
isolation and cultural constraints
keeping me, once again, from what i need
a short call, a simple email
his words come across both lines
i have it for you, come home, it is better
it is a simple grammatical error
I feel the correction at the tip of my tongue
(come to your house, you mean?)
but as i wait for fingertips of sun
and gather my ticket of isolation,
i allow his words to rest,
to make a home in my heart
Let Me In
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
Forget-Me-Not
flower within heart
Colorado remembrance
like jewels in your eyes
Vindication
you will not respond
our words cotton in your mouth
truth to chew, swallow
Mitigation
we drive into the night,
the beauty of a curvacious road
lost among nauseating bumps,
our passionate words
filling the air of the car
(even he shouts out
his usually-quiet opinion)
you might never see this side of him
or the one that opened up lips
along the lines of lakes
our passion moving from anger to lust
our hands discovering a new side
of the world’s version of wealth
i think about the 8500-mile drive,
the quiet moments on the sea
where bland as eucharist crackers,
his words slowly, almost silently, slipped out
you might make a judgment,
but you will never see the side of him
that mitigates me
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