The Poetry Marathon

I was speaking of the devil,
and you walked in the room.
So confident and charming,
nearly everybody swooned.
You reached a hand out toward me
and pulled me close to you.
I felt my soul igniting
and my heart felt warmer too.
You sparked in me a fever
as we danced the night away.
And when the night was over,
I begged you to please stay.
You may leave me in the morning,
never to return.
But I’ll keep these embers glowing,
and cherish long this burn.

If guilt is a teacher
I’m learning my lesson.
My mistake has cost you
your most precious blessing.
I’ve injured my own self
and damaged our friendship.
There’s no coming back
from such a horrible misstep.

I know this transgression
can’t be forgiven.
There’s no reversal of fortune
of avail to us living.
So I’ll carry the burden of
the harm I’ve inflicted.
And you’ll bury your child,
both our hearts are afflicted.

The new normal we got
isn’t what I’d envisioned.
There are still racist systems
that have kept us imprisoned
by denial and lies
–a history’s retelling,
a prettier story’s been told,
but I won’t buy what they’re selling.
I won’t turn a blind eye
to centuries of damage.
In the face of injustice,
I’ll continue to be outraged.
Those who shirk are complicit
in the deep harms compounding.
Their persistent denial
is for some so confounding.
The answer is clear,
they are serving themselves.
And forsaking all others
for their comfort and wealth.
The riches enjoyed are taken as given.
Their new normal is just more
of the privilege they live in.

It’s time for real change,
and what’s been normal be damned.
We can do this together.
Draw a line in the sand.
It’s time we live up to
the this country’s bright promise.
With the strength of our people
I know that we’ve got this.

Through the car window
hazed with loss
I cleared a spot
to see you one more time.
You got smaller
as we drove away.

Buried deep beneath the earth
evidence of love, death, birth.
Remnants of a time long past
have seen the light of day at last.
Such treasures hold our memories.
A history planted with the trees.
Roots of family life lived well.
Stories that these items tell.
A sharing across time and space.
I’m glad we found this sacred place.
 

“There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air. -The Awakening, Kate Chopin

There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.
The birds, wilting from the record-breaking heat splashed in the baths,
disappointed that the water wasn’t cooler.
A yellow slime crept atop the old tree stump to make itself known.
The full moon was setting on the west horizon.
I read somewhere that it was the last super moon of the year.
I heard somewhere that this would bring about good changes.
I hoped that was true and went about my chores–
moving through heat that felt like a physical resistance.
I tasted salt as the sweat dripped from my brow.
I chased it with iced tea, crushing the ice with my teeth for emphasis.
I didn’t feel ready to say goodbye to this place I had called home
for the last year and a half–the time of COVID
–my first time living alone in my 56 years.
I will miss this.
But the way is forward.
Toward pink-sky sunsets
and new beginnings.
And the bees will keep humming
even after I am gone.

When I was young
hopes rose unbound
but experience cautioned
like a caring abuela
don’t hold your breath.

A few more years of living,
and many disappointments later,
hope approached more timidly.
Experience shouted back
like a protective sibling
DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH

Perhaps I am a slow learner.
The hope in me persists
despite all evidence
that it shouldn’t
And the warning is now the whisper of a caring friend:
don’t hold your breath. 

I recognize good advice when I hear it.
I recognize love when I feel it.
I recognize realities and choose to accept or change them.
I now let hope rise and the voice within me says

just breathe. 

I’ve heard it said that love
is the nearest proof we have
that there is a God.

When I am far from you
and can’t rest my eyes
on the glory of your face
I am still filled with peace and joy
knowing you are there.

When my arms long to gather you close,
even though you are far,
I comfort them with stories of the moon –
her power and pull,

whether seen or unseen.

Greetings fellow poets! I’m so excited to participate in my 3rd poetry marathon this year! The third time is the charm for me because I also have the privilege of editing the anthology this year! I can’t wait to get writing and reading! I am planning a solo getaway to a special spot – with good wi-fi, comfortable seating and napping spaces and plenty of snacks and beverages. I like to beautify the space with flowers and scents. I try to hit the hay early the night before, be meditate a while after a morning walk. See you all along the way!