Shifting

I'm on the edge of a precipice. No, that's not true.
It's more like a small fissure, at least until I try to cross the gap.
Then things start spreading in opposite directions.
I'm not sure if I should turn back and cling to the rapidly disappearing ground that resembles my current grounds for truth,
or leap for the opposite side. It appears to be nearing,
but looks so foreign to me that I'm not sure where to put my feet.
The ground may shift in ways I'm not accustomed to.
The otro lado, the other side, looks vaguely promising;
it looks more promising that the suelo I'm used to standing on.
So maybe I'll just stand in the middle and do the splits-I'm flexible.
Then I won't have to make any decisions.

Shining Promise

Cold and unsure about where I needed to be,
I left the building.
Seeking the beautifully shining sun,
I found myself trying to absorb some of the rays' heat as I sat on a step.
It seemed to promise something I couldn't name-something I was waiting for.
Cold seeped up, transferring from the cement through the thin fabric of my skirt.
My thinner resolve was inadequate against the assault of uncertainty,
and I needed a layer of comfort. There were none available.
Not that I'd willingly embrace.
(the veil of caution averts unnecessary truths)
No eye could read mine and justify my restless need.

Waiting on the step seemed pointless; the promise was unfulfilled.
I rose and stepped back in through the doors.

"I" Tune

Movement, rhythm well up from the drum beat
that has replaced my pulse.
Blood rushes-a blue, tinny tune-and a cacophony of
emotion snares the tapping, snapping motion
of my hands and feet.
My hips move of their own accord, swimming in the
current of sharps and flats.
Fingers wipe the notes that dampen my
hair and bead my forehead.
I, then licking the salty juice from my fingers,
become the tune.

Waiting

I read these words and remember what it was like,
this brief period of unrequited love.


My heart folds in on itself
And feels like it’s collapsing
Under the weight of waiting
Maybe I can take your heart in my hands
Gently massaging the life
Of love back into it.


I am thankful for the experience, because
it proved to me that I am capable of loving a man.
He just has to show his face.
I can wait with more patience now.

Exasperation

"Why you not call me? I was calling, calling every night. I miss you."
So here we are, playing games again.
He says, "I love you, mi amor. Do you love me?"
I say, "No, I don't. But I do miss you."
"Por que? Why you don't love me?"
I say it again: "How can I love you? I don't really know you."
He says, "Te quiero. I love you, I think about you every night."
I ask, "Why do you love me?"
"I don't know, pero I need you. Do you love me?"
"No. I don't trust you."
He laughs. "Thank you, baby! Thank you."
"It's true!"
"Maybe I not call you any more."
"I've got to go."
"Besos. Talk to you later."
We hang up and I shake my head. He'll call again.

Sense of Self

Every once in a while,
we each get the opportunity to step
past ourselves and meet the
real humanity that exists outside our
self-centered purview.

My time came last week, at an orphanage
in Mexico.
Giving for the sole purpose of the gift-
the gift of time, energy, caring-
made me whole in a way I've missed for a while.

The true test of its impact
will be when reality returns full force-will it return,
running towards me, self-absorption in tow?
Or will I see past the minutiae that bogs down my
sense of others?