i used to warm my hands by you,
a fireplace. it was easy to forget that fire burns
from up close. i rationalized my burns as
markers of intimacy–once, I felt my hands
burn into ashes, and the pain warmed
your absence. remnants of me mingled with
memories of you and
i almost forgot about loneliness
a 6 foot tall young man squints at the camera.
wispy brown hair frames his sun burnt face
and his thick moustache, as coarse a broom,
sits upon his lips. he wears a white polo shirt
and baggy blue jeans. sandals with socks.
his gut hangs over his belt. he is my father.
beside him is my mother. she is brown like almonds
and has puffy hair like lucille ball. she is a petite woman,
and her smile overwhelms her face. burgundy lipstick
shines her lips. she wears an oversized sweatshirt
with an enamoured taz and his wife–mrs. taz playfully
responds in bold, yellow letters–oh, you devil!
they are fearless. confident about tomorrow.
the world is moving and they are the only ones
standing still. they are young and in love.
your llantos desesperados echo in a barren desert
trying to find someone who will listen.
you pause at the sound of an awakening–
there is a rumbling beneath the yellow sands.
lizards, scorpions, and snakes burrow in the sand dunes;
cacti recoil into the blankets of sand;
the soft whistling winds shrink back into the sky.
the sands tell me you are gone.
i pretend i don’t know how.
you bring out the monster in me.
in the abyss of my subconscious,
where dreams and nightmares and reality are indistinguishable
i watch the desert swallow you whole. you disintegrate
into the mounds of hot sand, pleading a subdued sun
we are hanging by a thread.
that’s what this feels like–
so fragile, like the first time you hold a newborn.
mesmerized by the baby’s trusting eyes,
the thin pink gums without teeth,
the milky smell. there is promise of
companionship, milestones–a future.
but we forget that these moments are fleeting.
we want to pause and savor them in photos,
letters, and little gifts. we are ephemeral,
but these objects are the closest grasp we have
to immorality. to keeping innocent promises.
we look back and
remember the frailness of it all.
i like your face even better up close–
i told you that.
i feel weight of your eyes, the
heaviness of dulce de leche,
pour over mine;
the rest becomes a blur.
the melting of our energies
bleeds into a new aura: una
erupción de luz