In Your City

Originally published in Clay Literary’s RAVEN: https://www.clayliterary.com/post/raven-issue-seven-08-30-2020

eyes squeeze shut all at once with
wishes whispered under breaths to be
anywhere else, anywhere cooler than

the constant heatwave of near 100 degrees.
Toes dip into makeshift sandy beaches
along the city’s river while children

play in water fountains next to erected sandcastles.
But here in my city, it’s another monotonous
day. I am wide-eyed making 11:11 wishes to be

with you in your city, your heatwave, along your river,
walking the streets when it’s your midnight.
My sweat drips waiting for you to wipe it away.

I’m waiting for the days where we open windows
to a gentle breeze and kick away the sheets for relief.

I wish it didn’t sting

I wish it didn’t sting
when rejection tears apart
what I’ve poured my heart into,
hidden emotions or fragments thereof
painting scenes that tiptoe quietly
or outright screams.

I wish it didn’t sting
when he doesn’t think much of me,
but rather holds a love
kept at a distance that silently breaks
both of us apart.

I wish it didn’t sting
when correspondence stops like
a drought after the flood,
after love cascaded faithfully
to comply with the dream.

I wish it didn’t sting
when I hear his poetry;
the voice that gets to the depth of me.
And I realize all those lustful moments
and longing nights have ceased.

I wish it didn’t sting
when my daughter looks to me
for answers. Her big eyes searching
for meaning and I come up empty;
I’ve got nothing.

I wish it didn’t sting,
when all I have
is nothing.

Deconstruction Site

How many times do we take
the leap before we realize
we’ve jumped in too deep

How many times do we stop
to realize we need to
protect our insides

How many times does this heart
have to break; this love,
you too shall take

He was the one healing
the deepest scar,
the wound he created,
only to tear it apart
as he twists the knife
churning everything
inside of me

What Happened To Her

What is she doing up there on the stage,
graduating with a masters in IT
when she should have graduated with Anthropology,
with Archaeology,
with Egyptology as her focus?

And why is she pregnant,
and with a child,
when she didn’t want kids to begin with,
when she wanted to be an explorer,
when she was going to sit among the pyramids.

Where did those dreams go?
She has tears in her eyes,
she may be sorrowful,
and wondering the same thing.

She may be full of regrets,
but I hope she is happy
with where she is
and who she is with.


This is part two of the writing prompt from the poetry workshop with Carlos Andres Gomez. The prompt is to look at the celebratory moment as if you are watching as a bystander in a different era. For reference, check the first poem in the writing prompt here: https://coffee-shop-sessions.com/2020/07/02/this-is-our-moment/

The Shape of Us

Image credit: Magnifier

The shape of our love, our version of it,
exists in bubbling thoughts of former lives,
constant dreams of distant hearts
where our lives are entwined

Ripples of waves intersect
jetting dangerously close
but never on the same path
turning heads, looking back

How do we get off this track
without losing control,
without knowing
where it will go

The inhabitants look upon us
making waves in their home
They tell us to let the waves subside,
transform our shape and go

Dear love

Dear love,
Thoughts of you the other day brought smiles. Today thoughts of you produced overrun swells in my eyes. The many years we’ve been separated, but how our hearts have always been close, how many more years will it be like this? Living in fantasy and memories all of the time is no way of living. The truth of what can never be, will I ever set these feelings free? This arrested state of bliss, of dreaming of our next kiss… and the pain of knowing that it may be a million years away. We’re so close yet always out of reach. I sit and dream of you, and wonder… will our dreams ever come true.

Him, Me, Us

It was the rippling in his hair,
the currents which ran through him
and I caught in his riptide,
always wondering if it was true.

It was the crinkles in his skin around the eyes,
years of wisdom and sun-kissed days,
the spaces that I would soon settle in.

It was our passion that bonded us
as we fluttered with every touch
and floating past each other
not realizing how much
we held each other so dear.

Skimming around what our future would hold,
we knew there was a chance
as long as we were both alive.
Our distance was only a pause
as our dreams and memories
held each other close.

A song, a scent, a fleeting moment
bringing us back together.
A movie, a scene of lovers reminiscing,
that could be us realizing
all of our precious dreams.

And now here we stand,
lovers reunited
though we never parted.
Our story is still young;
dearly loved, deeply devoted,
our hearts still beating as one.

Awaiting The Day

Without hesitation I drop you a line
Hours later in time
I await your reply
thinking what will it be
and hoping for you to excite me

I’m thinking of you
and wish it were true
that you’ve been thinking of me, too

My pulsing, racing heart
awaits the day we’re sprawled out in the sheets
with salty, sweet dreams of our bodies
tangling and beating to the rhythms
flowing through the currents
between our curves

As time moves on
we beg the question
and pray how will it be
please, let it lift us to the sky


Listen to my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One