What Must Be Remembered

The heart of the child you were resides in you

You have always been this person

as you have grown and changed

You have forgotten this from time to time

Here you are so many years separate

from the first embrace with your mother

You question yourself

Yourself is I

Yourself is Me

We are One

This voice is You

Did you see the part in the clouds

No but you saw the sun 

shining all around 

A Beautiful Neighborhood

The child inside of us is still there
Listening
Watching
Laughing
Crying
Learning
Hoping
Dreaming
Kindness overflows
from your beating heart
The child will always be there
gazing out into
such an incredible world

hearing your sweet laugh
may your childhood be blessed
petals touched by light

Dear Child

How I delight in you!
Your mere existence
is an irreplaceable joy to me.
You may not remember
the days you feel asleep
resting your head
on my chest
but I will remember for you.
Your small hands,
your little heartbeat,
your wide smile,
will always
have home within me.

Childhood

I sat on the grass while my

small hands pulled at the green 

growing all around me.

I stretched for the dandelion

that was an inch out of reach

and I pulled it from the ground.

White cotton-like tuffs

were picked up by the light breeze,

I brought the oozing stem to my mouth

and let the drops of white fall

onto my tongue.

I recoiled and spat out 

everything I could

to try and forget 

that bitter taste.

In The Heart of Winter / The Summer of My Life

The winds have calmed
their anxious conversations
from last night. I listened
in as I fell asleep
and wondered what
they were upset about.

It is Christmas morning
and much has changed
since I was a child waking,
ready to rip apart presents
carefully placed under
our artificial tree.

I have grown to know
love cannot be measured
merely through gifts.
Love is far greater
than any physical object
that can be desired.

My youngest brother
is still young enough
to take part in the ritual
of gifts under the tree.
I am happy it is still
a part of his life.

I don't need much,
don't ask for much,
don't expect much.
I am content
to wake each morning
and see the sun.

Light shines through
my window
and lands upon
my desk.
A gentle, steady
reminder.

Dinosaurs in the Garden

remember

I do not remember being born
I do not remember my first birthday
or even my fifth
I do not remember the first time
I began to realize that a world existed
beyond the doors of our home
I do not remember the name of the teacher
who made sure I learned to read
I do not remember the first time I fell
when learning to ride my first bike
I do not remember when I began
to live more and more in my head
I do not remember many many things
but I hope they are tucked away
into the corners of my mind
in some dust covered box
waiting to be found.

I remember trips to the library with my dad
I remember cutting my finger horribly
in the kitchen
and blood pouring out of me
like some pint-sized soldier
I remember falling off my parents bed
and splitting my eyebrow
I remember bringing home my dog Rocky
as a puppy and how much i loved him
in the way that only a child can love
I remember my mother taking care of me
when i had the chicken pox
I remember losing a baby tooth in mexico
I remember how tall and ancient
my father's parents seemed
I remember the first girl I thought I loved
not feeling the same
I remember how disappointed I felt
when I had to start wearing glasses
I remember feeling so awkward
for so so long
I still feel that
I remember thinking my parents
didn't love me
I remember the only time I saw my father cry
and how completely helpless I felt
I remember Rocky dying
and thinking my chest was caving in
because I was hollow after all


I don't wonder about the women
who broke my heart
or the ones whose heart I broke
I don't think it makes me callous
I doubt they ever think of me


So many nights
I've tried to forget
the small tragedies
the perceived unfairness
nights spent alone
wondering if I was ok
if I could get through
the next day
just that would be enough
and every time
I did

I remember all the times I've blamed bad timing
for the shortcomings in my life
I remember when I had to stop blaming
every one
I remember looking at myself naked
in the mirror
and knowing I was the only one
in the world responsible for me

From Dirt

I stared down the well
as my grandmother pulled
up water by the bucketful.

There was a vastness
to the darkness from which
the water emerged.

I could hear it deep within
the earth, a sound gentler than
waves at a beach. Her skin

was brown, darkened
by ancestry, codified by sun.
One morning I woke up

and saw a freshly slaughtered turkey
being prepared for later in the day.
I did not cry for it. We had to eat.

It's flesh was a luxury not every
one in town could afford.
I lost a baby tooth that trip.

My father pulled it from my mouth.
It fell among the rocks at our feet.
He looked and looked

but was never able to find it.
My gums nursed a fresh space
in ancient air.

Youth & Laughter

Let's face it,

most Christian denominations

are pretty similar

give or take minor disagreements

over diet and damnation.

Petty squabbles over

interpretation have blossomed

into full blown feuds

over the rightness of their path.

When you're a child

you believe as strongly as you

let yourself believe over

things like faith or

Santa Clause. In my early years

there was a Baptist church

I went to. They were very

kind people, or so I remember.

When we had recess

we would go to the playground

while Mrs.Benevidas

would watch over us. Hard black

rubber was fitted beneath

the merry-go-round, jungle gym,

and swings. There was also

a large hollow tube made

of concrete the color or brick.

It could fit two, maybe three

children inside. My parents took

out of the school when I was

accepted into the Catholic school

nearby. We are Catholic.

This morning I drove by the old

Baptist church and it's playground.

Through the chain-fence

all I could see were the black rubber

mats surrounded by encroaching weeds.

Remains

Curved and pointed black iron fences

the parking lot of Christ's church.


Light guards spaces of an absent

congregation. The cross stands


watch as it hangs against the wall.

The parochial school across


the street is guarded in a mirrored

way. An old woman walks her dog


past the statue of a Spanish friar.

We notice each other as I drive by.


Three trees shelter one side

of the church. One of them bears


the initials of five young boys.

The church sits silent late at night,


the praises of holy names live only

on the tongues of sleeping parishioners.