Photo by Shashank Hegade on Unsplash
Love Letters
No comfort
in this world
No warmth
rising from the cracks
in this cement ground
Ice breaks
on the surface of the lake
implying your ability to drown
There is no pleasure in these skies
No solace in Libra
or Gemini
I deem the observing constellations too passive!
I have been waving this white flag for far too long
One planet neglects me and
the others play along
It was Neptune who changed his mind
He has a heart,
which I presumed began to work
because he removed the white flag from my hands,
but then he threw me into a hole in the dirt!
I caught one last glimpse of this deserted town
as the weight of the air
pulled me
down
down
Down into the soil,
beneath a tree,
I beheld shreds of ripped up paper
They are letters which began compassionately
but turned into threats of danger
Letters of love
morphing into letters of suicide,
torn up and buried within the ground.
I pulled myself out of this love letter grave,
placing the dirt back over what I had found
And I watch this blue sky
turn into your sapphire eyes.
The clouds,
the color of your complexion.
This sky is now a ghostly mirror,
displaying your reflection.
And it was you
who once was the pleasure in these skies.
It was your warmth
which once rose from these cement cracks.
It was your letters
buried under the tree.
And they are letters I never want back.
Purple Flowers
Did you manage to write while sitting in the garden?
Did you write about the wildfire who gave away his sight?
He thought others would be gifted his vision mixed within the ashes,
but I don’t think he understood that right.
How much weight did you lose while waiting?
Did each pound slip out into the ink of your pen?
How many lines did you write while sitting in the garden?
About people you will never see again.
The blue sky was dyed indigo.
And yes, the planted corpses have bloomed.
How deep in nature did you have to hide?
For flowers to stop resembling a tomb?
How many purple roses did you cast away?
How many lilacs did you find?
Purple flowers never resembled life
Only the passing of time
Did you see the skyline of the city?
Were you able to point out St. Paul’s?
Did you romanticize it like those before us did?
Did you see the remains of the London wall?
Everything always changes
The only way to live is to embrace it
Everything is always dying
The only way to live is to face it.
Chicago Stars and Hospital Beds
I
I do not remember the first time I tried to see the stars.
In Chicago,
each glance upward is met with city lights.
Seeing the stars is a hopeless space mission.
II
I do not remember the first time I met my mom,
but I know she was in a hospital bed,
enough of a cause for me to cry.
But I do remember the last time I saw my mom,
she was in a hospital bed,
I held back my tears as I said my “goodbye.”
I remember the stories that came out on the news
describing outcomes like what I had just seen,
a fever, cough, ventilator,
the need for a new vaccine.
I remember the closing doors of my school
forcing me to find satisfaction in an online education.
I remember drinking a bottle of tequila the night of my dad’s lymphoma diagnosis.
And the fear of the new situation.
We couldn’t even see each other.
He had to always stay quarantined.
We couldn’t even see each other.
Even when there was a new vaccine.
III
In Chicago,
it is so difficult to see the stars.
I remember when I finally saw them
And realized they do not align.
Next thing I remember,
was God stepped on an hourglass
and the way he glared at me
as I ran to catch the time.
The sand that I caught,
turned into dirt,
slipped through my fingers,
fell into my dad’s grave.
Buried with it are my dad’s last couple years
of what coronavirus stole away.