Local Social Network for the Arts Community in Central Valley
Before his life of single cups of morning coffee and token hot girls,
before his shower
became a mass grave of used up bottles of shampoo and
foaming body wash.
Before certain days and songs
and the mention of her name shrunk
around his soul.
Just a kid who loved music so much it made him move.
Spin around the floor
Gyrating to the sounds that made his heart beat fast and the sweat bead under
Heavy black hair.
Wild and unattached to quiet reflection.
This is what I imagine.
If there were worries,
They were shared, passed around with the food at his mother’s table,
in the work he did at his father’s command,
with quick jabs among sisters and brothers.
And the days were marked
by routines and random tragedies.
Y hasta los “sin sabores”
had redeeming possibilities.
I know this
because he survived and flourished,
found love and
planted roots that bore beautiful
his smile beautiful too.
it went wrong
I know he will be alright.
written in the eyes
of his daughter.
She is a reflection of the kind of man he aspires to be.
She lights his way,
Redirects and centers his steps.
No matter how far out to the edge he can go, life can take him, he always returns back to where she can find him.
more simple joys
in the music that rules his soul,
in the moments and visions he captures with a lens,
in the food he eats,
in the lovers he encounters,
in the daily melody and beat
and I am
inspired by it all.
Driven to tell him what I see.
driven to share the secrets that he doesn’t know he keeps.
In my stories.
In my songs.
In the fragile heated words
of my momentary poetry.