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I imagine.

Before his life of single cups of morning coffee and token hot girls,

before his shower

floor

became a mass grave of used up bottles of shampoo and

foaming body wash.

Before certain days and songs

triggered nostalgia

and the mention of her name shrunk

the room

down

around his soul.

 

He was

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

smiling fruit.

She makes

his smile beautiful too.

Where ever

it went wrong

I know he will be alright.

 

He has

true love

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.

 

He

finds other

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.

 

 

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Comment by Aideed Medina on May 23, 2012 at 4:30pm

the picture is not mine, i took it like a thief. Ill post the link to give him or her credit as soon as I trace it back to the source. 

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