Acknowledgement

this is a miniature version
of my dream house,
i am speaking to you, but
she meanders up to acknowledge
the wraparound porch along the tower,
and i feel my moment,
my words,
have lost their luster

later i will put on your earrings
and try on all the hats,
none of which i will ever
feel fit me quite right,
and share my words,
share wholly all over again wholly
the me i always share

i will hear what they say
and acknowledge their view,
the parts of ourselves
we are not supposed to share
that everyone but me
but you
keeps to themselves?

once it is gone,
she tells me,
you can never take it back.
and i want to reply,
once we are gone,
we can never come back,
but i for once
can acknowledge
that i should shut up

what they say
means more to me
than what others say,
and i know you
would acknowledge that

so as i write this
and think of how much of myself
is out there in the world
for all to see,
when i think of you
and i want to tell the world
to fuck off and leave us alone?

i wish someone
would acknowledge
that they just can’t handle
the intensity
of what they really want,
which is what we have
and what they will never understand

Shopping

colors of rainbow
in a place i never go
priceless gifts abound

To My Spaniards

there are few words here
my 34th birthday card
you know me so well

Birthday Wrappings

you are not here to see the way
the candles light her face,
to gather the joy caught up
in four little girls’ parasols,
to witness the dance from
our second family
(nine-year-old wisdom)

those tears? they are caught
in seven-year-old smiles,
all the pain of the day
tossed with torn-up bits
of birthday wrappings

come with me.
i’ll give you a taste.
it is his heavy-scented cologne
mixed with her mint lip gloss.
it sounds like Spanglish
intertwined with Chinese dance music.
can you smell the chocolate
that will linger in your
mouth until morning?
and the touch
(oh the touch)
warmth that begins in your fingertips
and moves to every capillary
until all you can feel
is a love
you might tell us
never to have.

Change in My Pocket

11:11
i wish
that i could be happy
with what i decide
because you’re right
you know me so well
he’s the one who’s been
sharing my bed for fourteen years
and who told me
he’s going to get a job
and you’re the one
who tells me that
they’ll take me
because i’m so amazing
the moment has passed
your green eyes
leave an imprint on my soul
an imprint
like the chalky sweetheart
you handed me at Girl Scouts
your smile
is as enticing
as el sueño de mi vida
the words i couldn’t quite translate
when she sat before me
because i cannot capture
in a broken-Spanish interview
in this year with my Spaniards
in all the dreams
i have let fall loose
(change in my pocket)
the love that flows
so heavily between our hearts

Irony

i am not training
for a ride over the mountains
i am not pushing my way
through torrential rain
and scatterings of snow showers
in a harshly cold spring

instead the sky has been sunny
the gym has won me over
and it’s been warm enough
(in March!)
to eat our dinner on the patio

i feel the irony wash over me
just like the email today
for an interview
i’m not sure i want to give
an opportunity i’ve waited
a lifetime for
just when i didn’t expect
the bright sun to change my life

Aftertaste

she sits at the table
teasing me with her version of naughty
it is tempting and sweet
wafting my way
i think of the words we exchanged today
my Spanglish mix of emotion
piled high with proverbial discrepancy
where can i find the truth
in all that we say?

she will slip downstairs into her nest
yet her scent will linger
i can almost taste the calm on my tongue
and i want to pull you into my fantasy
so intense with the aftertaste
of what is gone
that we will lick our longing
from each other’s lips.

Dreams of Spain

i hope my words are not
lost in translation, but
instead carried on wings of gold
across the sea,
where my dreams can take flight,
my family will prosper,
and my linguistic yearning
will meld into realistic love.

Leftover Remnants of Gratitude

they are back:
our table engulfs
the full-bodied laughter
whose absence has lingered
like an invisible spirit

now i smile,
my heart full,
my tear-stained,
panic-pedaled drive
to the airport
all but forgotten

their words creep across
the bottle of wine,
the stuffing, turkey,
leftover remnants of gratitude,
and rest inside me.

i have ached all day,
all the long weekend,
for the vitality
i never knew existed
until they stepped off the plane
in their Abercrombie
and winter boots (in July),
blonde and dark,
a perfect mixture of beauty.

if only their exuberance
could fill all the empty places
in the lives that surround me,
the sadness that seeps into our souls
(is this an American epidemic?),
that keeps us from living the lives
we were promised we could live.

we all need to switch pajamas,
race down the hallway of the hotel,
trip and rug-burn our palms,
and head drunkenly towards the sex shop.
when we come home?
we will laugh until we cry,
we will remember that we can
live the lives we were promised to live.

Estamos Bien

mañana tenemos el
Acción de Día de Gracias tercera

he stands in an airport
with laughter at the back of his voice,
the emotion so close to tears
that they sit waiting
on the edges of my lids

estamos bien.
tenemos una avión mañana por la mañana

because we are all well
with them in our midst–
so un-American to be grateful
for a night longer,
a missed flight,
a smile that we’ve all tucked away
inside ourselves
(that he fishes out
as easily as catching
tadpoles on a hot June day)

Thanksgiving dos,
we sit and share thanks:
one of the four girls
mentions her extra parents
(the highlight of the evening)

i bring forth my Spaniards
(absent)
but with an ever-present influence
on every thought i have,
on every emotion that has crossed my heart
in the four short months
that i have made them mine

Isabella gives me the look
as if i could forget
the reason we are all gathered,
for without these four girls,
none of this happiness
could float in the room
carrying the
feliz día de los padres
mylar balloon
up to the ceiling,
zhuzhu pet attached,
miracle in place
(can you see it?)

and the Spaniards?
they would live somewhere else,
and our surrealistic vision
of tomorrow
would be so.
real.
so.
unimaginative.

instead?
i hear him laugh
about fumando el toro,
the night in the airport
and our third,
and final,
Thanksgiving meal.