city smell
darkness filled my senses
flashes of light
muted noises in the small bus
exhaustion.
limbs heavy
excited
dreaming
but still barely awake.
stumbling out
in a foreign land
humid
loud
city.
it swirled around me
aroma sweet
yet acidic
stinging my nose
and yet strangely pleasant.
new.
to me,
the smell of adventure.
waltz
no dancing happened in the ballroom,
but music always played.
The ballroom was too big.
a lone piano
and cloth-covered couches
protected from the residents within.
but that’s where we lived.
we glid across the fire floors,
beauty, but blinding
in the wide west windows.
sliding happened in the ballroom
in well-worn socks and on clean cloths.
falling happened in the ballroom
in sibling squabbles and
slipping on soapy water.
singing happened in the ballroom
metal chairs and projectors framing the stars,
the stars on the second floor.
transforming, learning happened in the ballroom.
from white walls and pictures hanging
to Santa’s workshop in November.
no dancing happened in the ballroom,
but the ballroom was always alive.
ama de casa
silently she comes and goes
every day in plain white clothes
she knows us well, but we do not
she does so much, so much she fought.
her hands were always worn and rough
her shoes were clean, without a scuff
her smile rare, but only then
imagine how it was back when...
she spent a life so far from mine
we see in eyes that seem to shine
I mourn I never understood
how she could do the things she could.
The woman who traveled on the bus
to clean our house and to help us
her man at home, sick and weak
and an old roof, prone to leak
One day she came, smiling wide
and told my mom, and almost cried
her family now had something greater:
they got their first refrigerator.
I never knew how much of me
that woman ever got to see
but I never came to understand,
I heard her story second hand.
we passed each other several times each day
I watched her clean, I watched her pray
and yet I never bridged the gap:
a deadly, sad, close-minded trap.
For three whole years, she worked around me
Our lives intertwined but tiptoed lightly
my biggest regret, with myself to blame...
all I knew about her was her name.
painted
painted silver skin
faces plastered,
atop a grin
barefoot, the silver caked
on concrete roads
blackened and baked
the knives twirled and glinted
the scarred arms
my mind imprinted
twelve hours you stand
bathed in red light
tin can in hand
empty stomach, empty can
our worlds a line
between street and van
another life we could have known
but as I sit in safety
three knives are thrown
they sparkle in the humid air
threatening life
and yet you dare
as I live in comfort,
you perform, juggle.
as I go to school,
your food is a struggle.