Poems

It’s only on Saturdays
I remember my father’s inn in Kolózsvár
smell of wine harvest
hay fields
rain in the woods

New York days go slowly
I bore eight children here
gave my sons names of prophets
my daughters
names of flowers and forgotten princesses

Celia, the second-born, married outside
rejected our heritage
(for Leopold and me
she is more dead
than the two babies born without life)

On weekdays
I knead the challah of forgetfulness
grind coffee
slide the iron in a cloud of clean steam
only on Saturdays
I smell again the laughing pines of Transylvania
hear a blue violin in the gypsy sky
Only on Saturdays
for a short moment I see her again
she arrives
a red-haired phantom
smiling
she resembles me
skin like pale wheels of onion
eyes shining like dark walnuts
I remember my pink blossom child
lost in the Sabbath morning
                                             I pronounce her celestial name

blue brings you back
if it were red
green           yellow
I could swallow the tears
blue sea
blue sky
blue blade
blue prince
globules of mercury rain
in the patio fountain

I can’t find the island of dry color
I need a jacaranda
           an active volcano
           sun in the corn field

but every morning I awaken to
the ruthless sky

a rainy day with a sunflower sky
would do me good

you let me follow you
to the beach to battle waves
where I dared stick a finger
in the heart of anemones
you took me to the forest
for cherries that stained my lips
like a movie star’s paint
you taught me to light a match
with the sole of my shoe
to find the Milky Way
play chess

to my eight years your ten were a victory
and you Lancelot

I remember the kiss
that we practiced
to use on the day we fell in love
for real
when we grew up

faithful accomplice
you are what most resembles me

made by butterfly or woman
or did you weave yourself?

huipil
Ana María dreamed you

or perhaps you dreamed Ana María

from spiderweb
quetzal feathers
with eyes of the moon
iguana fingers

or were you born complete
from Mother Earth’s navel?

huipil
the artisan gave you to the light
cochineal hibiscus
pomegranate heart
blood of Mayas

red-hued huipilito
moon, firefly
red-hued huipil
you sing the red rose
cry red-stained tears
sweat carmine dust

conquistadora
huipil
you conquer life
death

Digna Ochoa y Plácido
5/15/1963 – 10/19/2001

human rights attorney murdered
in her office in México, D .F., October 19, 2001

they named you Digna

I remember the day when I met you
in el Norte
you brought your world
of dangers shared
death threats
to my tranquil town on the coast

I envied the truth in your eyes

you lie in Misantla, Veracruz
you carry away your secrets, your dreams
a victim like those you protected
students, guerrilleros, defenders of human rights

precious daughter of Misantla
you needed more years

in the obscure days
of the defense of your final hours
I pray you inspire us with your light
illuminate suspicions
give us faith
may human justice
be reborn
and may we be
worthy
of your memory

            I sit in the poplar-lined plaza with my typewriter
            so the townsfolk can dictate their letters to me.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer my literary knowledge
for all types of correspondence,
for you to communicate with your loved ones, your boss,
your sweetheart,
your rival, the governor, your union.
My specialty is love letters.

Let Florencio come
he of the unrequited love.
with my rosy words hard Amalia will be convinced.
Let old Ana request a tender letter
for the grandson in jail in the San Joaquin Valley.
I’ll thank him for the money order
            Yes, I bought herbs and got a massage.
            Remember, my son, God may squeeze you, but he won’t hang you.

I’ll fix Rosa María’s spelling
I’ll write her boss in Chicago:
            I gave birth to a healthy, fat baby; we call him Salvador.

For Emiio, something special:
I shall compose complements like pearls for the actress
            (She looks like an angel fallen from her star),
            signed your respectful admirer, Emilio.
I’ll write to Carlos
from his true wife in the eyes of God:
            Do not forget me up there in Nogales,
            come back for me as soon as you’ve raised the money,
            there is no battle worse than the one you don’t fight.
I’ll write Miguel Angel
that there is no point sending money for the trip;
            My dear little mother died and there is no one to care for the baby.
            signed sadly yours, Lupita.

Later the mist will vanish from the park and
At the morning’s close I will put my typewriter in its old case.
The ballad will be over.

She had always needed guidance
a secret code
friend to show the way
pattern to follow

Alone she tackled the pile of floss
recited a prayer for every color
detangled       weeded out strays
disengaged red from coral

Paused at the blues
sky    rain   lakes
damp tears

Colors twisted in tote bags
stored memories
tapestry of mother
father       daughters     old friends
strangers far away
cross stitch    chain stitch    French knot
sequins            seed pearls
bits of lace

cotton        silk        wool
She stitched her rosary

She had always needed guidance
a secret code
friend to show the way
pattern to follow

Alone she tackled the pile of floss
recited a prayer for every color
detangled       weeded out strays
disengaged red from coral

Paused at the blues
sky    rain   lakes
damp tears

Colors twisted in tote bags
stored memories
tapestry of mother
father       daughters     old friends
strangers far away
cross stitch    chain stitch    French knot
sequins            seed pearls
bits of lace

cotton        silk        wool
She stitched her rosary

when it doesn’t rain
and the day has dried a little
you go out to work in the garden
at eighty-nine
you like to feel the wet earth
prune branches
do some weeding

like spring in California
you give more than you expect
shine with little-girl surprises

you come inside
with a bouquet for me
hyacinths
calla lilies
roses

a bromeliad breathes blue kitchen air
you serve me milk tea
listen to my stories
tell me yours
with the joy of purple irises
that multiply from happiness

my refuge
I watch you change with the seasons

beside the fire in the living room
dream new colors
pansies
daisies
geraniums to plant

She teaches Spanish because she loves
the sounds of erre, jota, and the way you say
que será será and really mean it
    le encanta el español
she helps kids travel with thoughts
new sounds
to hear how we humans come in variations
each with an accent
    like her grandparents
    whose savory words
    still season her dreams

But now in Corona virus days
her students sit in boxes on a screen
quarantined faces in a room with a tired bed
frowning window, lonely lamp

    children adrift
    flotsam-jetsam hitting the shore
    en un mar
    de hola ¿qué tal? hace frío ¿qué pasa?
    she is a search-and-rescue squad
    Niños que flotan

And, at the same time, she teaches niños aquí
six feet away, in her classroom
gasping words through a mask

And when she remembers the students in boxes
    she checks and hears her words
    zoom away into the ocean blue

She teaches Spanish because she loves
the sounds of erre, jota, and the way you say
que será será and really mean it
    le encanta el español
she helps kids travel with thoughts
new sounds
to hear how we humans come in variations
each with an accent
    like her grandparents
    whose savory words
    still season her dreams

But now in Corona virus days
her students sit in boxes on a screen
quarantined faces in a room with a tired bed
frowning window, lonely lamp

    children adrift
    flotsam-jetsam hitting the shore
    en un mar
    de hola ¿qué tal? hace frío ¿qué pasa?
    she is a search-and-rescue squad
    Niños que flotan

And, at the same time, she teaches niños aquí
six feet away, in her classroom
gasping words through a mask

And when she remembers the students in boxes
    she checks and hears her words
    zoom away into the ocean blue

            She parks the old Volvo
stops   looks   listens
apple blossoms
news of war
guns
            nail salon polishes the air

fire siren oracle

            She crosswalks the corner
dreams Havana
muses London
breathes red poppies

blue sky of her world drips
            blood

breeze blows words
                        dead
            shot     destroyed

She hears
            crying children
            somewhere      not here

they are her children too
her mothers      her family

signal lights
            it’s safe to cross
She crosses               watches
            the light of the world
            begins
            to flicker

            She parks the old Volvo
stops   looks   listens
apple blossoms
news of war
guns
            nail salon polishes the air

fire siren oracle

            She crosswalks the corner
dreams Havana
muses London
breathes red poppies

blue sky of her world drips
            blood

breeze blows words
                        dead
            shot     destroyed

She hears
            crying children
            somewhere      not here

they are her children too
her mothers      her family

signal lights
            it’s safe to cross
She crosses               watches
            the light of the world
            begins
            to flicker