my grandfather was also
born in may, you know
a stubborn bull
might just be fed up.
from what i’ve seen
they have every right to be

tolerance, then suffering
his lymph nodes grew too fast
"i'll never smile again" i told my father in the car
i don’t remember saying it, only feeling
grief.
we stopped at the reliably empty house
and sat on her porch to purge it all

i was born in may
and my grandfather now resides in our garden
a ceramic bull who takes no ****

Death comes close and breathes a little over my lips and smiles at my terror,
No more the night has songs for the snow, has love for the whiteness,
But lets it go to the last hallucinations under the sun.
Grandfather, lift my soul when this boyhood is done,
And think of things to tell me when darkness grows too cold,
I will be in the corner of eternity, writing poems for no one.

my earliest memory of yeye (grandfather)
is one with the garden
it was once a large space of emptiness, yet
sometimes emptiness is not a lack of but an opportunity
for planting and for growing

in this garden he planted memories
looping a hose around the garden suddenly created new meaning
chasing after turtles my cheeks turned rosy and drenched in the sun the details are so clear
it’s like watching a motion picture in slow motion, the speed of everything melting into a single emotion i can only describe as childish joy.

and when the sun slept the garden was still alight
with firecrackers and sparklers
the sizzling sound of springtime spirit
he kept the garden glowing, bustling and radiating with life.

as i grew the flowers did too,
a new type of rose, fruit, bud each time i came back
and this is where i learn
how life begins and ends
just like flowers we must seek the sun
wilt and
fall
root and rise
and only then
can we bloom
and he bloomed so bright that the Lord hand picked him

and so he may have left his own garden
but he has not wilted
he only continues to bloom
this time in the garden of heaven.

Angry, disturbed.
It hurts me to the core.
Ripped, missing,
Parts of History.
You're pain is valid,
But so is mine.

You were hurt,
But you blew off his side.

brown painted walls,
chipped in random spaces.
the tv turned to something he would never watch.
the sound of his snores occupying the room.
the only other sound is the faint beeping
from the machines in other rooms.
each nurse checking in every few minutes.
not that it mattered.
he wasn't getting better.
we were sitting ducks while he sat in pain.
I hate this place.

Visiting my grandfather in the hospital

     started out as an innocent trip.
     He only needs to stay a few days, they said
     but then it all went downhill.

     I soon learned that I was the light.
     I was to bring joy into the dreary room,
     despite breaking apart on the inside.

Visiting my grandfather in the hospital

     meant crying before entering his room.
     It meant wiping my tears and throwing on a smile:
     a smile that would calm everyone’s nerves.

     It bonded us beyond any other relationship.
     Your hugs are the best medicine, my grandfather said,
     and I never again came or left without an embrace.

Visiting my grandfather in the hospital

     became almost a daily routine.
     I did everything I could to make him smile
     only to drive home in tears.

     Never once telling a soul
     what I was going through,
     bearing it all on my own.

               Visiting my grandfather in the hospital
               may have seemed hard at the time,
               but laying him down to rest
               was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

He spoke the language of birds
of pickle ****
and lichen
and ailerons
and shutter speeds

Where I saw a blackbird with a spot of red on a wing

He saw Agelaius Phoeniceus a  passerine bird of the family  Icteridae found in most of  North America and much of  Central America

His mind and mouth were full of facts and figures
about wind
and lift
and tides
and the right time to plant and to harvest tomatoes

Music and science were things to be dissected
and perfected
and each thing was measured
and calculated
and intentional
like the metronome I played with on the piano in the spare room

I did not always understand him
I did not always try to learn

a kid dabbling in punk rock and drawn to graffiti will
I found it hard to relate to someone so exacting

But while I do not remember his laugh
I do remember his joy
at explaining the circuitry in a handmade airplane
or the minutiae of the wondrous geometric cellular structure of a pine cone

A hike in the sloughs and I ran ahead
while he kneeled and saw a tiny marvel, a flower or a lizard hidden by my hurry, tucked behind a leaf and revealed by his slow and patient attention

He taught us to see
To look close
To take the time to do it well

And while we bristled at the pocket knife,
cutting candy into enragingly tiny mouthfuls

he taught us to savor
and make the moments last

He never rushed a photograph
He never hurried though a museum
He never pushed you out after dinner
He sat
and listened
and truly saw you
in focus.

While his eyes blurred with age
And his ears failed him
He never stopped taking in the moment and he never stopped his ever and perfect focusing
On the thing in front of him, perhaps small but made large by his attention

The last time I saw him
he clearly
and directly looked me in the eye
and in his way
gave a blessing
passing on his focus

“Send those kids my love. Take care of them.”

And in those words
I understood him.

His eyes were as blue as the sea,
they sparkled as he played with his young granddaughter.
He beamed as he watched her grow up,
he would never be able to express his adoration for her,
and she would never be able to do this for him.

Her heart sunk as she watched him grow old.
When she was younger she’d always joke that
he’d live until he was a hundred years old,
that age was creeping ever closer.
They saw each other daily and chatted as if
they had all the time in the world.

She couldn’t imagine a life without him…
She had always thought he was invincible,
but over the years his face had become hollow,
and he began to become short of breath.

She vowed to make the most of the time they had left,
she promised she wouldn’t view him differently,
the only difference now was that it was her job
to look after him, rather than the other way around.

Cientos de estrellas contamos juntos cuando era niña
y jamas imagine que un dia te buscaria en cada una de ellas
Tu ausencia hoy me acaricia como la brisa de aquellas noches
en las que llena de historias me dormia junto a ti
Tus memorias son aventuras que se vuelven mi refugio
Tus dulces palabras, la unica melodia que me hace sentir bien
Se que el tiempo jamas podra curar el dolor de tu partida
Pero se que tu sonrisa me dara las fuerzas para continuar
Donde estes, te extraño, te pienso, te amo Papa.