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| Super Moon, July 12, 2014, courtesy Marie-Marthe Gagnon, Flickr Creative Commons. |
February
for staying in the present todays, and for those sweet yesterdays that will never come again
lazy day Sunday | breakfast with a new friend | end and beginning
cool evening | sleeps and wakes a windy day | with gulf waves raging
descarrilado | en medio de su mundo | tiniebla duro
derailed | in the middle of his world | hard darkness
torrential rains one minute | then hot sun barking | loudly on the street
full snow moon | this is not June it’s winter | the false Spring’s singing |
songs of fireflies and ladybugs | it’s certainly not summer
full hunger moon | a desire for flowers | ready to spread wings
what you could have had | but decided to pass up | took love for granted
you know what’s missing | are torn apart by grief | can’t figure out why
a warriors heart | bigger than their whole body | often full of ache |
the force of convictions | motivated by deep love
your good face forward | there’s no place for grief | so lead with a smile |
think of your tears as wings | that fly over the gulf searching
your big sun smile | loves every minute of joy | this work has brought |
and Spring’s wanting to be sprung | you in every flower
love not a one day affair | it’s three-hundred-sixty five | twenty-four-seven |
like you crave sun in winter | cool water in the spring
you are a love | from time before time mattered | you will always be
we are witnesses | to the injustice | world of greed and hate
you’ve become a saint | a prophet to remember | your teachings humble
there are trees that speak | skin’s related to bark | you listen content |
always knew they are relatives | guarding you since you were young
his skin on yours silk | your young bodies seamless | no begin or end just two
you are everywhere | in every living being | it does my heart good
of ghosts and spirits | we dream each other’s stories | that ignore borders
imagining | a better world to leave | for future
when all the stars stared | down to find you in the midst | there you were in trees |
a wind song kissing leaves | you always wanting verde
story of her life | the best ones choose others | her picker broken
she is leaking grief | leaving its blue trickle trail | everywhere she goes
the road gives you time | to know you are from there | home is where you are
she shakes her head | knowing it’s not really true | you have not gone on
they hang out their shingle | sell pretty new age snake oil | so buyer beware
only her medicine | words that can’t be spoken | but sung aloud |
can save her from sadness | that place of despair
speak in fiery tongues | from our mouths encantations | fly forth in love
you here in the wind | in the trees where black birds sleep | in the deepest song
January
when you love without | an agenda about you | thinking you are it
dark misty coastline | driving rain and loving it | missing the unseen
those who make medicine | with their good words no lies | with their good hearts
the imposters masks | shall be ripped from their faces | take no places |
that do not belong to you | your lies become the crows call
we try to understand | what can never be | how to move on
with the snow moon full | you say your final goodbyes | fly into the light
rest in peace | sweetest Rose of the valley | mother to so many
worn out your machine | called a body a temple | and you want to dream
beyond borders | you fly home to ancestors | who wait with open arms
hermano mio | fly home to the ancestors | to their resplendent arms |
In Xochitl In Cuicatl
we worry in vain | about much we can't control | better to have glee
it's a new year | a chance at beginnings | give thanks every day
Copyright © 2016 Odilia Galván Rodríguez. All Rights Reserved.
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