I Would Journey

The plane dipped down
As my stomach dipped up.
The pilot cursed
In three languages,
None of which was English.
And yet, I continued on.

The seat of the bus
Rudely smacked my rear
As though I was
An unruly child.
Still two more hours
On this bumpy road,
And yet I would not turn back.

The donkey brayed
And once again
My rear learns a new
Pain from a saddle
Attached to said donkey.
I believe the braying
Was him laughing
At his foolish cargo.
I am to close
To even think
Of where I came from.

My body ached
As I took the
Last few steps
To the doorway of the hut
And yet it was
All worth it.

There standing in the doorway
Was my child.
There in my child’s arms
Was my grandchild.

As I took my grandchild
Into my arms
And my child led me
To the chair
Next to a window
That looked out onto the mountains,
The aches of my journey
Melted away.

For my child,
I would journey
To the end of the world.
For my grandchild,
I would journey back.

Love is Love

vi.sualize.us

Do you believe....
The words escaped
Her lips in a whisper.
Almost as though
She had exhaled
The works like spent air,
Technically, carbon dioxide.

My grandmother
Was not prone
To speaking at length.
Actually, I knew her
Not to talk at all
As she died
Long before I was
A twinkle in my parents' eyes.

And yet here she sat
On the corner of my bed.
This was a dream
Or so I kept
Repeating to myself.
Still, I did not
Pinch myself, thinking
It would be a tad
Disrespectful.

Then she repeated
Her question,
This time louder.
This time with an object
As well as a subject and verb.

Do you believe in love?
I looked away.
How do you explain
To your grandmother
That you had closed your heart
And chose not to love,
Chose not to seek it,
Chose not to let it in.

Coolness touched my chin
Turning my head
So that I met her gaze.
She waited,
She would have waited
From now to forever.
I had no choice
But to be honest.

She listened
As I emptied my soul
Into the night.
She listened as the moon
Traveled west
And the stars watched .
Then she whispered again.

Love is love.
Love is not a missing pen
That you have to look
High and low for.
Love is out in the open
And if you continue
To look for it in
Nooks and crannies,
You will never find it.

Love is not for one
Who hides their heart
Afraid that it would
Be abused,
That it would
Be broken.
If you do not,
Can not love,
How can you be loved?

This night
As the full, shiny moon
Traversed west,
A dead grandmother
Taught her granddaughter
How to love again.
And as the weight
Of the Sandman’s
Sands closed my eyes,
I felt coolness
On my forehead
Where my grandmother
Kissed me goodnight.

I saw her twice more
In my lifetime.
Once on the eve
Of my wedding day.
She taught me
How to love my husband.
The second time
Was when my newborn child
Slept in the cot beside me.
She taught me
How to love my child.

Every time I saw her
She whispered
Love is love.

The Personification Of Love

the making of a newborn session by Marta
Originally uploaded by alucco7

You are the personification
Of love.

So small,
So precious,
Our shared creation.

I would stare at you
For hours
In your crib,
In my arms,
In daddy's arms,
In your bath.

I didn't want
To share you
With the world,
But I knew
It was the first stage
Of letting go.

Soon it would be
To preschool,
Then to regular school
Then college or university.
Soon I would have
To let go.

Till then
I will drink in these moments.
The first time you smile,
The first word you speak,
The first step you make.

To me you are the personification
Of love.

Another Death on Gina's Head

Her scream
Was ripped
From her chest
And was hurled
Across the room.

It was as if
She was using it
As her defense,
That somehow
It would stop
Him in his tracks.

It didn't.
All it made him do
Was clamp his palm
Over her mouth.
He needed silence.
He needed them
To remain alone.
He didn't need
The police coming along,
Asking questions,
Being suspicious.

He whispered
Into her ear,
His breath warming it,
Blowing against
The fine hairs in it.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"I'm going to remove my hand."
"Don't scream."
"I'm looking for Allan."

Confusion crossed her face,
As his hand moved
From his lips.
He sat back down
In the wing chair.
He was sitting there
When she walked in,
A gun in his lap.
He sat in the dark,
Waiting for Allan.

"Allan doesn't live here!"
"I live alone!"
"This is my apartment!"
He listened as words
Pored out of her mouth.

He pulled out
A slip of paper,
Checking the apartment number.
Gina's handwriting was horrible.
Was it a 9 or a 4?
Obviously, it wasn't a 4.
Another death on Gina's head.

He stood up
And made his way
To the door.
He looked back
At her for the last time.
What a shame,
She was pretty.
She had good taste.
She had her whole life
Before her.
Ten seconds later
He was gone.

The next morning,
The newspapers' headlines
Read "Two Dead
In Apartment Complex!"
It continued to read
That one was a woman in 4B
And the other a man in 9B.
He clipped out the stories
And made copies for Gina.

The copies were
To encourage Gina to write better.
The copies were
To remind him
To confirm all his assignments.
The copies were
To remind Gina
That another unnecessary death
Was on her head.

Another lethal lesson
To be learned