Wednesday, April 28, 2010


They say you left us,
peaceful and quiet
cradled in your mothers arms
like the fashion of a psalms
we grip our heads wondering
when the needle and thread
stopped knitting. You broke open the seams
to our souls –now dust –
and our words –disheveled and unraveled –scrape
like swallowing stones and gravel. Our throats, like
our chests, are heaving caesuras
from when you seized salvation.

You made the world pause -silent-

we stare in the stillness of your eye-lids
and wonder if anything was even
beautiful before you

I never knew you,
But I know you had
your mother’s eyes.

I know you were the prayer
and the psalm David wrote
years before you were just
fingernails in a womb.

I know you were promised
–like Samuel –
you would be a prophet to many:


“mi poema, mi alma, mi hija.”

duermes bien.