Thoughts on Rain and Moving On
The rain is coming down tonight,
And it is neither poetic nor beautiful.
I wonder why I always tell myself to move forward,
When my shoes are wet and the dirt from the street,
Has soaked into my socks.
Someone has to know why they say,
It’s always better to move on.
Over the years,
You have probably gotten so many love letters,
Mine is simply an envelope on your coffee table.
But since I’ve known you,
No place else is ever enough.
To My Grandma
I love to listen to you speak Spanish.
It sounds like music in my ears.
Your voice curls like a gift around my hands,
And my heart warms with Cuban sun.
I am glad your hands reached my mom’s and hers can reach mine, so I can reach back to you again.
I will forever try to be a granddaughter you are proud of.
You taught me a love that knows no bounds.
Sometimes, I could spend hours just listening to the music of the love in your voice.
I walk to the subway,
And somehow I can’t get you off my skin.
I don’t want to,
I miss short trips on the express train,
Soft jazz and the feeling,
That our meeting,
Is always just a little too brief.
Be the my moment that I can keep.
Roses, part 2
I don’t know why,
But I still hope when you’re around.
Even a rose pressed between the pages of a closed book,
Is still beautiful.
I am addicted to the way we could have exploded.