Dirty House

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

Is it the lack of will?
As I take part of the couch
I see the kids running
Screaming
Throwing legos around.

My head throbs
Poisonous cheers
Thorns prickling
My already wounded mind.
Bombs echoing my soul.

I take a look outside
The palms dance
With the beat of the wind.
Like two lovers embracing
Acknowledging each other’s presence.
Bodies entangled
And moving with ease
Circling with poise
What a beautiful sight.
My heart aches
Don’t know yet
If it’s by the lovely sight
Or the rumbling inside.

Teachers bleed their knowledge
I tell my kids “eyes on-screen.”
After a while
They get annoyed
And start hacking the system.
Two screens are shown
One with the teacher
The other
A youtuber it seems.

They forget
I know they do
So I become
That security guard
That unpleasant person
That keeps them on a leash.
I try my best to block
Their indifference
Sometimes
To the point of defiance.
My throat hurts
My heart aches
I block my tears.
They seem startled
For the moment
And back down temporarily.

I see my house being unattended
I keep feeling the urge
Yet they keep looking for an opportunity.
So I sit in this lousy couch
Like a watcher
Feeling insecure
Feeling the pressure
Trying to stop
Screams of joy
So the scholars pay attention.

This feeling of loneliness
This feeling…

I avert my gaze to the window
Once again
I see
Those dancing partners
I’m starting to envy them
Such lovely freedom.

I guess it’s finally getting me

This isolation

This impotence when it comes
To the school’s electronic devices.

The attention I give
To three different grade levels.

At the same time making
Food for them.

Trying to stop words
Coming out from their mouths
I have never said
In front of them.

All thanks to youtube
Thanks to the lack of admins permission
On the school’s electronic device.

Then again
grateful for this device
During these troubling times.

The pressure of them
Making a B or better.

It’s all scrambled eggs
Including the eggshells
They keep hurting
every time I chew and swallow.

I guess
Just like a dirty house
That needs to be cleaned
My soul
Also needs to be cleansed.

A Piece of Mind

During these days of the month I tend to be an observer.  Not that it helps on my daily life. It’s just that there is no other choice, either I do that and sit or stumble on anything, or become dizzy and fall. It’s just those type of days. I give a big praise to the doctors and nurses and anybody that has to deal with blood on a daily basis. I can’t even fathom the idea of smell of blood from my own body, much less from other people. I guess it gets stronger as my age advances.

On these days, I’m so happy that I was able to give birth to boys only. They won’t have to deal with this mess during all their life. Well they might get to deal with their spouse’s period cycles, but at least they won’t have to deal with the change of emotions, the hammering on the head, the pulling and itching of your breasts, the swelling and almost bursting of your fingertips, the tachycardia, the feeling of an infection in your most private part, the extra feeling of smell and hearing… Oh, and to top it off with the constant nausea and colic before and during those days. Now some women have it easy, they literally bleed for 3 to 5 days. But not me, no Sr. it has to be from 8 to 14 days.

So yes, it’s not justa a single itty bitty thing, it’s a conjunction of things that leaves no room to be happy, much less enjoy an active life during these days.

Hence, I do as much as I can before these days, since I know that during these days I will be like a lazy animal. In fact, I have instructed my kids on what to do during these days if by any chance I pass out in a dangerous place. The eight year old knows that he needs to call his dad first, and if it’s necessary, after calling his dad, he needs to call 911. The 5-year-old knows that he needs to take care of his 3-year-old little brother, you know, not getting things that might harm them or things like that. The 8-year-old is in charge, so he needs to take care of his 2 little brothers. Unless that his dad, grandma or aunt comes and pick them up they can’t go with anybody else. Otherwise call immediately to his dad, or his aunt and follow instructions from them.

I know it’s a big responsibility for an 8-year-old, but unfortunately life doesn’t give us a heads up. It just comes and gets what it wants when one least expects it and boy if I know.  If it weren’t for my sister’s information when we were in an accident several years ago. I don’t know how much time longer would we be in the hospital without a family member; and she was only 9. (Just in case, if anyone is interested I wrote about that accident a while back. It’s called “Angel with a gum.”)

Since I know that  this happens to me every month, I am in a way training them like how the schools do a fire drill. Is best to let them know ahead of time, than for them to panic and god knows what might happen. Wouldn’t you agree?

Eli, Paco y Seb 2

Paco

He’s a bit of a parrot
Hence me calling him
Paco Pacorro is a given.
He’ll be a great politician
There is only white or black with him
Either you go to the right
Or the left
There is no in-between.
He is what we call
“Gente de raza”
In other words
He is from the hood
He may be 5
But sometimes
It feels like
He is 15
One either adores him
Or hates him.

But the core of it all
He is humble
And although sometimes
He looks like a troublemaker
He’ll stand for what’s right.

This is the introduction of the 5-year-old.

A few days ago
Seb, the 3-year-old
Came running from his room
And as soon as he saw Paco.


He stopped and practically commanded
With a playful voice,
“Paacooo, open your moudth and say aaahh!!

Paco who was playing with legos
Looked at him and followed along, “Aaaaahhh.”

Seb started laughing and saying, “haha you missing a toodth! Hahaha”

Paco turn his head towards me and shouted,
“Mooommm, tell him to stooopp!”

I just couldn’t stop laughing
I wasn’t expecting that.
It was hard to stop laughing
And be showing anger…

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