Behind This Door

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

Behind this door
I saw a being mythical to me
With the most beautiful eyes
Baby blue
Almost blurred.

Behind this door
I felt inexplicable feelings.
Curiosity as I held this knob
Stilly I briefly opened the door
Afraid of alerting that being.
Her
Who had to see her son
As her brother.
Her
That I almost know nothing about.

Just like a legend
Unbelievable until you see.
Hidden behind this door
Afraid to scare the fairy away
Thanks to that existence
I’m able to breathe
Yet I’m nonexistent in her life.

I’m only twelve
Why?
Why is it hard to understand?
I’ve been given a great chance
To at least see her
From afar
Yet why am I so greedy…

Behind this door
I met my other self
This envious being
Of those close to her
Of those who can hug her
Of those who can be patted by her
Of those who can be praised by her
Of those who can sit next to her.

Envy
Since I don’t share any traits with her.
She’s like a royal pearl
I’m but chocolate milk.
Her wide baby blue eyes
Against my slanted hazy eyes.

Nothing seems to link me to her
That beautiful being
Only this invisible red thing
That flows in my being.

Behind this door
I was astonished
To the point of crying
I felt the hidden longing
At least a warm hug
At least to be acknowledged
At least to feel my existence.
At least…

That was my first and last
Encounter with my grandmother
Behind this door
Quietly admiring her
That fairy that can not see
But only hear
That fairy
That never knew my existence
Yet she is engraved in mine…

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.

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…

Eli, Paco and Seb

Seb, my 3-year-old
was playing with his books
Not reading them
But throwing
Smashing things with them
I had to stop him.

I told him
Books are not balls
Books are not toys
They are a path
For you to walk on
To learn new things
To discover magic places
To reach the stars
Without wearing an astronaut suit.

To my surprise
Later that day
He made a path alright
With all his books!!
He had such an angelic smile
I couldn’t argue
I lost this one…

Roots

Roots are engraved in my veins
It’s not the culture
It’s the warmth that emanates from it.


It’s the soft song
That makes you dance along.

It’s the perfect amount of spice
That gives us that savory bite.

Like that piece of heaven
You found in a far away land
And with just that memory
Makes a watery mouth.

One can even taste

the smell in the air
From that place
Transporting you to another time
To  a world
That only one knows.

From time to time
There may be some bitter drinks
On the way.

Even a hangover the next day
Yet our roots are stronger
That even with any storm
Our roses will flourish.

This…
This is my family
This is my culture
These are my roots.

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