Yet…

I see you
And I see myself
I see a gap
And I feel insecure.

And I see your ideals
As well as all of your deals.
I feel my fears
Yet I try to conceal…

To conceal this dark side of me
So I dance along with you
We are too close
So I see what I’ve become.

I wish to be accepted
So I fly and dance
At the sound of your voice
At the rhythm of your song.

The thing is
Sometimes I wonder
Is this really me?
I do love to fly
I love to dance
I love your voice
The sound of your strings
I definitely love them all.

Yet…

What catches your eye

By RRSuperNova

* It was a hard time when I made this poem. I guess we always look for miracles when life seems threatened; so we search for our closest means of faith that embodies our family dogma. Yet we forget that we are the ones doing this to nature, so there is no need of miracles, just a need of consciousness and action…

The sky is baby blue
There are twinkling lights in the night
As if they were counting
Seconds in our lives.

Flowers smell of love
Rose’s petals so soft
As delicate as is
Gives us hope
What a sight!

Kids play in the wild
As if it were part of their homes
Drip drops falling from above
The rainy season arrives
Giving us water
To wash our souls.

There’s pollution in the air
Calamities are astray
As if they were counting
Seconds in our lives.

Manufacturers smell of green
They also drain their bane
Water-like looks so soft
As delicate as is
Dear Lord! Cancer!
What a sight!

We have stayed in our homes for a while
Confined by this covid-19
Drip drops are falling through our skin
“End of times” dogma arrives
Scaring us, warning us
To wash our souls.

Cold To The Bones

Wintertime
Cold and blackout time
People are starving
Thirsty and without a dime.

Pandemic time as well
As panic time
No light to heat
Food in freezer
Has gone bad
Since yesterday.

There should be a distance
Between people
Covid is still at large
Yet forced we are
Abandoning our shelters
For food supplies
And anything
That might warm us up.
Since what we had is perished
Due to lack of light.

But…
It’s not just us
It’s the whole community
We are all suffering
The big board game
The untouchables are playing.
We’re mere pieces
To toss and turn
To give some light
Or to freeze to death.

Zone of disaster we are called
Yet I see all of those big houses
With brilliant lights.
They tell us to unplug everything
They tell us to keep a low temperature
In our thermostat.
They tell us is our fault!

Yet…
I see those big houses
With Christmas lights
I see the businesses
Having their best time.

Is it just me?
Or is this
Just another political gamble
Just another way to torture
The masses in order
To win some big bucks
The old way…

I wonder…

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 and Seb 3

Paco, my 5-year-old, asked me, “I don’t get it mom, Joe Biden won, so why are you still mad?”

Me: Paco, you not wanting to clean the mess you made doesn’t have anything to do with politics…

History In My Eyes

Life is but a book
The writer is but a politician
History is repeated
Just like any other book
The difference
Is the writer
The politician behind the pen
The plot is always the same
Sometimes well outlined
Sometimes lazy pillars
Either way
They both collapse 
In the reader’s eyes
Either at the middle
Or the end
But it’s always the same.
I see sickness of the mind
In these troubling times
I’ve seen how people
Get greedy with opportunities
I’ve seen a lousy storyteller
Light the last firework
To incite violence
And distract
The local readers. 

A mere copycat
Trying to rewrite
History’s thorn past.
Lost souls
In flames
In despair
Segregated
Malnourished
Hunger of hatred
Is what he seeks
Filming second-rate movies
For the world to see
Idiocracy at its full. 

And yet
I can’t seem to understand
The ignorant
I still can’t understand
The greedy
Much less
The influence
Of a mere liar. 

Is it sweet
yet stupid whisper?
Is a movie maker
More important
Than a leader?
Is a barricaded coward better
Than peaceful confrontation? 

Wake up America!
Terrorism is within
Is covered in fur
Doesn’t matter the softness
It was still teared from the prey!
Don’t shut your eyes
Don’t cover your ears
Don’t be distracted by lies
Don’t lose yourself in the fog.
Don’t
Please just don’t…

Dragoness

By Rosalva Ruiz SuperNova

There is a legend
That only a few know
About this mysterious woman
Who’s face is still unknown
Yet her feats
Are recorded
In the Odd family scroll. 

A chivera from la frontera
Who passed from electronics
Food 
And some other tonteras. 

The one and only wedding aide
Who didn’t give access
To this celebrity fave
For the simple reason
That Fito Olivares was not written
In that page
Of course
Who would have known
That Rodolfo Olivares
Was his real name
A VIP guest
At least
that’s what’s written there. 

And well the list goes on
Array with beats
And souls that begin to flow.
That was her last job as such
That is for sure. 

Now let’s not forget
Of the many recorded
Falls from filming
“The one in a lifetime events”
Such as the time of that wedding
Where the bride’s arm
Suddenly arose
Trying to hold
something in the air
Their lips
As well as their eyes
Saying “Oh no!”
Then a white ceiling
Of the church
Came into view… 

This other time
Where instead of a white ceiling
It was the face of Jesus
With his arms wide open
Kind of saying pobrecita
Ahi va de nuevo otra caida… 

But
Fret not
That gave her the best idea
Pictures taken from the floor
She’s got quite a few
Of those.
The kiss in the air
From the groom and his bride
The funny faces from friends
And quinceañeras
Enjoying their time. 

The groom leaning
The dazed eyes
Anticipating a love song
And the fallen bow
Giving the perfect
Memory for years to come. 

While in the cloud
Makes one remember
That this woman
Is a dragoness in disguise
When the time comes by.
A whisperer of love
When the need is more.
A clown in the cloud
When the kids are around.
And last but not least
A cast speller
In an invisible town
When she holds
Her feathered pen
And writes in the air.

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…