iWrite the Utterly Impossible

I ran into a Facebook  friend,
not literally, by the way.
I tried to ask, ‘how’ve you been?’
but he quickly turned away.

Could it be he didn’t recognize
my face so out of place?
Or that he didn’t remember me
without my profile    page?

But then again,
if I remember right,
he ‘liked’   my pic
from Halloween night.

We have 183 mutual friends.
I’ve even ‘checked in’ 
at places he’s been.
We both hit
on the same political post.
And last year, our group pic
was the one that was ‘liked’    the most.

Why then did he look away?
He always has so much to say.
I  LOLed   at all his jokes
and WOWed      at pictures of his folks.

I     cried with him
when he lost his pet fish
and   tagged him making a birthday wish.

With all that we share
and all the places we’ve been,
I expected at least a smile
from my Facebook friend.

02/14/2019
SD

The dark waters
carry us away from the past.
Turbulent and terrible.
We plummet downward
into the depths,
unable to anticipate
the obstacles
that jolt and threaten
our survival.

Our chests ache
from too little
then too much
air.
We mustn’t forget to breathe.
Salted tears stream
as we scream
our lips sting,
parched and pale.

The pace of our collective heart
slows
as peaceful waters
navigate the broken vessel
away from danger
away from unrest
away from uncertainty.

Return is not an option.
We must find deliverance
for ourselves
for our people
for our future.

November 02, 2018

SD

Autumn rain
soaks, chills, permeates
fleshy layers
seeping into the marrow
of those with hearts tender still.

Cold rains evacuate worms
and crawly things
from their earthy tunnels,
uncovering the ugly
but harmless
creatures
under the dirt.

Autumn rain
ends the summer heat,
heals the burn
of the preceding months,
restores the breath
to lungs deflated
by smoke and flame.

As if pulled from the fire,
the singed and blackened heart
soaks-in the cold waters.
Loss seared into the spirit
lessens as life returns.

Scorched,
but not consumed.
Autumn rain
ends summer pain.

11.12.2018

Stephie De los Santos

Thirty-six years

I’ve carried the secret with me

tucked between heartbreaks

and sunshine.

It has sped down distant highways,

leaped dark ocean waves,

and hiked foreign mountain tops,

clinging resiliently

to my heart’s unhinged door.

Stashed so deeply

I forget it’s there.

Babies birthed.

Daddy died.

Matrimony

attempted. I tried.

Sun rises

on time each day

while sunsets

make the pain go away.

I forget

until a smirk on a stranger’s face

sends tingles to my toes,

until I ache to share

a breath-stealing description

found nestled between yellowed pages.

I forget.

Successfully securing

beneath smiles and congratulations,

beneath friendship and hard places

– the depths of the sea

buried within me.

Stephie De los Santos

10/03/2018

They stole from me the memory
of walking you to school,
Your first day of kindergarten
and I wasn’t there
to pick out your clothes
or comb your wavy brown hair.

I imagine you demanding
your hair up in a butterfly chongo –
one purple, one pink.

I imagine the two of you
hand in hand,
like two puppies
taking their first walk
stumble-running towards the unknown.

They stole from me those moments.
Strangers walked with you.
I wonder if they took 1st day pics
outside your new school,
or if they shook hands with your teachers
and pretended to be proud
of their twin girls
who will never truly be theirs.

How many times have you sat next to me
just to feel the warmth of the one you love?
How many times did you reach for the phone
in the middle of the day
longing to hear my voice?
How many texts to say “I love you,”
or “thinking about you?”
How many times have you smiled at me
from across the room –
just because.

How many times have you held my hand,
kissed my cheek,
pulled me close?

This week?
This month?
This year?

I know.
You don’t know.
Rare were the occasions, if at all.

The truth is
our marriage was over long ago.
I just couldn’t let you go.
The signs were there –
emails and pics in your inbox.
Your public pride
in my knowledge of your language
hardened into stone
beyond the threshold of our home.
Inside our private world,
your eyes never met mine.
My profession,
my passions,
lifted your head
and straightened your spine
out there.
In private, you never knew me.
Other interests filled your mind and time.

I will miss the man I thought you were.
Those moments of kindness,
glimpses of concern,
the way you found pleasure in simple things.

But I don’t know which you is real –
the one who smiles and shares
or the irrational one who
accuses and swears.

I don’t know if you ever loved me,
or if you were just in love with love.
But we both deserve a chance
to know what love feels like.

I will forgive.
I will try to understand
why I wasn’t enough for you.
But I have to let go
because you’ve been gone a long time.

 

 

 

 

Like other nine year-olds,
he fears
what lurks
in the shadows of the night,
under beds,
inside closets.

He fears
the flash of lightning,
the crash of thunder.

He fears
losing sight of Mommy
in a crowd.

But he also fears
death
and dying.

They are not the same thing.

He fears Armageddon.
He fears packages left on doorsteps.
He fears large crowds
and stray bullets.
He fears school shooters.
He fears bombs,
nuclear attacks,
and Kim Jong Un.
He fears tweets from Trump.
He fears dying young.

My helicopter-mom status
failed to shield him
from shifts in cultural norms.

April 2018

You sit at the kitchen table
eyes tracking
stories,
updates,
Likes & emojis.
“I need you, Daddy.” he says,
but you don’t hear.
“Daddy!” he tries again.
“Okay! Okay!” you hiss.
You scroll on,
He calls.
And he calls,
his voice groggy with weariness and anxiety.
He disappears into his “adventurous dreams”
without your goodnight kiss,
without the warmth of your form beside him,
without “one last drink, Daddy.”,
without giggling at one of your corny jokes.

 

You son fades away from you
one night at a time.
Missed opportunities pile up
like snowflakes in the blizzards’ highest drifts –
imperceptible to you
within your isolation.
Like an addict

imprisoned by moments of euphoria
and methods of escape,
you sacrifice the only things that matter.

But the blizzard rages still
for your son.
Strong winds
threaten
the stability of his steps.
He loses part of himself
in the mounds of snow –
each step deepens his loss.
The accumulation
swallows parts of him
until he’s not sure
who he is anymore –
who he wants to be –
who deserves his attention and affection.

Old age is stealthy,
surrounding us
with the fruits of our life.

Strained relationships,
stretched and soured
by years of neglect,
await you.

Your wife tired
of a loveless marriage
and found contentment
without you.
You hardly noticed.

But, your children.

They love you
from a distance.
They love.
The right choice.
A choice they can live with.

Yet, their hearts and pursuits
are as far away
as the clouds
that darken your life.
They stopped reaching out
for love
long ago,
and learned to cope
with half a heart.

03/08/2017

 

 Small Talk

*Dedicated to introverts everywhere

I see you coming my way
and I realize it is inevitable,
this obligatory encounter
that is as joyous
as marriage counseling.

Hallways, offices, and doors
laugh at me from a distance,
condemning me
to meaningless interaction,
forced fakeness,
compulsory conversation.
Escape is not an option this time.

And it happens.

Your pace slows,
we make eye contact and smile.
          Just. Keep. Walking 
          Don’t completely stop.
But you do.
“I’m so glad it’s Friday!  How are you?”

What do I even say.
Energy and motivation drain from my veins.
Annoyed.
But, I’ll play.
With pretend purpose we pause
long enough to say
nothing.

Yes, words echoed off the walls
and friendly laughter fooled them all.
But what was shared?
Five minutes felt like fifty.

And now I need to sit down,
alone
and think.

03/10/2017
SLPD

Like the ocean needs the moon,
without you I cannot move.

One day without you
is like spring
with no Bluebonnets –
endurable, but without majesty.

Imagine life without music,
and you know how I feel.
A future without your laugh
will leave me unfulfilled.

With all the voices in the world,
I will always listen for yours,
for a library filled with books
is just a lounge
without Tolstoy on its shelves.

Like a woodwind and its reed,
My voice projects only wind
without the confidence you give
each time you reassure.

Your smile,
closed lipped
or teeth bared,
sends tingles dancing up my spine.
A feeling I dare not live without,
even if you will never be mine.

SLPD 3/27/2018

from Little Bird
Ana’s Character