8 dayze and a life-tyme ago

Gliding
past desert mesas,
counting the layers of earth and rock;
reflections of my people's skin tones.

Clay red rocks rise into thunderstorm skies of deep gray,
While the twisted fingers of distant lightning storms reach
from the heavens to the ground below;
and the yuca plants, saguaros, palo verdes y mesquites,
even the desert wind,
EVERYTHING
seems to whisper your name...

Maribel.

I have traveled
1000 miles
and still I cannot escape you,
nor the past,
my actions,
their consequences,
the pain.

It is like the small rip
in the mantel my
nana crocheted a long time ago.
I put a vase of flowers in it and pretend
it doesn't exist,
but I know its there.

Cutting through central valley
cornfields
I take the 58 through Bakersfield
while Los Lobos sings "Sabor A Mi"
on the cd player

and everything reminds me of you
and me

when we
were Us.

But that was a 8 dayze and a life-tyme ago.


                   --Marc David Pinate