no dicimos "gracias" tanto como otros paises, porque tenemos mucho confianza con la gente.

Nosotros vivimos dia por dia

'si no comimos carne, no es rico.' No necesitamos tantas proteinas

who's to say? maybe love is jumping with someone..

when I saw you, I fell in love

but you didn't smile because you knew

What's next..

Portugal
Morocco
this weekend: Dublin, Ireland. Volcano Choir concert
next weekend: Sevilla and Cordoba
next next weekend: Alpujarras
next next next weekend: Germany. Visiting family. Amsterdam
next next next next weekend: Sweden. Visiting family
next next next next next weekend: studying for finals, absorbing Granada
next next next next next next weekend: telling them stories of it all

Dear Prudence

Won't you come out to play

I don't like

how there's no room to stretch, though this piso is huge
how I can't even complete a day of my monthly challenges (deep breathing, no meat + no dairy diet) because I'm force-fed beef stew
how there's more cheese than pizza sauce
how I can't buy a plane ticket to Stockholm or a supplement online
how dogs shit in the middle of the sidewalk and pee on cars
how everyone smokes
how I'm weird for wanting to go on a diet to cleanse my body
how I'm weird for looking at the sun to sneeze
the second-hand smoke
how I can't find the things I need for my tiquis-miquis, picky body
how bad I want to hold my sister
how slippery the cobble stone is in flip flops
how no one follows the rules of staying on the right side of the sidewalk


but I'll miss it. I'll miss the freedom, to not strain myself to diets and to have no other choice but to be an opportunist.

We're lost in foreign words,
counting the olive pits we find on the ground.
Forget about the twins,
forget about the seven kids,
the house on a hill in Sevilla.

Blue shoulders-
I was his girl with blue shoulders,
but then he changed the channel.

I miss waking up in the middle of the night with a poem or a line, a sentence that was wholesome on its own. I miss squinting one eye and typing it in my phone, pulling the blanket over my head. I miss the leaves and the soil. It seems like its gone. It lived inside me and then packed its bags and left, fell in love in Spain and left.

Lagos

Walking back from class at night, a man sitting outside told me "que guapisima eres." I didn't say anything and thought, "shut up, liar." As I walked further down the street, a different man whispered to his friend, "ah, que guapa."

And I'm not gonna lie, I felt good.

Achy Breaky Heart

I come into the kitchen to tell her I love the song, and I notice that she's already dancing. We dance and she says, "es muy facil! jeje, muy facil!"

And she lowers the heat on the stove to a simmer...

here comes the sun king: everybody's laughing, everybody's happy.

the sunlight in winter, after a bitter season.

The sun is setting in Harper's Ferry

Memories of her smiling with closed eyes, drunk, head on a pillow, dim light. Flashbacks of her poking shoulders when she laughs,
through the sheets.

readygo

Maria is one of my favorite parts about here, the clothes hanging out to dry, colorful outside my window, hearing other families having dinner as their forks and voices echo out of their windows, the dogs, the cats outside the Alhambra and descending down the vines, dancing to girly music with my roommate and getting out of our cozy beds to dance when we hear our favorite songs, learning the word "tiqismiqis", rapping while drinking sangria, exploring with a group of three and ending up with a group of 6 or 7, the discotecas that end at 7am, no pasa nada, vale, the view of the Alhambra from El Mirador de San Nicolas, the hike up the Albaycin, the sunset behind the Alhambra, the silhouettes, the cobble stone that kill my feet, the kids playing in the playground at midnight, the night the elderly couples danced outside in a center, the puppy that bit my mouth, the surprise of tapas, the people at the university, being a part of many groups, the way the milk tastes, warm milk with sugar, bread with everything which is delicious but horrible, Maria's tomato sauces, fruit after every meal, the way the flies enter through the windows and then leave right away, hola guapa, how I've had a croissant every day since arriving here, churros con chocolate, hola guapa (*wink), the pet mouse on the neighbor's window sill that squeaks at night, the three miniscule drops of water that were carried with the breeze and brought to my lips, my eyes closed, sand and pebbles sticking to my lower back, dried blood on our knees and feet, riding the waves and jumping, the rocks cutting us, the peach collecting sand, dead silver sardines on the shore, the erect feather dug in the sand, when my phone fell into the sea and I learned to live and not take pictures, a friend flicks and flicks his lighter in the salty breeze, the mountains covered in clouds, the asymmetrical sidewalks and hills, everything is connected through its sloppiness, the cars bouncing with the slopes of the tierra, our eyes stung from the salt, when Maria held my hand and kissed it, hugging her and swaying, waking up to a montage of Beatles songs from the neighbors, oy oy oy, our song "Busted", the way stubble brushes through long hair, the smell of the clothes hanging outside my window in the night breeze, no vaya, no vaaaya, quiero guardarme tu pelo en mi bolsillo, white curtains move behind a window, I finally like olives, my feet are finally healed, no tengo la fuerza a decirlo, being the only girl in a yoga class and the guys smiling like children, alif rrrra noon zayyy, rattling of the tongue, the bubbling sound of the Arabic and Spanish r, pan y chocolate, the girls with short bangs and nose rings, the girls with strands of dread-locks, his teeth, coincidentally running into the same man every day down Recogidas and in the market, his hooped earrings and black lab, how I fear he'd fall in love with my sister, cupcake shopping, the puppeteers, the babies in light pink carriages, water dripping down balconies through the flower pots, I love u so much my stomach hurts!!!! Because I squeeze it when I miss u, the intro to She's Leaving Home, one year exactly until Mary's wedding, he broke a rock for us, I opened a seashell but there was nothing inside, librarian, romulus, she's leaving home, spanish caravan, quedate luna, no te vaya si te vas, Fernando dancing and singing to Spice Girls, freakies meakies, Shavona's sweet hug as she leaves for class and I'm in bed sleeping and coughing, Maria's breakfast in bed, meeting Jose, making everyone cry in Germany as we Skyped mama & baba, the first ring bought for me is probably returned, and chocolate con avellanas, the look on Maria's face when I gave her chocolate, finally connecting with Jessica and having a deep talk while she cooked noodles and curry, the sound of Nieves's hands touching her photos and pointing to islands on the map, Fernando singing to Elton John's "Can you feel the love tonight" and turning it up for me to hear, Fernando's brown eyes, pancacas, Maria's kisses and hugs, the way she holds my hand and squeezes it until my nails dig into her skin, the view from Nieves's rooftop which rekindled the first love I had for Granada, how God turns me into what I want to be without any of my strengths, placing me beside a Moroccan on the plane, having anxiety after imbibing which told me to be prudent and cut out over-indulgences, how the colorful things are happening now as this all comes to an end, everyone in my Arabic class, karaoke in class, dime carino, y donde esta Shavona?, habla en espanollll, ay mi nina!, (while hugging me, she says) "aaah, esta chica es tierna," has cenado? y que has cenado?, exchanging hilarious fake smiles with Maria, how she and him fell in love right before my eyes without me knowing, joining a different type of crowd and partying with them, his really nice septum piercing that worked perfectly with his lips and top row of teeth,

I can't believe the time of restoration is finally here.

I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten (Joel 2:25).

I could hear the dirt crumble under the heavy pot of plants scraping the balcony floor above ours. Their siestas are over and a truck is rumbling while parked along the street. The curtains are yellow and red, I translated a song yesterday and showed a funny picture at the dinner table, cried at the thought of ascending up the stairs and then descending midway, questioning to eat a peach, and I quietly told Maria buenas noches after talking to her on this couch, smiling at how cozy and tired she looked in her glasses, black night dress, and loose white robe. Sometimes I talk to her about the little things, about her lentil soup and some words I don't know how to conjugate, just to hear her Spanish, motherly voice. I fall asleep with shadows of my clothes hanging on the line outside my window, and I wake up the next morning to find 10 euros on the cobble stone.

thinking of Spain

One sweet dream...came true...today...came true....today...came true....today...yes it did now ow ow ow ow ow ow.

I shook and said, Sorry, I was thinking of spiders.

where do all the animals hide?

I'm watching a bunny eat grass and hop into the bushes when the lawn mowers turn on.

So this is how the world looks when no one is looking.

ring around the rosie

Empathy

I lost her, not when she died, but the second I started to fear losing her.

The only good thing about here is that I can feel wet soil with my fingers, plant flowers, and get a glimpse of the worms inside.

clutter

Metaphysics

The earth doesn't even know.
The kettle vibrates and sweats nervously and confused,
asking, "Should I boil? Will I explode?"

Little things like this

Hey Bill it's Nathan just wanted to let you know that the basement is flooded all the way to the stairs and almost to the far wall already

Hehe wrong number.

Sorry

Sorry about your basement, though

January rain

I just got back home from my friend's place and it is raining beautifully, the city bold and damp. My feet clacked with each step like in the movies. I love hearing footsteps in movies. And my socks were soaked since I was wearing thin, slip-on shoes. But the feeling of wetness and cold is refreshing, to feel my saliva churn and freshen, my lips plump and sticky with the rain. It's living.

For most of my life, I have been the one observing, looking, writing, photographing, capturing. On the outside looking in. But now, after having these panic attacks and dark and gray days, I feel as if the world is telling me to live now. To not philosophize all of the time but to live. To be the man on that bike who I observe out my window. To be that laughing woman in a circle with friends. To be in the cold, wavy waters, instead of writing about its curve and fierce current.

There needs to be a balance. Whether or not I know it, everything will be okay. There is a time for gray winters and a time for drenching rain that makes the city lights more vivid and red and green, the blackness like oil. The puddles.

And I feel as if I need to not think. To dance. To be the way I am when intoxicated- not taking anything personal. To sit on a train and not care about the strangers glancing and judging. To breathe and to feel and to do things without thinking. I am smarter when I do not think. Cleverness is innate.

These are the things I don't say

How the radiator brought an ephemeral warmth,
and moaned when it did,
his face satanic and red.
I saw his teeth for the first time and pulled the slipping pillow
underneath my head,
with the kitten purring on my hair.

The white paint that chips off of decrepit wood in Monterey Bay

I want my clothes to resemble the seagulls and the sky.
Denim and white collar,
blue and white skies.

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright

I live and then I die.
I am the firefly.

spring

We are all cancer cells, asking what our purpose is, occupying random space, building skyscrapers and spilling oil. Accidents. And accidents are random, like picking chicken eggs or miscarriages.

Thinking

I scratched my nails against a wall because there was no more left to peel.

Shut up, woman

Men never tell women to leave the toilet seat up.

I kissed the thought of you.

I had a dream this morning that woke me up at 6 in the morning. I was calling my mom in the shower as the hot water was putting me on the verge of fainting. I screamed her name and she screamed my name back, opened the door, and saw me holding on to the curtain pole with my right hand and dangling dizzily, almost twirling. She ran to me as my eyes were rolling back, turned the water on cold, and as I began to wake up, she told me that she saw my whole life unwind before her-- my childhood, my youth, everything. And I was sorry that she had to see me that way and I cried in her arms, naked. I told her how much I loved her, over and over again, and then I woke up.

And then I sobbed in my hands, in my bed, my eyes stinging and tired. I don't know why I cried. I don't understand how I could feel such emotion and sadness and love for something that is not 'real.' But it made me realize the depths of my emotions for my mother; it was just a fiction story or a poem...a way to metaphorically explain to me my love for her. Uggh, I always get emotional and teary when I think of the love I have for (specifically) my mother and sister. I can never say "I love you" to them without a break in my voice.

I had a lovely dream...
The world was black and white, reaching evening, and I was stretching on my back on a cottony, white flower canvas that was draped over the stone ground. And "Bookends Theme" was playing.

After dismissing my alarm

I tap my fingers and toes to keep myself awake, lest I fall back asleep. I realized my heartbeat does just the same.

Why was I the one to find nails and needles in the carpet,
and poisonous spiders on the walls?
Why was I the one to snitch on the lurking monsters,
throw them away,
lock them in jars,
or tell Baba to kill them?
Why did I have the nightmare
of being a
pot of soil,
falling backwards
and off a
windowsill?

Past, Present, and Future sounds like Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to me.

I will not strip down my god, my life, my self, time
with limits and words and linear markers
that tell us to look where our eyes are capable of looking.
Not adjacent or behind,
but forward.

But there's still hope to that,
because whether you're east, north, south, west,
your "forward" will be cyclical and absolute,
as we'd all stand before each other
on all sides,
someone to my left,
someone to my right.

I jogged for 37 minutes.
You see it as barely reaching 40.
I see it as slightly exceeding 35.

A combination of the funny things my professors have said this semester..

"If anyone has a revelation of Zeus, a unicorn, or Jesus..."

"My two-year-old set off the house alarm...so they're intruders."

"It's just piece of stuff...How is this piece of garbage more true than this piece of garbage?"

"Does God not think?...So, is God some kind of body or some weird thing?"

"Yeah. So. Um."

"Is the saying 'flush out' or 'flesh out'?"

"Let's just blame the Germans."

(while student is talking to the class) "You're putting Joey to sleep."

"What if you take a spaceship and ride really fast and take pictures?"

"Well, what if I see you're sick and I perform surgery on you and kill you! But it was only in good will!"

"But, Leibniz, math doesn't explain angels...it doesn't explain my invisible cat!"

"'I'm in love.' 'Oh, you're not in love! It's just hormones!'"

"What happened to my dog!... Don't cut up your dog......Unless you don't want to keep it."

"I lose my dog and you give me a video game....well you say, 'it has the same algorithm!'"

"What do you do when Kate Upton is dancing naked in front of you, waving like a flag?... You have an ERECTION."

"How beautiful this vomit is! Prehistoric harmony of vomit!"

"How are you sure that the sheep won't turn into an accordion?"

"What is this?" "My dog, Bucktooth."

"Give me a cookie. And I'll go home and eat the cookie!"

"How many plates must we break to get through your thick brain that they will break?"

"Is it some kind of juicy brain part? No, it's a thought."

"So you enclose a space with three lines. Shoop, shoop, shoop. And then, three angles show up! Uninvited! What are these doing here?!..... I don't like it. Do it without the angles. That would be a tight place where I couldn't put a serious couch....I need an enclosed space to put my groceries in there. When I put my tomatoes in there and they fall out, I'm blaming you."

"Not like someone saying, 'I'm gonna love you forever,' some ridiculous words like that!"

When we resurrect, we won't see our Christ,
but will look into the needle of the scientist.

Mumford and Sons was playing, and they said "heart" a lot.

Touch his warmth and hold it, hold it, hold it,
hold it. Hold onto these petals
while they're still tender
and before your desire has crisped, flaked, and passed.

I fell in love with the man in my dream

He snuck flowers inside his sleeves to surprise her,
and they were warm as lips
and wilted.

The Mishaps

The elevator closing on my legs and dragging me up until my legs break, tear, and bleed.

New Years Eve, from 2011 to 2012. Friends talking about a suicide, how the remaining body resembled an accordion. I've awoken from day dreams at night, clutching onto my blanket with my toes and hands, shaking my head, no no. In my dreams, she falls from the window she is swinging her legs out of, her toes bare and stretching as if under beach sand, but the snow blows in. I dream that she'll slip from my fingers, from the window sill, like a dream unremembered, like a hallucination that never was. And I wake up from that nightmare and hold onto her with all that I have: my sheets, my shirt, my hands forming into clammy fists. But she didn't fall. She-could-have is what scares me.

Bumping into a body from another dimension as if bumping into kids in a high school hallway.


These are the things I fear.

Coffee House, Open Mic

"This is a poem that I just wrote" translates as a way to feel better about yourself, because if your poem sucks, your excuse is that you just wrote it and didn't have sufficient time to revise. And if it's great, you'll appear to be a prodigy child, a genius, to write something magnificent, or just very good, in a short amount of time.

It's okay,

because when you die, people will take your possessions, your kitchen plates, your empty glass jars, your rings, your canes, and they will use them. They'll eat dinner on your plates after washing them and airing out the water and your warm soul that remained in there. The plate is now cold and the sunlight bears witness of its old fork and knife scratches. And then the people will dine and have an estates sale, and a young girl will carry bundles of dollars and find your jingling manual machine that sings an old American melody. She doesn't have enough money, but the people tell her that tomorrow will be their final sale and they'll reduce all prices. She heard that patience is a good thing, so she tries to be patient. She places the machine down and goes home in the cold, autumn wind. When she returns the next day, the jingling machine is gone.