Heisenberg wrote my biography
and I soon discovered lives are given and taken,
but never fully known. So I guess running wasn’t an option.
Regardless, I ran in the rain with kids from the block,
until thunder struck and fear bloomed in our impressionable minds.
You could say I feared the transition,
the expressionless threshold.
But I fought. I fought the paralysis by not moving.
I did! I did!
With the social drought and my youthful thirst,
my focus shifted to acceleration.
“Nothing is ever
really lost, or can be
This knowledge brought rapid rage against a world that owed us nothing,
even when we deserved everything.
However, five hundred and thirteen white roses didn’t fit in my car then,
and they don’t fit now.
That was until love found me
and I tried to hide, unsuccessfully.
Oh I collided, I collided so hard against the highway median
I had to walk all the way home. From that point on coffee wouldn’t do,
it had to be ice cream.
Tito died that night.
I couldn’t prevent it, Nana tried to give him medicine, but he left anyways.
After Tito died I imagined death to be a dimension where we become slaves to thought,
confined by death’s potential and immensity.
Poor Tito, he was never much of a thinker.
If I had to pick one memory it would be José José on the record player
on Sunday afternoons beside the crumbling window
while you sat in the chair that still holds the impression of your frame.
During those days
I believed in the power of “ya lo pasado pasado,”
but never again,
the sky was an infinite space that once entered would trap me.
That spring I left you in the house of my youth
as the heavy rain flew though the open window and made a puddle on the floor.
On the ground it was a river, against the roof it was our choir:
Abuelo, sing the Belen song with me again.
Who can blame me, I needed to know him better,
it was our first date, but his past-selves where slipping away, he was changing
right before my eyes;
he was changing into a man I’d never know.