Green Roads
The road we take leads to our demise.
Look at this road I travel on every Sunday.
I pass rows and rows of tall green corn
alongside purple majesty flowers.
It is such a different road and so far away
from the road mami and papi were following
that morning we left Havana.
My mother is waiting in the distant
hallway, small in stature compared to the
woman who used to take me by the hand
whenever we crossed roads.
Every Sunday I ask her the same question.
Mami tu sabes quien soy yo?
She doesn't answer so I ask
her again as if she did not hear me
the first time or the second or third time.
Anything to jar the roads and roads of lost memories.
My mother's eyes are green pools of oceans
now replaced by roads of rows and
rows of green corn fields without the sting
of salt in the air. Yet it is the same clear
blue sky blanket that covered us when we left.
My mother's eyes in silence
tell me who I am every Sunday.
We are still refugees.
She to Alzheimer's and
me to continually asking myself
who am I.
|
9
favs |
1632 views
12 comments |
188 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Who are we?
"My mother's eyes are green pools of oceans
swam now replaced by roads of rows and
rows of green corn fields without the sting
of salt in the air."
Great way to close - "We are still refugees." Universal. Big like for this piece.
I absolutely love this.
Thank you Nobody and Sam.
Love this: "My mother's eyes are green pools of oceans
swam now replaced by roads of rows and
rows of green corn fields without the sting
of salt in the air."
First line does not sit right on me, but also love: "Look at this road I travel on every Sunday.
I pass rows and rows of tall green corn
alongside the purple majesty flowers."
Heart-wrenching ending. First class all the way. *
Very poignant and personal. Love it.
Wonderful, strong poem. Que viva, sobreviviente!
"We are still refugees."
Very strong poem. Bravo.
From "Across the Border Line" - Ry Cooder
When you reach the broken promised land
Every dream slips through your hands
And you'll know it's too late to change your mind
'Cause you pay the price to come so far
Just to wind up where you are
And you're still just across the borderline
And I still wonder, "quien soy yo."
Wonderful work.
Very ambiotious Didi, but you pull it off. You have thoughts on loss, remembrance, displacement, identity and several others in here.
This is intricate and impressive work. You write like a professional.
I like the constancy of every Sunday in this. This is a relationship that has endured much together. Beautifully put down in poetry, Didi. I admire this on many levels.
*
"My mother's eyes in silence
tell me who I am every Sunday."
I wish I could have written these words. Wonderful and heart-filling poem.