holding

holding

I hold a cup of black tea in a Starbucks vintage mug; the tea is not their’s and tastes way better. There’s a chip on the cup. I should dispose of it but I chose not to.

I’m feeling a joyful glee in my heart cuz my partner returns home tomorrow. How four weeks has fast forward and slowed down all at once. I recall his warm soft lips and how they just fit mine.

I sit still as the sun beams down on my skin. It’s warm with a cool breeze reminding us winter is around the corner. The critical mind tells me to pull away (wrinkles, remember), but I don’t. Fly kisses from the sun reach the smile spreading across my cheeks.

I’m wondering if this is what they mean by “bliss”. This moment. On my own.
That hop-skip-and-a-jump feeling, that “skip to my lou my darling” pep to the step.
I try not to choke it; surrendering is a joy ride.

I sip.
Eyes closed.
Fly kisses to the sun and back.
Smiling.

explode like a motherfucker

explode like a motherfucker

I ache for silence.
I yearn for space, for quiet.
The A/C blares, this’ll help for now.
I push the Creator up and out, write!
Hurray! We don’t have time.
An old voice.

Headache.
Late night indecision based on waiting up for love and hoping to finish that podcast.
Jackie, quiet and sleepy.
Thank God. I feel tension release when I see this.

What’s yearning for space about? What’s this silence I seek?
I know there’s more to this.
Go deeper…

No music. A good thing. One step closer to silence.
Even though those two over there chat away.
Shaded table.
Darjeeling tea brews, honey at the ready.
I wait for her.

No, wait.
I wait for direction.
For me to explode like a motherfucker.
Liza Fernandez

cali teen

bless you

Red tank.
Short denim jeans.
Orange hair growing out from a collision of blonde shades.
Black socks squeezed into matching flip flops.
Old rollie. Used and reused.
Sweet, classic Cali teenager.

Thirteen? 14? 16? No more than that.

She looks nervous, diverts her eyes.
“Can I share the table with you?” I ask.
Thumb in mouth ripping at skin, she nods with eyes drawn away.
Staring off in the distance…

She looks passed the line of impatient coffee addicts, through the back wall, as if waiting to get caught.
A father? Boyfriend? Cousin? A dysfunctional mother?
No one loved me enough to stop me.
My mind goes wild with horror stories.
Too much television.

I sneeze.
She doesn’t say anything. I clock this.
A woman essay-typing 2 tables down turns, “Bless you.”
“Thank you,” I tell the woman through my nod.
Bless you, I say under my breath.
Yes you, sweet Cali teen, creating potholes in your thumbs.
Don’t you know you are blessed?

Not sure what trip you’re taking – be it bus, train or side streets.
You are blessed.
You are blessed.
Your are blessed.
Do you believe it?
Hell, do I?