Weeks, since writing.
Cause? Open heart surgery.
Recuperating is like watching hair grow.
He said many things.
She did the same.
Words, on repeat, like radio.

You don’t really know someone.. until you do.
A wakeup call.
Without warning,
We went from green to red.

I take responsibility.
For stepping over my boundaries.
I carry that mark.
Wounds, please heal fast.
I hope time is our friend, my love.

What a time to be disconnected
In this beautiful, vast cyber city.
What should be hibernation with cuddles and warm blankets
What should be hugs holding us through the night –
Is not.
Let’s see how it turns out…

Heart. Pride. Certainty. Love.

tomorrow, lovely one

tomorrow, lovely one

This is my shadow.
A life a few feet behind me.
That shirt. God, I thought I tossed it.
This smell..brings me back to here.
When it was then.

I sat at this very table processing, organizing, dreaming, concocting.
He sat catching a show on the tube.
I would go to sleep full of dreams and plans and, well, darkness.
Truth is,
How can you build on unsteady ground?
This work is hard and real and very necessary.

These pants. I hope they fit.
Do I still want the books, the socks, the dusty makeup?
Maybe not the makeup.
The muffled city outside taps on my window.
Tomorrow, lovely one. Tomorrow.

My little treetop of goodness.
How it fills my soul.
Silence. No dog. No schedule. No errands.
Not yet. Just. Me.
Hard work happens on an exhaustive plane home,
Unpacking and sifting and embracing my fragile heart.

Eyes like thick drops of oil.
Body like a sleepy kitten. Make that an older cat.
And still,
Mind swimming uphill with zest, or maybe desperation.
Tomorrow, lovely one. Tomorrow.

Lil’ One


Dear Lil’ One,

Oh mighty one
Survival is an interesting thing.
Living from a fight or flight perspective is daunting and exhausting.
I know you know this.

And yet, here we are yet again, sitting opposite each other.
It’s the waiting game.
Who’ll quit first.

I want you to know
I come with peace in my heart
A white flag in my hand
Hoping we can come to some agreement.

Hoping you’ll be open to some space
A lil’ room for a shift in perspective
See what kind of information that tells us.

The truth is,
What we’ve been doing hasn’t been working.
I know you feel this.
We are spinning plates.

How about a new journey
A new path
No map, besides our instincts and love
Not fear, not competition, not stupid pride
Nothin’ but us.

There is space for you.
There is love for you.
There is possibility beyond this.

Liza Fernandez

sucks the air thin

sucks the air thin

There’s a silence that’s almost deafening.
The kind where, at a party, the music stops and everyone looks up and says to no one, “Hey, what happened?”
The kind that the body shutters from its piercing.
A Void.

I was turning 16. I wanted a big party; bodyguards, a live band, DJ, pay at the door, the whole shebang. I worked hard; I got my artistic sister to create the flyer, gave them out at my and my brother’s schools. A week before, everyone was talking about it, the word spread quick. The band was known enough to build a crowd, I was in love with the drummer who should’ve been the lead singer he was that eccentric.

I rented a trophy room off a big sports facility, facing a big oval where my brother’s school played footy. The party drew a huge crowd, a long line waited around the bend even until 11pm, an hour before close. I was shocked. I barely knew anyone, and when I did, they were intoxicated and in the throes of what it took to be a teenager at a party in the 90s.

Flash forward to afterward. Mum, bro and sis, and my best friends, with black trash bags and rubber gloves, helped me clean up the evidence. Well, enough to get our safety deposit back.

I must’ve sat down somewhere, took it all in. I hope I did. I’m hoping I popped a squat facing the oval of lush greenery and tsunamic eucalyptus trees. Muscles spent and feet regaining circulation from improper use of heels. A mix of pride and exhaustion. A mix of elation and isolation.

And then silence.
The Void.

How it sucks the air thin.