Cachita by Adria Colomer
I once heard the waves
in my hometown
sing songs for mermaids
I’ve seen clouds dance into geometric formations under a New Mexico sky out on the open range
Sometimes
I can stand on a hill when the wind is blowing and hear it play instruments I can not
identify
Bells?
Whistles and didgeridoos
perhaps
playing a heavenly composition
celestial symphony
lulls me
Speak
I know it sounds very strange
but there is no possible way
to explain
what I’ve seen
that is why
I believe
in poetry
rhythmic
drum beat
keeps my life
in perfect time
It defines me
History
Once
my father and I walked up the hill of Montserrat
from there we could see all of Matanzas
it glissend like pearls
wedged inside
rugged oysters
We sat on the white retaining wall facing Hermita de Montserrat, a Catholic church built by
MY
Catalonian ancestors in 1875
towards the sunset
was a botanical view
of the Yumuri Valley
this is where my father grew up
lush greenery speckled with palm trees
rolling pastors cradled by streams
a backdrop of hills shaped like a woman's bosom
It was cold
I was tired
I wrapped myself around my fathers lap
his stories
lull me
the ones of Tainos
the Palenques
He said
there were runaway slave compounds in Matanzas
I drifted away
as I layed
on my fathers lap
somnolence or melatonin
looked down at my feet
my skin has melanin
it startled me
I started brushing
the black
OFF
my skin as if
I was being
attacked
by fire ants
I looked up
I saw my mother
standing there
with her face above mine
with her head in such a way
that it covered almost all of the light
she leaned over
and said
You deny your own mother?
In shame
I lowered my gaze
in pain
rooted in guilt
self righteous hate
She asked
have you lost faith?
you’ve abandoned hope?
Cariño
wake-up
wake-up
wake-up
Cariño
I wasn’t asleep
this need not be a dream
you’re a dream
ancient wisdom
poetry
BE
I am
a song on repeat
letting it’s sound
so sweet
fill the world with wonder and peace
when my mouth stops moving
my heart starts humming tunes narrated by feelings that have yet to be described by words
the voice inside your mind
the lump in your throat vocalizing
nothing
silently screaming
before the tears start streaming
noise
teeth make
as they clench down
worn enamel
I am poetry
revenge for the crazies
I mean
can’t you hear it?
Can’t you hear the music?