There I stood alone.
The younger version of me was still there too.
She sat down, crossed legged in the middle of my fathers timeline and looked up at me and asked-
“When will he come back?”
Five words, as heavy as bricks, thrown at me
by my own innocence.
They knocked me off course and of course-
I knew the answer, but did I want to disappoint myself again?
Then I remembered.
The superpower that all children have is hope.
In the middle of distress-
In the middle of nowhere or nothing-
In the middle of this burning forest-
A child can sit and still see the possibility of something re-emerging, alive, from fire and ashes.
She asked me again, this time pulling my left hand harder, “When will he come back?”
I stood her up gently and said, “When people lose their path ,sometimes it’s better that they start off at a new point, a place that was different from where they went off track to begin with. I can’t tell you exactly when, but I know where you can find him again.”
I pointed in the opposite direction of the road towards the future.
Her eyes – were so bright.
So, Bright.
Illuminated with love, hope, dreams- so innocent-
And for a moment, just a moment – I remembered seeing through them.
I remembered how differently the world looked.
My senses were heightened.
I could hear the beauty in life’s chaos.
Despair was a symphony of violins playing in B minor, weeping in unison carrying away tears, pain and prayers to the clouds.
The cracks in the sidewalks were strings on a blues guitar and the footsteps of the crowd played a mix of polyrhythmic jazz octaves , sometimes in A minor-
and I was enamored by it all.
I remembered me.
I hugged my youth , I hugged her and watched as she melted into me.
I had locked her out and there she was- just patiently waiting to return to me.
I was so lost in my thoughts that it took me a while to notice someone was watching from afar.
I walked towards the figure only to be stopped by large pieces of glass in the road.
I had to carefully step in between the pieces of dangerous debris, I had to climb through bushes with sharp thorns.
I thought to myself this road was not meant to be traveled and someone tried their best to hide it.
Then I lost my breath after being kicked in the stomach by instinct.
This was the path of my mother.
I was now walking in the footsteps of my mother.
I tried to get to her.
I was bleeding.
I was in pain .
I had to get to her.
She yelled out, “Please , don’t try to come closer! ”.
Three large rows of barbed wire fencing kept me from fully reaching her.
I watched this younger version of my mother as she sat down on the dirt road, hugging her knees to her chest with one arm and burying something with her bare hand.
Her dress was torn, her feet were covered in mud-
Her face looked like it was permanently tattooed with streaks of tears.
The more she wiped her face, the more streaks would appear and her tears were invisible.
I dropped to my knees and said – “Don’t you want to be free?”
She looked at me and said, “I was left here on purpose. I had to hide in order to survive. I am almost finished burying my feelings, because I don’t want to hurt anymore. This is the only way that I can make it through that path that you just came from.”
I got so mad.
I stood up and yelled-, “ What about love? How are you going to love, how are you going to care- if you keep it all buried here?”
She replied, “Love hurts! Love hurt me. My father hurt me. This world hurts. Nothing is safe.”
I yelled back,” Then you will just hurt others. You will hurt the ones that don’t deserve it. You will destroy your own flesh and blood.”
She stood up and grabbed the barbed wire fence with both of hands and then she showed her palms to me.
There was no blood.
Not one drop.
She said, “ Everything was taken from me, down to the blood that ran in my veins.”
She stared at me in silence and then said,” You look like me , you remind me of someone I saw in the mirror many,many years ago. You look like someone I should know, and if this is so- Please make sure that the curse of this path stops with you. You came from that direction so you know what part of me is left.”
With tears in my eyes I watched her fade into the burning forest.
In a rage I screamed out all the pain I endured for years and years.
It echoed through the burning forest and blew out all of the flames.
Engulfed in all the smoke, I just stood there and cried, because for the first time I understood that my path was my own and It was a path that I was meant to travel alone.
As I approached the start of my path, a woman stood before me.
She was an elder spirit that I only saw from time to time in my dreams.
Her form changes but the warmth in her eyes and smile are always the same.
She put her hand on my shoulder and pointed to the sky and said – child, this is where you came from.
First, I heard the devil betting god and all the other angels that I would not succeed and then
I watched these beautiful beings conversate while they crafted me with the stars.
They said we won’t give her regular eyes of man- we will give her the eyes of a guardian angel.
This way she will always see the beauty in the rough and the love in the swap of hate and hope hidden under despair.
We will gift her the power of an imagination that never dulls even as she ages. She will be special, she will be strong and she will carry the messages that need to be heard and felt by the souls of all those in need.
And I saw this light pass on to me in the womb and I watched my body form and my heart beating and my first cry when I was born.
I continued to walk down my timeline and the memory of the beatings I endured didn’t hurt as much, and the verbal abuse daming my existence didn’t cut as deep.
Because now I understood my purpose was never to suffer , my purpose was to shed light and conquer the darkness.
And I only know this because first I had to walk in the footprints of my father.
Tag Archives: Narrative Poem
Lost Letter To Heaven
It’s days like this when I miss you the most.
When the sun is out and the air is still cold.
When the trees are half barren, yet the buds are beginning to grow.
When the ice starts to melt and the water starts to flow.
You are no longer in pain, but my heart still feels the blows.
So I close my eyes and I reminisce about the beautiful years you spent watching me grow.
You were my hero and you taught me how to fly.
I remember seeing so many colors in the sky- my mind is forever stained with vibrant hues of orange, pink and blood red.
I remember you taking me to the top floor of a building – just to let me look out of a large window – so that I could observe the sky after a thunder storm and watch a rainbow form.
I remember imagining that the rainbow lead to a world filled with teddy bears with magical powers.
I remember my belief in other realms waiting for me to explore.
These early memories are my comfort.
Comfort is me falling asleep on the shoulder of my hero as
my father carries me in his arms after our trip to the circus.
His cologne and the smell of his fresh leather coat-
I take a breath in now, like I can still smell his fresh leather coat.
I miss him.
I miss those aromas of life.
My heart aches as I remember the feelings it gave me.
I remember the feeling of pure love.
I remember being engulfed by the aura of happiness.
I remember the love in your eyes.
I’m honored to be your daughter and I hope I made you proud.
I promised you in your last few days that I wouldn’t let you down.
You became my guardian angel and I know you’re still here.
Physically gone, but your spirit is still near.
Anything beautiful I see, I whisper thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reminding me that this world is still caring.
I know you have your hand on my shoulder during the nights when I cry.
I can hear your voice saying, “Listen sister, wipe those eyes.”
You prepared me the best way that you could,
and I held your hand like any daughter should.
I whispered in your ear, dad just let go, I will be okay, you will see.
You held on for days because I know you were worried about me.
I was a rebel in the streets, trying to find my way.
No real home, adrift floating, trying to find my place.
It still hurts so bad.
It doesn’t get better with time.
That hole is left burning deep on the inside.
I had to share this with you, because I know we might all share the same kind of pain.
You have to keep going, your life matters the same.
We are here for a purpose and we have to find our way.
Our loved ones are all shining lights from above, which helps guide us down the dark paths of life which we all trudge.
Dad, your love is what keeps my heart warm, at times when it’s cold.
Your values I instill in my kids, you will see.
If I had a genie and he granted one wish for me-
The only thing I would wish is to hear your voice say how proud you are of me.
Or to smell your cologne along with one last, long strong hug.
To the man I adore the most in the world, I’m sending kisses and hugs to heaven above.
Love daddy’s little girl.
First I Tried to Walk in the Footsteps of My Father (Part One)
I had to ingest a few extra ibuprofen, with hopes that my words would be less inflammatory-
then my spirit whispered go ahead and chase them down with that leftover coquito mixed with your cup of coffee.
My tortured soul knew that when the liquid truth is caffeinated- it would help me feel warmer in this cold realm, speak clearer and see better –
because this journey is perilous but necessary to help me find myself and for me to understand you and for you to understand others.
So, I walked and walked – backwards down my timeline until I started to smell smoke, and my instinct told me that I would soon find the path of my parents.
I had to stop when I saw the five-year-old version of me screaming at the side of the road.
The forest is on fire!
The forest is on fire!
The forest is on fire and it’s destroying all of our family trees!
These strange flames burn from the roots up.
Some of our culture was born from slash and burn agriculture, which is supposed to cultivate the land for planting trees with strong roots instead it proliferated fields and fields of deferred dreams which sprouted an invasive species of long-double stemmed plants.
I am the direct descendent of weeds that flowered like dandelions, and when the winds of fate pursed her lips together and blew –
their cotton ball seeds became windborne and settled between concrete slabs and eventually they germinated me.
I continued on until I came upon a forked path.
On the left, I saw a younger version of my father opening up a pack of Marlboros and he didn’t recognize me as his daughter.
He said, “Hey you look like someone I should know.” and he asked me for a light.
We both laughed at his joke, as we were surrounded by fire, and he lit the cigarette from glowing embers in the atmosphere.
I could tell that’s where my humor and sarcasm came from.
I asked, “Can you tell me a little bit about yourself and accompany me on this walk?”
He walked to the rhythm of salsa music and I loved hearing him talk.
My father’s family migrated to New York from Puerto Rico.
My father never knew his father and my father’s mother was his grandmother because his mother was a young woman who was still trying to figure out life with 5 kids and counting before the age of 29.
And when his grandmother passed, my father said life became a blur of different city skylines visualized from the seat of L train rides as he traveled from a Brooklyn sofa to Brooklyn couch using a plastic bag from the bodega as his luggage carrier on a week-to-week basis- never knowing what to expect next.
I saw him beginning to fade and I grabbed his arm and I asked him, “If you had a daughter what would you name her?”
He took one last, long drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt to the ground-
and the smile that spread across his face infiltrated my heart and the parts that were stone started to soften-
He said,” I will name her Mariana. Mariana Soto- Mari for Mother Mary-Mother of Souls and Ana for the name of the women that I loved and whose heart I broke.”
And he faded away, lost in the burning forest of addiction for 20 years.
“Ana” is not the name of my mother and I am okay with that.
He named me after the true desire in his heart and when he looked at me, he saw the purity that he lost.
In the quest to understand me, I had to understand where I came from.
So, first I tried to walk in the footsteps of my father.
