throwing it in the ocean

I have this short poem I wrote for the manuscript. I thought I'd put it here.


the coffee press

over cafe con leche and pan tostado
Pipo would tell me
throw everything to the ocean

each time he moved
all that came along was the coffee press,
seersucker suit and white loafers

two and a half years later, I am still in boxes,
holding close only the mortar and pestle he gave me
in each move, less and less goes in boxes

the ocean is always swallowing us, Pipo says,
returning only the necessary


I had jury duty today and thought, since I was downtown, I would leave this shirt I had recreated for Cliffy at her work. I didn't want to see her. The last words she told me, right outside my door, was that she'd call me. No call yet. I don't know what I would tell her if she did call.

Still, I didn't know how to get this shirt to her without having to see her. I was presuming she wasn't going to want to see me anyhow. All the signs told me not to bother. I mean, on the highway back toward town there was a huge recliner on the highway blocking my way. As I got a block away from the day care she works at my radio started buzzing in and out like some magnetic freakout then, just as the light on Trinity and Cesar turned green, the car ahead of me went and, defying the lights, this truck barreled into it right in front of me. It had taken the red light on the cross-street. Majorly fucked up scene.

I drove past the back entrance of her job and had to back up because all I wanted was to find her car and hook her shirt on the it somehow. I couldn't find it but a woman was just walking into the day care's gate and I called out to her and asked her to give it to Cliffy. She told me that Cliffy was actually watching her class then so she could give it to her right away.

So, I was happy to at least not see Cliffy directly. My mother told me to just throw the shirt away. Another friend told me that it was a good shirt and I should just keep it. I was true to myself in that I wasn't giving her the shirt in order to see her again or be near her. Rather, it was important to me to complete the promise I'd made to recreate her shirt for her in the way she wanted. I didn't realize until now, writing this, that I might be doing it in reaction to Cliffy's not keeping her promise.

I'm still not feeling well and this kind of action just tells me I'm still reactive instead of proactive. In many ways, I feel like bringing everyone down a peg, calling them on their shit. I feel like fighting.

Krissy told me yesterday, in our time together, that I was like a mama leopard, some big cat, who was napping. I was loving and warm but everyone should know not to agitate me. This cat's awake today - and not liking what she sees.