here

how do we look an "end" in the eye
unblinking.
and say, "i was me, and you were you, and that's all we can ever ask"?
and know that what we held makes itself eternal in some deep and secure (i pray) recesses in our souls.
and know joy and trust.
and feel our shoes filled with lightness as they dance forward, and as wind's invisible fingers urge us onward.
may we move and remember. always.

a december day

sully wrote "thank you" on her back.
and i say "thank you" to the day.
thank you for a morning conversation with marta about the fuerza of women.
thank you skype, for taking me straight to the kitchen where i too can smell the sweet kuchen baking.
thank you beth for giving voice to us all through photography and for the fire that walked with me down to the UCA,
for random parades and a chapel filled with white flowers that smelled like easter.
thank you for challenging us with, how can we listen to a poor baby if we're surrounded by luxury?
thank you for burritos, beer, and double waffle cones,
for gaudy christmas decorations and conversations on concrete steps.
thank you for skinned palms and community to come home to.
and thank you for scary movies that aren't so scary after all.

buzzwords of privilege

oven
taxi rides
antiguo cuscatlan

in an instant, unnoticed privilege can suddenly make itself clear.
     and heavy.

endless flight/2

walking the streets, this time she's not alone. the city's crammed with noise that rushes by in a flurry of exhaust fumes and noise that doesn't move, calling out from tiendas and bouncing back and forth across pupusa-filled planchas. but it's the colors that she feels the most. and the heat. so bold and bright, the colors almost beg to be noticed. and she wonders, is it only possible to see all this once? to see it like the first time, burning with newness and intensity so that edges are sharper and eyes are wider, soaking in a periphery that's greater than the average iris will allow. i know photoreceptors adapt to light and dark. maybe they adapt to familiar too. it's never black and white though because the moments of seeing still catch me off guard with their starkness. it comes in a rapid burst and just as quickly leaves me in amazement.
     in wonder.
          in sadness sometimes.
and mostly with a desire to prep my eyes, to wake them up in the morning, to remind them that they just never know the hour.

to you

to zoila, my faithful dinamica partner, who unknowingly freed my spirit to dance the penitencia with joy.

to carlitos, who surprised me with the power of silly humor to connect with the "un-connectable."

to joel, vladimir, cristian, and brayan, whose identities remained hidden just long enough so that it didn't even matter. did you feel it too? and may our visions for the future mold together into a unity and non-judgment that is so strong it's tangible.

to katerina, your 15 year old spirit is vibrant and deserves only love and freedom. to future encounters and a swim in the posos.

to salvador, who can't move his wrist but thank god they didn't amputate his hand because who are we to know the potential of that which is damaged? to limónes and hands that look like grandpa's.

to mercedes, who loves purple potato salad more than the average person. to her kindness, humor, and confidence that's not afraid to walk tall.

to the cohetes, bursting with color and sound. your timeliness was better than you perhaps know.

and to dance moves that aren't conscious of a world existent outside their ring of dancing friends.

vacation

i arrived in la chacra to be greeted warmly by padre luis, and then next thing i know, we're bouncing down the road in his truck. i thought we were sharing a cafecito in his office? drive through amatepec, soyapango. we arrive at...pizza hut? well, the latte was good and the conversation better, even with the long pauses of silence. seeing the gang members as victims too. thich nhat hanh's tree analogy. bush, stalin, and hitler? psychology and humanizing the violence as a response to fear. a marero outside the church telling luis he likes what he heard. coldplay. luis's simple philosophy of oración, leer y hacer deportes to find ánimo and fuerza. daniela and ronald. the search for guayaba because i'd never tried one (will i learn to keep my mouth shut?) settling on limónes. playground games and crawling through tunnels. ronald scaring me by acting like a culebra and by saying "mareros" with a certain amount of fear in his eyes as he glanced towards the young men in the corner. pure joy and freedom. recuerdos from Daniela-a pen and her baby photo. can i be this free of attachment too? please let it grow. walking through la chacra with danny and holding these images-communal pilas and natural water sources, blanca's smile and eyes, the way he uses language beautifully with the salvadorans, an expanding sinkhole and rudy's perhaps overly confident optimism and high spirits, the chucho attacking the legs i so thankfully dressed in pants today, the most polluted river in el salvador, pillows of white fluff floating down and playfully kicked up by a breeze, cain's eyes and sincerity, gloria's hug, a cliff with homes simply gone, walls shattered on the river bed, stoves perched up out of the water, clothing strewn down the cliff ledge. can one even save it? does it even matter anymore?