The Sling Diaries, Vol. III: Memory

(for abuelita ✿)

flowers are memories

& you have become my own dusky floral memory

with your powder scented soaps

and shower curtains made of alençon lace

and clouded rosewaters surrounded by glittery glow-in-the-dark virgin marys

you died one week before rosalita was born.

at your funeral i ran out of the cathedral during ave maria
and stumbled wildly onto a deserted playground

and 

with 9 months of rosalita inside of me

climbed to the highest point of the wooden jungle gym

and watched the buttery mango sunset transform and ripen into strawberries, then fig, then plum.
that was the last time i felt closest to you.

until this moment
when i stand once again in your empty home
left only with your
powder scented soaps
wearing the baby you loved so much
that you missed by
7 days.

I am wearing a Simple Silk Sling in Fig, c/o Sakura Bloom

On Dying

first, phrases became melodies

a tornado of emotion morphs quietly into half-notes and semibreves with time signatures that only made sense in different galaxies

colors hovered above me and became me

i was a holographic ghost

someone whispered "burn me"

they were weeping but their tears were different

they were less like the grey rain on earth and more like this brilliant, scattered glass across the moon

but

eventually i had to discover

how the sky feels on your face as we flew away from earth

From The Weekend

We went to a beautiful wedding this weekend.
The bride rode in on a horse drawn carriage.
It was like magic.