The Big Bang Theory and My Father

Last night’s episode of The Big Bang Theory had Howard Wolowitz face the one question that can haunt any child who has felt abandoned by one of his parents. Did he care? And if he did, why did he leave? Howard’s friends, after Sheldon blabbed out the contents of the letter, all grouped together to deliver Howard with different scenarios of what the letter could have been about. Two of them personally stuck out for me: the one about his father secretly coming to his high school graduation, and the one about Howard being the greatest gift ever given to him. When those things were said, I couldn’t help but let the tears stroll down my face, and that hesitant curiosity of whether my father cared or not struck me down and left me in a reflective state. All the questions that I’ve kept buried inside, because I had been too afraid of the truth, surfaced out of me in the form of tears. Did my father love me? Why did he leave? Did he ever care about me? Would he ever be proud of me?

I’ve been to Mexico twice and have met my grandparents and younger sister. I’ve spoken to people all over town about him and found out, through their point-of-view, that he was a good man, and that he was a big goofball with a childlike heart, always playing tricks on people. I liked that version of him. I often keep that version of him safely tucked away in my chest, but sometimes the feelings of abandonment are too overwhelming, that I sometimes can’t picture how others have seen him. I just don’t know. I’ve often felt robbed. Like there’s a half of me somewhere inside that never got to fully develop. Don’t get me wrong, I have no regrets about how I was raised. My grandmother and mother did a hell of a job raising four (my siblings and my cousin Xioma) kids. I am grateful for the strong and powerful women in my life, but I can’t help but think how I would’ve turned out if Saul was still alive.

I’m planning on going to Chicago this summer. I’m going to visit the spot where the Amtrak killed him. This is a spiritual journey that I’ve been thinking about ever since I found the newspaper article that covered his death. This summer I will take the first steps in continuing my path in finding Mexico. The first steps of finally letting go, and moving on. A time to heal and forgive.

Solo Por un Dolar

Urban clothes flashing
urban kicks,
pitching the pitch
with comfort and ease
like a natural salesman
who works for that dollar
if anyone is willing to listen.

Bilingual duality of your product
scheme as you sell
your candy and granola
with calm, but are you really
so tame?

What rages inside of you?
What lion's roar
pronounces your struggle
and deflates all your expectations
from this 7 train car?

You stand there waiting,
patiently to pounce at the opportunity
we deny you,
for we are assholes who decided
to look away as you stroll
down to the next car,
hoping for something different,
a smile and a gesture.

Your Last Message

I can’t let this ruin my Sunday
but the darkness in me erupts
like a bubbly ooze
and replaces my facade
with a dash of regret
and a hint of turmoil.
This whole thing was a mistake
on some distant dystopian
notion of love,
in some ruined ash
of torment
and here I am on a train
giving you more of me
than I would ever want,
back in this trap of pointing
the finger at myself,
wiping you clean of anything and everything,
leaving myself open for more hits and disappointment
until I am shattered--
left with broken pieces in my hand,
cut by the sharp teeth
from your vindictive mouth.

What Now

After the click of the lock
followed by the echoes of your footsteps
I promised myself not to throw the china,
which would trace through the line of your
natural perfume and shatter
all over the front door.

I would then get the broom and swear
like I’ve never sworn.
Beg like I’ve never begged.
Die like I’ve never died,
and still find a way to make it all my fault
and you...

the innocent victim of this tragedy?
A teddy bear and a bouquet of your favorite orchids.

But I don’t do any of that.
Instead, I’ll do what I always did at 6 ‘o clock.
Feed the cat and take a nap
hoping to reset my watch
and forget this whole thing ever happened,

but then I walk into the living room and find
that picture.

That fuckin’ picture, which will rest
in some deep cave--my closet, my mind,
and my new nightmares,

followed by the shattering of my chest
below the echoes of your last footsteps,
before I throw my heart at the door
and watch it slowly die.

Thirst

It sucks that I can’t speak with you
and it’s not due to a lack of want,
it’s the distance between how much you hate
me and how much I still love
your silliness.

I can’t stand the fact that you still embrace
me in my dreams and I wake up in a cold
sweat thinking that I had you
for just a fragment of a second,
so short that no clock in this universe could record its brevity.

These are the things that shadow me from the others
who smile under the moon as they hold hands
walking through an oasis of promise
and I,
stranded here,
suffering from dehydration in my endless desert,
hoping for a sign,
even a mirage.

Ever Since I Was Seven (2006)

Ever since I was seven I knew I wanted to write

Picked up the pen and let the words come to life

Imagination was my gift as I grew

And I knew what I needed to do

And what I did was invent something new

A Form of expressing my views

And I choose to rap it in this form

Enriched with a power to even the score

To upscale the balance just a bit more

And I understand the world is cold and raw

Ya got people hatin’ and wanting to start a brawl

Bombs blasting on the tv abroad—the end of it all

Kids shooting kids, adults shooting them too

My eyes begin to tear as I sit in front of the news

I look out my window and all of a sudden I’m confused

A skyline that was there is no longer in my view

Two Beams of hope shoot up towards the moon

And as I look at the ghost of a terrible past

I understand life is precious and today could be my last

The world could be gone at the end of a blast

So I’ll write my heart out until my pen bleeds

Until my hand falls off then I’ll write wit my feet

And if I should break down and fall on my knees

As death comes sauntering for me

I’ll take one last look at the moon

And say to the WORLD…I love thee….

Missing You (for John and Xioma)

The mysteries of the universe
lie before us in circles--
a branch of memories
colliding like comets in the sky,
producing star-like clusters
of your legacy--the tree
which trickles down
your life lessons
to your sons and daughters,
beating forever in a rhythm--
a hum, a tune, a breeze
of your everlasting scent,
a picture hung up on the wall
in our living room
where we all stood together
laughing at the silly faces
the children made.
Snapshots of our lives,
always smiling together,
forever, never forgetting
but always missing you
without feeling you’re gone,
but here, with us
through us.