Story of Garay
It’s so abrupt,
I am up.
The rush of blood in array
But now it is frightening.
The pressure is clear.
I can’t move or I don’t want to move
Its panic and fear
that’s all, or is it?
My arms, my chest
They’re panicking with no hint,
or desire to fall free from rest.
No it’s the cardiac flesh,
the living, the red, at full drive
Functional and mechanical.
Allowing my intellectual sponge
continue to live.
No, no more of it
I’m alive that is all
Enough blood to fill it
my corpse in full,ultimate existence.
I was born to forget, that’s my nature
Is that the route of my loss, why yes.
Many things fall behind,
behind an infinite mass of chemicals firing
with consistency, yet corrodes when asked
to create a beautiful canvas of emotions,
But I’ll never forget, and that is my truth.
For if I do I, my mind will only see a photo.
Which is sad.
I was built to change and
if this change allows me to remember;
if this change makes me forget.
Do not worry because if there is fate,
I will recreate each once of memory I hold.
My will has to keep me up to date.
Mother Mother My Dreams
Mamá is always, Mamá. Some can say it is just an adjective to describe the woman who gave birth to you, and legally she that is her status to you. Maria Angela Diaz Lizama is my mother, the mother I had for approximately five and a half years of my life.
The day I moved to San Salvador was with Berta Gladis Diaz, who is my mother. The two years or perhaps one, is a blurr. My life continues the month of February of 2003. What a cold day that was. It was a surprise to me that ice covered every piece of ground there was.
Now to me mother can be an adjective, but as a noun, it changes my whole aspect. I am proud to call mother the most important woman in my life. All the love they gave, with all of their sacrifices. As a nineteen year old, even though I don’t need to be, I am still their child, but the separation, is that I continue my life, trying to remember. Remember them with a greeting, “Como esta(s), le(te) fue bien el dia?”