She Was
(A poem for my beloved wife Nancy)
She was
She was
She was
A girl by chance I knew
who walked so sure not slow
A woman on her way
Far places she did go
So fast I could not see
a side I did not know
a secret kept so well
one she dares not show
a muse to men she drew
and women they could be
so like her as she flew
passed them sure and free
she was
she was
she was
not being what she saw
bringing things so new
changing all the rules
a wild wind when it blew
a strong defiant view
timeless out of time
she loved me if I grew
so I could make her mine
she took me far away
then brought me home again
to witness a new way
to put the thought to pen
she was
she was
she was
travails along her path
not hold her back for long
made her stronger still
so I could write and sing her song
she danced above the fray,
to catch her was to win the prize
one that lasts not long
for even perfect life must die
she fought so hard so long
yet never showed her pain
she called my name out loud
so to her side I came
to watch her light grow faint,
then flicker, and was gone
eternal like the stars,
a glitter that goes on and on
memories she left
seem like she is near
flashes of her past
still are fresh and clear
there may never be
one so filled with life
will I ever see again
someone to fill her space
alone I face a life
to build it day by day
her spirit guides me on
the pain will go away
she was
she was
she was
memories she left
seem like she is near
flashes of her past
still are fresh and clear
there may never be
one so filled with life
will I ever see again
someone to fill her space
alone I face a life
to build it day by day
her spirit guides me on
the pain will go away
she was
she was
she was
memory will not die
then becomes a myth
like a breathless sigh
with a final kiss
she is
she is
she is
DONDE ME LLEVA LA LLUVIA
Cuando la lluvia cae plink, plink, plink
en un aire acondicionado en la ventana
de mi apartamento en Nueva York, anhelo
mis visitas de niñez durante veranos a
fincas de Puerto Rico.
Semi dormitando en hamacas oscilantes
bajo el hipnótico thrum thrum thrum
de la lluvia en techos de metal corrugados
mientras brisas frescas me llenaban con
un mundo de aromas ricos.
Hojas de mango, árbol de quenepa, pomarrosa,
piña y café hirviendo.
Décadas de huracanes desde mi último viaje
me deja preguntando si todo se ha ido igual que
mis parientes. Las pequeñas chozas, cuya mojada
madera olían a canela, viviendas de jibaritos
calentando agua con harina de café en latas,
miríadas de hojas relucientes, el aroma de tierra
mojada, las casas grandes de dos pisos con verandas.
Me pregunto si estuviera en un avión que se acerca a la isla,
yo todavía pudiera oler el cambio en el aire de
frío y soso a cálido, terroso y dulce.
© Patrica Carragon: Summertime in the Park