A Spanish idiom about daydreaming; a way of saying that one is not sitting idly, but engaged constructively in contemplation.
June’s summer heat and the scent of citronella and the moments I spent perfecting my life can no longer escape from my lungs. I use a knife to slice open a lemon and squeeze the juice down my throat as if it could somehow fix the knots forming in my stomach.
Skin sticks to bones. A strawberry can replace brushing your teeth so I shove its seeds into my cavities to hide my mouth’s imperfections. I don’t think I could live in the hills of Mexico or the deserts of California. My body isn’t made to withstand the harshness of life.
I peel back my nail beds. Skin and blood begin to drip into a puddle. Soon it becomes a pool and I am no longer whole. There haven’t been bandaids in the house since I used them all to protect the gaping cut in my soul. Cold water cleanses me of my lineage.
My grandfather passed a few months ago (or maybe it’s been a few years). I didn’t care as much then but I do now as the salty brine of an olive pierces my tongue. Sunlight pulses and I watch a worm push revived grass and cracked soil away. I wonder if it is him. I hope he is reborn of Earth. His home and given name.
Grasshoppers chirp and hummingbirds whisper to one another of their days apart. My mom says the cardinals we see are her father visiting and I like to think she’s right. She has a butterfly drawn by ink on her calf that she will become. Tonight the moon tells stories of the heavens and I yearn to be the beauty of nature. Another reincarnation.
