Monthly Archives: July 2011


Hands shall heal
and create.
You, with your wand
of a brush
with each stroke
you honor
the legacy left by
your mother
and how every sunset
was a palette of
her choosing.

You with your lenses
shooting moments
into stars that come
flying back into
souls breathing life
for one another.
Raising lifetimes
from the dead.

You with fire
from your hands
in the youth of your days
growing beyond words|
that speak to you still
in ways you still have yet to

You, with healing hands
rising kundalini
from the tips of your fingers
shaking the ground
rooting pain back into the earth.

You, casting spells
in the simplest of movements
brushing trees
tying shoes
shifting gaze
under moonlit night
writing our names
together in the stars.

And we,
magic and all
create with nothing more
than the impulse of survival
finding along the way
that hands can heal
and our beauty can shine
illuminating the darkness.



For my Niece Reagan Grace Martinez:

The doctors might try to tell you
someday that you can’t do this
or can’t be that.
Perhaps they believe
that your limits are already found
in the tender body you carry
so gracefully.
You are your namesake
and you wear it so proudly.
So presumptuous, doctors
say you will only learn to the capacity of a
3rd grader if you are lucky.
And you are lucky.
Cause I remember how much
I loved the third grade.
And how being all “grown up”
totally cramped my style.
If you are always a kid,
then you are fortunate to never have to see the
world through the lenses
which they force us to look through;
plain without imagination.
And trust me, it isn’t such a pleasant sight
to behold.
You will still see the wonders
of what it means to be alive.
Still know what it means
to breathe the air that gives us life.
Still hold the moments of being loved
deep in your chest.
And when you cry
You will remind us all
what it sounds like to be so innocent.
Cause I remember that being a child
meant the whole world
was still in front of me.
That endless possibilities
were never cut short
by doctors who can’t ever
know what you are capable of doing.
Cause I know
that you can do anything.
And I will always tell you this.
Till you take your first steps to your daddy
and you smile your big smile
I will stand strong to believe that
You are everything you need to be
in that blessed body you carry.

You can do anything Rea Rea.
And I hear you speak this back to me
in the depths of your eyes
the way they shift back and forth
looking past our fears
to see us as we already are.
Your vision is your gift.
The lenses from which you see the world
will be the new focus we need to understand
that You, already know all this.
I never needed to tell you.
You are just trying to get us to believe it too.


that all we ever needed
already rests inside
our broken ribs
bruised skin and all.
We are more than enough
to encounter
the most fearsome
demons this world
could throw our way.
We are healers
made of flesh and bone
that breaks and scars
in momentary instances
when we are pushed
to the limits of what
we know to be true.
Yet still, we are a resilient
kind of existence.
Able to fight through wounds
running forward
into battles that
have threatened our
way of becoming.
We must hold fast
and remember how
we have gotten to where we are.
Paths paved behind us
Looking forward to squint
till the light looks like hope
and the setting sun
is no threat of the dark.For we are not afraid,
having traveled thus far
and we have journeyed
into the strength we have gained
by stepping out.
in front of
yet surviving
all the less


To live in the
gratitude of our love
is to call upon
the ancient guides
that have brought us together.To know
the magnetism of our touch
in all its
blessed strength
given by our ancestors
filled with the energy of
a thousand lovers
we hold each other
whisping high into clouds
crashing into the earth
and we shatter
into pieces made of dust
for we are age old soil
made from the beginning.
Water that has filtered
itself through time
carving canyons into rocks
majestic and unabashed.
And in the moments
when fear threatens
to steal away all
that we have worked
so tirelessly to become
we remember,
how giving thanks
brings us closer to our beloved.


The time has come
For us to stand strong in
the strength in which these words
are learning to resonate
into the energy of beings
finding their way
flowing into the rhythm
of a universe so clever
in its intricacies and
bold in its creative expressions
By allowing poets the ability
to create worlds with words
by conjuring spells that seem to
come to fruition
in the heart of sacred
the pen
to paper
written in the motion
of prayers
and thanksgiving.

Exercising fears
from hearts that long
to break free from the shackles we have chained
ourselves to
I have been surprised
countless times
by the surprising precision
in which prayers
formed in poems
are listened to in
the heart of creation
and answered
Excited about the prospect
of those who speak into existence
the courage
with which they seek
to face the mirrors
of their lives that taunt
back the darkness
in which we live.

I am eager to know
that my fears
though presented
in the form of dragons
breathing fire
into the veins of our blood
in the scariest of moments
can be transformed
into the princesses
seeking rescue from itself.
We are poets. With the power
to create and destroy. To wield pens
like swords and wands.
Words become our spells
and sheaths.

This is me,
faithful to the gift
we are given.
Unafraid of that
which is to come
At once, bold and brave
ready to stand beautiful
In the face of a dragon.