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Brown like my sun baked skin
Caressing adobe mud bricks
Printed prickles of his personality
Painfully etched
On my brown, brown skin

Brown in pecan shade
Corrugated bark fray
In mucky gray
Wrinkling and aging away
It’s time that betrays

Brown in burnt passion sienna
Topsoil soupy pressed
fertilized dog deeds
And burnt cold winter’s weeds,
Running down white washed pavement
In aerial view of the Mississippi

Brown like
The cocoa, the tan
The khakis, the sand
The bronze and the brass
Asking me,
Is it okay to remember?

I’m having such a hard time forgetting
I guess that’s what longing is,
ha, longing always feels so brown

I found him today. I took him out and examined him, caressed him and held him. Wondering the whole time why it wasn’t brittle and sore, so perfectly pampered in my pink pajama shorts. It was no one else but his, like a soldier’s insignia and a Picasso’s fingerprint. I wondered if it was happy to see me and how soft my fingers’ skin felt on it. I pressed the gray stolen fabric softened shirt to my face, wanting so very badly to see him. Why had it kamikaze into my world and how did it feel having survived 14 days of solitary only to be discovered by my emotional weighted eye? I don’t think it got the memo that it’s no longer a spy in this volatile land of mine. I wished it were an omen. Doesn’t the game feel so lame; everyone and everything is easy to blame. It’s always the same stranger just a different name. Ain’t you tired of traveling? Flying solo, sing songing, it will come around tomorrow? One more notch on your wall for your birthday one more on mine for spring solstice and what will it all mean? One more female on the verge of a nervous breakdown; the cartoon said they are all that way. I blew the hair off and vacuumed it, tossed the shirt, all the while singing happy birthday to him, keep on recovery to me. Love is as wishy washy as me, funny though, never thought faith would be stronger than sin.

Instructions on Getting Over Heart Break

The ugly truth of the matter is that you don’t. You just bite the time who will in turn erase the memories or the significance of that picture on your wall, the dreams you’ve installed or the story of that scar. So then the objective becomes: How can I help time heal my heart break? Which brings me to the first point:

Ask, but ask the right questions. Why, on its own is useless unless framed by an A and B. For example, why if you have done this and reacted like that, why change now? Even when framed by A and B, it might still be useless because human beings are creatures of great instability. The best questions come with how, what and I. How can I…?

Answer all questions. Remember, answers are not always spoken or given. If you are reading this, chances are the deal went completely sour like a bad Mexican mafia movie. Some things may never make sense, but you will reveal more information about yourself.

Cry. I have found that the length, volume, and aesthetic value of the cry vary directly to the emotional risk over time spent in the relationship. Wear comfortable clothes for the occasion; I find a hot bath works best. Have plenty of tissues or for longer periods an old t-shirt. Have ready available eye coolers such as cucumber slices or cold packs. Gather yourself in sitting position, hold your handkerchief between your nose or in your hand and sob. Pathetic, loud, and ugly crying is reserved for the comfort of solitude.

Talk about it to your friends, family members, and anyone else who is willing to listen. (Bribes, such as ice cream or chocolate, work.) Caution: what-if scenarios are more useless than useful. While they are a way of challenging your divination powers, it is the perspective that may need adjustment. Also, remember that there is a faith aspect that perseveres and persists for the long run.

Do not employ the use of ambrosial beverages for they tend to make anyone’s emotions even more sensitive. It can make the difference between crying 10 minutes or 10 hours. Whatever the intention may be, it will be poorly conveyed through the phone or physically under such circumstances. Protect yourself from your self by conducting a purge process immediately after the thought. The process should be followed as detailed with room for personal variation at the end. 1) Delete all messages, numbers and email addresses from your tools, notes or phone bills. 2) Block whenever and whatever possible. If necessary, hide the artifacts, but don’t burn or delete. 3) Remind yourself about the negative. You may use your creativity here.

DO NOT contact their mom, family or friends. They are probably going to think it’s a pathetic excuse on your behalf and besides, it’s your problem so you should just deal with it. If such premise is ignored, do not expect any sympathy and accept any superficial agreement. Your words can and will be used against you. Unfortunately, it won’t even be your words but the interpretation of your words from hearsay.

Trust. Trust in a greater being will lead you down the right path, that someone is looking out for your best interest, and that everything will be okay.

Last, employ yourself with the things that make you happy. An atheist friend made the point that neither children or partners should make you happy or complete. Happiness is to be derived from your sole existence, so live it. (Thank you for being my reader.)

So ask, answer, cry, talk, trust and work. You will know you have succeeded this trial if the old artifacts can return to your line of vision without recalling emotion even if they do evoke memory. When reports of your ex-significant other on a date cause neither cursing or crying or cringing because a very dull tip knife dipped in vinegar picante lime tore your heart open like paint to turpentine. And last, you are able to give of yourself, time and love, as freely as you once did. The recovery time varies from situation to individual, but I found ¼ of relationship time for grieving is a good rule to follow but it should not exceed 6 months.

Happy recovery, sweetheart. Have a good day.

Julio Cortazar was one of Pablo Neruda’s favorite writers. The Instruction Manual, first published in 1962 in Buenos Aires, was written from the Hotel Belgium. I end it with a sentence from his introduction before he describes, “How it hurts to refuse a spoon, to say no to a door, to deny everything that habit has licked to a suitable smoothness.”

“Oye, huera,
Hay amor después de la muerte?”
Un minuto de pensarlo bien contesto
“Pues pa’ decirte la mera verdad:
De veras que no se.
Aunque similar pregunta me han hecho:
Hay muerte para este maldito amor?
Pero para esa, si tengo un definitivo

From the previous website, 10/31/06

Si Dios me salva la vida de que no,
Me atormente el viento
Me debilité el calor,
Me queme el frió,
Y no me agrie el mar
Si Dios me salva la fe
Entonces, a donde voy yo?

If God spares my life so that it never feels
the torment of the wind
the weakness of the heat
the bite of the cold
and never lets the salt of the sea
wound or shape me,
then where do I go?

Post originally 1-03-07.

“getupppp,” a whisper in my ear
carries the hollow wind, frontera leaky gasoline
and the tears you fought to get here
“Get up,” I’m dirty, crying and falling apart before the world
but she’s in Ben Taub shaking waiting to see me smile,
always claiming me as yours,
a faith that whispers, just shine, just shine
“Get up, now,” it’s a command and a plead,
a triumph and a need
it’s okay to fall, but others depend on you
you’ve always taken the world head on,
you made your definition of a man
and the strength of your family, so
“GET UP,” nothing is more shameful than staying down,
there’ll be enough time for laying when you’re dead
So change position, shift gears, get ambitious and,
“Get up, NOW,” it screams in my ear
you stand on the shoulders of your ancestors
and the history of your past
your beauty goes beyond skin deep
don’t opt for easy
don’t disgrace me
“GET UP, GET UP, GET UP,” hold your head up
hold your head high
you are loved an appreciated
“Levitate,” turn the corner and continue

“If a man is to succeed, he must be willing to work hard and endure alot of heart break.” –Thurgood Marshall
Dedicated for the altars/memories of Miguel, Jonathan and Felix. Thank you for showing me your source of strength, gentleman.