Memory Lane Back to Papí
On a day like today, Father's Day where it seems everyone still has theirs.
I choose to forget until the day arrives, walking around without buying gifts until last minute for the stand-ins. Yet no one else's love quite fits into the broken heart of glass.
It does not feel the same, over a decade has passed and I am reminded to still carry a little girl who was loved, taught, disciplined and created to be more than wife, more than what the world would fit me into. I was to travel in books until the world would embrace me and I, it.
I sit in silence or listen to Kompa, hearing his laugh in my head, his cuss words when he was angry, and his stories on the ride to and from to school. The feeling before the pain is what i dance in memory lane. The only ride i wish to take myself on. My father was a revolutionary, a Bal goer, a loyal friend and a lover, but most of all my teacher. I learned passion and the lack of limitations of what one can be.
I am not fatherless internally, only selfishly physical. I celebrate his life even with the regrets of not having held on longer to his presence. Happy Father's day, Papí.
"There are days i prefer spoons instead of forks, looking for comfort of ancient rituals
I crave in silent lack of reveries where i see my father,
Papí, i find the forks carry too much space found in comfort food Lakay la spiced with love,
I feel my taste buds are incomplete wit the distant sharp ends where i cannot seek solice...
Deprogramming etiquette of a strange world, today, i rather a spoonful of innocence that I have not carried since I last ate with you.
Than a fork of reality force fed to me of the pathways of raptured adulthood...."