Before I show you who I am,
it is probably best that I
show you what
made me this way, I
love hard and have a tendency to fall quickly, I
am what you call,
clairvoyant….
but I
feel the need to perhaps enlighten you as to why I
am
the way that I am
Conversations with a fellow writer has had me wondering, if perhaps there is a way to maybe
just maybe
look back without crying
maybe you have to be ready
And perhaps I should tell you
that I have always had my head in the clouds
I am this way
I think a lot
philosophize and dream giant dreams
I believe in fairies and look for rainbows
shooting stars, and sometimes I dance in the rain
I am this way, of course, because I always have been, my
father, he lives this way too, dreaming gigantic dreams, he’d tell me these incredible stories of live in New York, and how much the subway cost
and his first car in the states and drive in movies, and diners with waitresses, that rollerskated
these things were like spells to me
they were like these fantastic spells he’d cast, where I was enchanted
He would tell me about La Isla Del Encanto, and how poor he was and how he made toys
in what is seen as Dada art, he
was an innovator before his time
and his spirit entranced me in a way
And so, I kept my head in the beautiful clouds in the starry sky
so as to see them better
when the fall to the ground and become fairies…
facets of who I am are seen in the reflection of a mirror, but also in the art that I paint
and the things I collect
I am a thing collector and I am such,
from the spirit of my abuela, driving to Yard Sales in the state of New Jersey, we’d drive and stop. and drive and stop. and drive and stop. Always.
and stop for yard sales, seeking treasures in the form of vintage jewelry, perfume, books, and toys.
these weekly treasure seeking adventures
are what made me who I am
they made me the thing collector
that I am today
and though I am made up of many things,
it is these that made me:
my abuela in the kitchen cooking and telling stories of Colombia
teaching me to cook, and teaching me the passion of the kitchen
my
mother grading papers, and showing me what a woman can do
if she only try
my
father and his stories of Puerto Rico, and New York City
way back when life was easier
he called them the good ol’ days….
these things, they are like characters in my life
figments, like fiber that when woven together
makes up the coat of many colors
that I am today.
—