Before you go further,
let me tell you what a poem brings,
first, you must know the secret, there is no poem
to speak of, it is a way to attain a life without boundaries,
yes, it is that easy, a poem, imagine me telling you this,
instead of going day by day against the razors, well,
the judgments, all the tick-tock bronze, a leather jacket
sizing you up, the fashion mall, for example, from
the outside you think you are being entertained,
when you enter, things change, you get caught by surprise,
your mouth goes sour, you get thirsty, your legs grow cold
standing still in the middle of a storm, a poem, of course,
is always open for business too, except, as you can see,
it isn’t exactly business that pulls your spirit into
the alarming waters, there you can bathe, you can play,
you can even join in on the gossip—the mist, that is,
the mist becomes central to your existence.
Juan Felipe Herrera, “Let Me Tell You What a Poem Brings” (for Charles Fishman)
It’s alright to go out into the world live your life without me. You exist… and that is enough for me. I don’t need to see you or touch you or hold you. I don’t need to feel your kiss, or see your eyes light up when you smile, or hear your laughter in my ears.
For I have had all those things once… and that is enough.
To know that you exist is enough.
Your happiness is mine and if that means that I never spend another moment in your presence and the thought of me never crosses your mind then I guess this is what you call ‘acceptance’.
This is that moment when I open my hands to the sky and give you to the world. You cannot own a person… and love is a gift given freely with no guarantee of return. That is its most beautiful aspect… its purity; that it exists individually, irrespective of reciprocation.
For you are you, and I am I, and once we were we… but as long as I exist and so do you – know that I will always love you.
This is you. Eyes closed, out in the rain.
You never thought you’d be doing something like this,
you never saw yourself as,
I don’t know how you’d describe it…
Is like one of those people who like looking up at the moon,
who spend hours gazing at the waves or the sunset or…
I guess you know the kind of people I’m talking about.
Maybe you don’t. Anyway, you kind of like being like this,
fighting the cold, feeling the water seep through your shirt
and getting through your skin. And the feel of the ground
growing soft beneath your feet.
And the smell. And the sound of the rain hitting the leaves.
All the things they talked about in the books you haven’t read.
This is you, who would have guessed it? You.