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Have You Been Reborn Yet? by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda - Twist in Time Literary Magazine
Are you alive? I heard the poet ask, speaking to me, my ear bud as it started snowing as I walked inside the gates of Père Lachaisecemetery? Is everybody in? the ceremony is about to begin? Embracinghis American Prayeran ex-patriot in Paris has been my guide since the moment I held that 45 vinyl record when he first lit my fire, ageseven, thirty years laterafter transcribing his wordsfrom my Walkman, the time to hesitate was throughJim had been there when the gun was pointing at me,some nights as the Parisianpolice and ambulance sirenswould howl, keeping me awakeI would reach for his poemsremembering exactly whereI was where my dream stopped, uptown New Orleans Garden District St. Louis Cemetery # 3Now walking under the snow falling, before this momentI was lost, Morrison was thereevery step of this journey insidethis strange famous cemeterywhere other devotees had followedbefore me, but my pilgrimage was different, as I felt the flurriesfall from above feeling like frozen flakes falling on meI could tell, I was close Passing Piaf, Chopin, De Blazac, Molière, Wilde final resting places but I wasn’t there forthese giants, gently they stirGently rise/ The dead are new-born awakeningwith ravaged limbsAnd wet soulsGently they sighIn rapt funeral amazementI went looking for you, my ghostsong that harmonizedme and my carmelloskin, when no one wouldspeak or see me invisible,your words reached insidespeaking to me, making megrow, now under these largetrees, I am still looking for you, I have assembledinside… to propagate a lustfor this life. I alwaysimagined you sitting, with torn angel wingsflapping, still floatingon stone immaculate—but all I find are wronggraves, this is when I followyou— remember your advice,Hot on the trail of the woodvine a newborn awakening. Followthe words, graffiti directionsas I walked up past so manyturns, finally, gasping tearsI find you. As I lay my roseand the poem I composed for you, this is when I presspause on my discman, butI still hear the poet speakingto me. Amidst all of these strangers, you say, Poet,write, ignite, don’t hide We live, we die, and death not ends it. Be immortal on your own page. I turnup my own volume, as I walkaway the snow blizzardsfeel like I am walking insidemy own personal snow globefrozen in time, because of his sage wisdom am Iafraid, no longer, Jim still guides me, slowly, O’ great creator of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives, at thatmoment near Morrison’sgrave is where my future was made. Flashing forward I could see my stuttering voice becoming the spotlight of my only stage, the once trembling boy with so many lines to engrave, strolling away, feeling my own fear melting into ink, for the firsttime I was ready to leap now gripping my sword, the pen voice I became ____________________________________________________________ Adrian Ernesto Cepeda is the author of Flashes & Verses… Becoming Attractions from Unsolicited Press So Many Flowers, So Little Time from Red Mare Press, Between the Spine published with Picture Show Press and La Belle Ajar, inspired by Sylvia Plath’s 1963 novel, will be published by CLASH Books in 2020. Adrian is an LA Poet who lives with his wife and their adorably spoiled cat Woody Gold. Connect with Adrian on his website: http://www.adrianernestocepeda.com/