i want to hang my self out of the car window and just yell, just yell till it hurts my throat and i can't yell anymore. i just want to yell for everything that has ever bothered me and i want yell again as he drives around and lets me yell out the window like no one has ever yelled before. and he lets me. as he drives around the hills and valley suburbs of this city. i yell for the losses that i've had and the losses that i know i will have. i yell for what i want and what i know that i will never have. but he drives and he lets me yell for all the things that i want that i know i will never have. but this friend of mine, this good friend of mine he drives in this hilly neighborhood and he lets me yell because i can. because i can yell. i can yell at top of my lungs just a yell that no one has done. he drives around letting me hang out the window half of my body waiting to fall out. because i can. sitting on the edge of the sill. just yelling, screaming from top of my lungs. he keeps driving i'm not sure why perhaps, because he knows that i need something, something more than the norm of regular human emotion, but he lets me. lets me yell like have i've never yelled. till my throat is raw and the air itself takes my breath away but i yell... and he lets me as he drives aimlessly...
Cuando se van las abuelitas, se va una parte fundamental. We are pulled from the brown soil. Roots exposed. We falter, droop. How can we continue without the cariño of their warm hands to support us? Nourish us con sus caricias. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se van los almuerzos y cenas que no más ellas hacÃan. Las comidas that tasted of their love can no longer exist. The tacos crispy and brown, won’t taste the same. The flavor, like a duende, can’t be caught no matter how hard we try to capture it in our own kitchens. Cuando se van las abuelitas, se nos va el lenguaje, porque ellas nos hablaban en español. Nuestros apodos como Güera, Prieta, Niña, Mima, y Mija se desaparecen. We ache to hear the sounds of our names from their lips and grasp for their words. The ones we didn’t know we would miss. Cuando se van las abuelitas se nos va el amor duro. We lose the sharp tongues quick with consejos we didn’t want to hear at the time. Se nos pierden los dichos and the wisdom we...
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