catalina

she is like those schoolgirls,

mischievous when no one’s watching.

girls who go about life collecting secrets,

tucking them deep into the pockets of their memories.

girls who scribble hidden messages in special places.

girls who ask the most spontaneous questions.

the most impossible questions:

“who invented the scent of flowers?”

“what’s with that phone?”

“are you getting married someday?”

her smile contradicts her cheeks,

her aging cheeks.

and her smile, now short two front teeth,

will stand the test of time.

like those schoolgirls,

she is restless.

full of wit.

she laughs at herself.

laughs at life.

she hums.

and imagines things she’d never tell another soul.

she is a princess, an artist,

a mother…

who’ll sometimes say, “i don’t feel too well”.

sometimes – it’s true.

sometimes – it’s something else she’s after;

a hug, a kiss, or maybe, just maybe, the sweet taste of tequila.

and just like that –

she is no longer like those schoolgirls,

she is catalina.

her antidotes can cure anything,

her blessings can will god into existence,

and when she looks at me, her warmth can wash away the cold.

and when she sleeps.

when she sleeps soundly.

she seems immortal.

and when she says, “come sweetheart, let’s eat”

i know she is,

immortal.