The Amazonian Empress of oxymoron

whose embrace is terrifying tender care

formed by warmth of love-filled anger,

whose bosom a reminder:

Serene Seas and Crushing Typhoons,

Bi-PoLar WeAtHer ColLiSions;

these gentle hands have caressed me to slumber

the same weapon of endless crying nights

 

 

The rolled-up sleeve poster of Woman Empowerment

“You can do it!” was tattooed inside her

sleepless centuries toiling at accounting books

for her only child’s Catholic school:

A teaching of yearning.

A memorization of misunderstanding.

A graduation of grief.

She dared not count the birthdays passed,

basketball games gone nor milestones missed;

for a breadwinner must always win

tallying her loss was but a losing cause

 

 

The weeping obra of David set in the stars:

a fatherless mother floating in space,

a husbandless wayfarer gravitation-less,

a sister lost in the constellation of Cancer,

a Brother and in-law assailed by the asteroid belt;

Ten thousand total solar eclipses in one particle of anti-matter,

covering the whole Earth in shade

her Virgo celestial body thrown into Death’s blackhole

An evanescence of emotion

A void of volition

Bellowing! Bawling!

My lunar Mother Mary in Golgotta

Ruby tears burning her cheeks

Drip! Drip!

drip.

It melts a crater into the ground

a bloody meteor penetrating the mantle,

Till it reaches hellfire

and even there

Demons and Beelzebub dare not touch it.

 

 

Her Royal Majesty of the Kingdom of suffering

constant was her silence,

constant was her wailing,

until what seemed like millenia on Mars,

until what seemed like a myriad of God’s miracles,

My mama ascended her living limbo.

 

 

The mystical mestiza muse of Mona Lisa,

years have trudgingly passed

two indifferent oceans now separate us

the immigrant burden still covering our scars

but now she conjures a soulful smile

that brings me back decades;

To the wooden-tiled room when mother and child

made a garden of play and laughter,

When they planted joy

And reaped each other,

Her gregarious  grin

An fruit of the past

A matriarchal mango sweeter than anything else

When I was in her womb

And she was

in my life.

Adrian Suarez