My mother was the mother of my belonging. So through her death I surrendered one belonging and accepted another. In her absence I learned to give up one loneliness and acknowledge a gift of solitude. And even then, my mother, from time to time, crosses that eternal border, ferrying memory from that faraway realm to this nearby. A spirit as tangible as a hand, intimate as breath, as if a child could possibly divide the blessing of a mother’s company from the continuous grief of her departure. Happy Mother’s Day, mom. Happy Mother’s Day, all (Note the roses from our yard. In life? my mom loved and tended her own. Hope to honor this during my museum residency)
My mom would have been 90 today. What she left me was massive, not just the heartbreak of losing her, which is easy just to say. She left me with the memory of how hard it is to live guided by love—I mean it, a spirit of openness and welcome, an intelligence really, a no-bullshit soulfulness, a spirit that was challenged often, by illness, by history, by culture, by her very husband and sons, but which she handled with incredible patience and grace. How many people came to her house, were welcomed with food and drink, a place to rest and replenish, a time to weep or laugh or simply wander around her yard. I don’t need to tell you, this wasn’t a small thing to achieve. And trust me, she was no sucker. She had boundaries. She was undoubtedly tough. Goddamn, she was tough.
That toughness was never used to manipulate or hurt us. In fact, she seemed careful not to coerce us when it came to big decisions or directions. She never really told me and brothers what to do with our lives. Instead, like a true teacher, through her victories, frustrations, and sickness, she showed us what it might look like to live a life with generosity, savvy, and great feeling. It wasn’t WHAT we chose, but HOW we chose the kind of life we lived.
I am so blessed her spirit feels utterly alive with us, through my brothers, my extended family, and incredibly through Mary Rose, who never met my mom. So today, I wish Simeona Gelacio Rosal, aka Tita Mimi aka Manang Mimi aka Manang Mi, and to us Mom and Mommy, the happiest turn around the sun. I love you big, Mom. Really really big
In 2024, for a year and change I started my day by reciting this. It became a contemplative tool, a way to get myself to myself before I did anything else, to remind me what I wanted for myself and for the world, an acknowledgment that I don't always act accordingly, but I can always begin with listening (link also in bio) #poetry #prayer #prayersfromtheprotosonic /poems/prayer-for-the-beginning-of-the-day
Happy to share here that I just signed a contract for my next book, Prayers From the Protosonic. This collection marks almost a quarter century of collaboration with Gabe and Persea. The title will probably be out in 2027 and I will share updates here as I can. (Some other special news coming soon.) #poetry #poems #prayers #prayersfromtheprotosonic
Sacred is having a living room and someone to dance with in the middle of it, mess and all. Ya tu sabes q a veces la tristeza es solo / lo q viene entre los bailes
In my manuscript of #prayer / #poems, this long poem is an attempt at the #cataphatic (which leads me to the #apophatic) in the new Virginia Quarterly Review (Thanks,Greg Pardlo and editors at VQR)
