Peace

Not the Middle East,
not Harlem,
or the scary truths inside
of me.

Peace like renewal
of space and time.

Making others to
receive my moment in time.

Aunty Cinnamon

They compared my skin to theirs.
They are Chinese and I am Mexican,
but our skin was both brown.

Maybe the Filipino brought out the sun
in their heritage?

Maybe the fields of rice, worked in
China came down
and kissed them on the cheek.

I tried to stay white,
influenced by years or
summers seeing field workers
burnt in the lettuce fields of
Salinas and Monterey.

I did not want to be Mexican then,
chose the light-skinned Spanish description
of my forefathers.

The one my abuelita aspired to though
darker than I.

Mestizo heritage has duality,
choices of where to conform.

I was burned in Texas,

sunburned with those who cross the
border for a new life.

Now I add layers of brown,
until tan lines define me
who I am,
as the Aunty Cinnamon
foretold by the little
girls who compared my
skin to theirs so
long ago.

Saints

I thought saints were made of glory and angels.
They are with a touch of torture, spiritual
and physical. Testings, trials, sufferings,
and the joy of a child's smile.

Father

My father in Heaven loves me.
I try to honor him and his
son with all I do.

Dad

My dad rescued me.
He came and let me be
myself.

Nations

Nations sing
of your glory.

Tell of your
marvelous works.

For the ages
tell your story.

There are many
languages and faces
reflecting His.

Our job is to honor
and respect each one

and help them to
be the best

as the future honors
those who say
the greatest and the
least are equal

this way.

Galaxies

Ages present
past swirl into eternal light.

God has redeemed the wonder
of both day and night.

God's light is
coming soon,
the Bible
speaks of doom
but Hope is
possible, too
if we change
our ways

humble our face
before the Lord
of grace,

He will rescue us.
Jesus in the mix,
letting us in,
on the final
reign of His-
yet to come.