En Libertad

para mi querida amiga Consuelo Rivera Fuentes

whose words fly still

Your words fly off the page like doves gentling their accurate way
Home to memories of times shared
Afternoon walks, talks, poems written onto air as you breathed out
For you were that woman who wrote or sang, sometimes strumming
C[h]ords linking we who loved you to ideas, thoughts, feelings
Flying almost, but not quite, out of our reach

Your words sing from the page raucous as gulls circling for scraps
Thriving against all the odds, as you did too
Singing not just to survive, but also to celebrate wildly
For you were that woman who grasped tightly onto feathers of freedom
And once secure shared your wings with us all that we might fly too
Soaring high above everyday lives made full of wonder

Your words drill from the page Carpintera-like, insistent
Flashes of white/black/re[a]d often, beak tap tap tapping rhythms
Insistent as protest, friendship, waves breaking against a pebbly beach where people gather
For you were that woman who drew crowds together
Forging our strength in the heat of your words, the warmth of your mucky chuckle
Sheltering us as we fledged before taking flight

Your words dive from the page like vultures swooping to peck at eyes and flesh
With deadly accuracy finding the soft underbelly of emotions
Red raw days, shared memories dripping blood from wounds and words
For you were that woman who ripped silences apart,
Made notes which echo still for me now that your singing is finished, and you
Flown almost, but not ever quite, out of reach
En libertad