one day
living in the postcard today
One day We sit in the hot tub listening to the sound healing that isn’t for us But is for us The palm tree palm hyper focused lens of my eyes waves back to me The crow flies over Like the plane overhead in a goodbye scene in a movie My cousin says — "the crow has your chicken tender", as it flies over us the massive chicken tender flies away Enjoy I think The nose laughs The hot water bubbles join in The family speaking with a British accent look up One day My father finally told me something about grieving A memory that made it all make sense We both operate so differently in grieving I always wondered why And it can be so very hard when grieving the same people Why the avoidance? One day He didn’t like the first time I put up an altar for our family members “What's up with all the dead people's pictures?", he asked It is like the photos- the polaroids and old school photos someone took and developed hoping any would look good- proved they were gone Our pain of our hearts, our hopes and tears could be collected in one space for all to see Even though our memory and feelings call their names daily But by the end of the day, he was adding pictures One day He told me about the day that one day They made him pitch a game The day his favorite aunt died The aunt who never married and worked Promoted to manager when women weren’t managers The aunt who lived in her parents' home (our family home) for all of her days The aunt who had to have her child in secret And have another sister raise her The aunt that picked him up in 1950s Chevy Bel Air Hardtop Cream with Brown Top And drank hi ball whiskies with 7 ups And slipped him and his brother and sisters $20 dollar bills (big money in those days) when no one was looking The aunt who looked just liked my grandmother and was one of her closest friends So many pics of I have them in their suits that they tailored then to fit only them Ella. Ella Murphy. One day One day My heart felt a chip fall off for him even now The old way of pushing through Felt like the only way then I sometimes forget my father is human And he lived this life only once And how beautiful we can even speak of this now For any father anywhere to speak of this To his daughter Or son One day I told him the old way is dying The avoiding, the pushing through, if you are strong enough "We do not have white knuckle this" Knowing his parents too were trying the best they could With what they had Amidst their own push, pull, persist, preserve through Just keep fucking going We can’t be too fragile to break If we never stop moving Of the wars and famines and colonial violence, immigration on boats and trains and rations and somehow surviving the Pearl Harbor and lights out sirens They lived through and their parents and their parents One day My niece asked me to do a sleepover There were books in español y ingles "You speak two languages too." She says. "I’m trying." At 4 am The 4-year-old Woke up She came down to my trundle bed I held her as the uni (the colorful unicorn night light thing) changes colors illuminating us I rub her back I do the arm thing My mother did With me and my brother The loving that only a mother can teach The one only a caretaker can do right, and you never want to end I say to her, "My mother Colleen did this for me and Papa." She says, "I know." "You look just like her." Even though you don’t even think your brother ever Showed her a picture Of our mother. Colleen. Colleen Sullivan. The one pink wall my dad painted with her glows again in the unicorn rays Glad you pushed back your flight for your sleepover One day One day They said to us One day You can live One day you can play One day you can rest One day You can retire Only one day But not today Or next year Or the year after Or after that One day
We can’t be too fragile to break
If we never stop moving
And one day you say Living here is like living in a postcard The snapshots inspired in the tiny 4 x 6 the note on the back Someone cared enough to write in some words, or letters, you can barely read in tiny print but understand One day we live to live in that postcard The postcard on the fridge Alongside our bed In the towns, cities, and villages of the pictures we save Some written Some empty The condensation and light play The sun and blue bridge The plants and trees elastic as the bubble gum blow and snap And one day We say What if today and every day could be just that One day It took so very long for me to realize One day