by Jonathan Ramirez
My mother, she paints me a navy blue sky
with stars to guide me through the dark of night
she takes my hand and whispers into my ear todo estara bien
and I believe every word that comes out of her mouth.
My mother, she loves to be a mother so much she never lets me go
says there are peligros out in the world too intense for me to handle on my own
and I believe her and dread the times I stand alone.
Now, my mother has grown old,
and I’m no longer a little kid
she still wants to hold my hand but I shake my head
and tell her camina detrás de mí instead ,
solo dime que estarás ahí si me caigo, eso es todo lo que quiero saber.
With each season that fades, my mother recites stories untold,
chanting the secret each one of them holds,
a lesson deep within the words engraved in her tongue.
My mother, she paints me pictures of summer perfectly where we are right now
and tells me anything else esta mal
so wrong like a cold winter in the middle of July.
I’ve learned gritos don’t fix anything and silence only makes things worse
so now I whisper softly in her ear, créeme cuando digo que
estoy listo para tomar tus palabras y añadir las mías
y así crear mi propia historia.
I hope one day I find the words to build my own world
and she learns to love me even when I’m not home,
even if it hurts.