Apricots, and: Red Wax-Lips

Apricots

Every summer, my abeuloTied tin can lids to apricot

Branches, to keep the pinchíPajaritos from eating his fruit.

At times, a breeze twirled the lidsLike ballerinas, reflecting strobes of sunlight

That startled birds awayFrom the forbidden fruit.

I often wonder why GodDidn’t do the same;

At least, for the one standing aloneIn the midst of the Garden.

Now, at my ripened ageI see the light of my abuelo’s wisdom

Reflecting in everything around me,And I’ve learned the value of apricots.

Red Wax-Lips

When I saw my childhood sweetheartAt the checkout counter in SafewayI was jolted with regret.

In the span of a heavy sighI remember that HalloweenAnd the red wax-lipsWe pulled from a jarAt Connie’s Liquor Store—

Paid pennies from a dimeThen ran behind an oak treeTo “pretend kiss”—Pressed our red wax-lips togetherUntil they fused into flesh—

Then our eyes were openedIn the half-light of the moonAnd we saw each other differently;In a rhapsody I never uttered out loudWhat I felt after that red wax kiss.

When she left the checkout counterWalking hand in hand with a manWho seemed to be more than a friendI was jolted once again.