Nurturing the Flowers of my garden

The gates to my soul are jet black — Long I craved for those watery eyes; the color that so represents Caribbean dreams and criminal getaways. Like my mom did when she dyed her hair golden sand against her piel canela — her cinnamon skin. Completed her imperialistic stance with emerald eyes made out of plastic film and glass. …

A litany of worries, snarks and complaints — That thing in my eye, that thing in my teeth, that thing in my stomach, that thing in my skin. It’s gone now. Don’t worry, there are more things to come to ruin my life, if I let down my guard. Oh, my fucking god, there is always a thing! …

A caravan of Mexican flags on Chicago streets — Do you feel like an Italian mobster when you go to steakhouses? I do, too. Maybe it is the red vinyl upholstery, the dimmed lights, the cloth napkins. Or maybe is the feeling that the servers know their place and they won’t attempt any funny business like putting tuna or…

In and out and in again — The anticipation of the first exchange; doing it without protection or constraints — in and out and in again. Taboo makes exciting something that should be just organic. How could anyone call it an addiction when it is existential and enthralling? I do it on the streets if I feel…

The castle of little white lies my mom built to protect us — Rafa was shot with a BB shotgun by his brother. The BB landed on his neck somewhere close to one of the main arteries. It nearly killed him. The doctors said he would never move a muscle under his neck again, let alone walk. His mother prayed for him every…

As long as your life is under my roof — Siri, don’t interrupt me, just listen. You are compensated with existence to perform exactly this menial job. Easy for humans to feel empowered when we believe our hands at the wheel. Living under others’ roofs we don’t realize the freedoms they take and that we renounce, ounce by ounce, like soured cowards and clowns…

Reckless Drivers are the Reason You Can’t Afford a Nicer Car — I am a painfully slow driver. Maybe it is the hazards of a career in insurance; I have seen too much. Now, I imagine bad things too much. I don’t know if it is fair to blame it all on my career path. …

Tasting the Aged Grapes Without Knowing Where They Come From — Gabriel pulled over to where Justine was standing; she was waiting outside the address she had given him. He finally summed up the courage to ask her out after playfully texting back and forth. …