In the Arms of My Guardian Angel

See Now
how it all makes sense
how you swim in matters of grey
how you reach for the skies
and pull down the clouds
how diabolical your thoughts have become
but forgiveness multiplies in every room.

See Now
how your chest heaves at the sight of the sun
and gratitude protrudes
out the spread of those tense legs
how flight after flight you attempted
to knock on heaven’s doors
to speak to Lurrkgod.

See Now
how methods and multiplication of routines
cut the grease
that drowned your muscles in misery
how your meditations were prayers
and manifestations
that pulled you out of the scum of the earth.

See Now
that I am knees to the ground
purple n bruised
that my high is a one-way
flight to madness
and company can never stay for long
but it comes
and for a while
there is that word again…

Joy

whom I met at mass in Washington Heights,
and this flight is gonna be long…

 

The Lived Memory Behind the Poem

We were at Playa Najayo. I spent hours in its waters with Negro. Cradling me in his arms, he looked down at me, and I looked up. Dark, brown eyes with redness from the saltwater. A gaze so divine, protective. With the sky behind him, it felt as if he had been sent to me.

It started to rain, and we rode a motorcycle back to La Molina. Not the kind of rain that made us run for cover. It was the warm kind. Under gray skies, with thunder rolling in the distance. I took off my glasses and handed them to my sister, who was in the car with my family. They cheered us on as if something incredible was happening. I remember shouting, “It’s a movie!” because it truly felt like a scene I could never have imagined in my previous months of depression and soul-searching.

“Agárrate,” Negro told me in a hum-like voice.

We sped off, leaving my family behind, happily shouting after us. As we swerved through traffic, I watched guys on motorcycles riding in twos and threes approach. Some pulled up close, hollering insanities:

“Que Dios te la bendiga…
Te la voy a quitar…
Dámela…
Dile que se suba aquí…”

But Negro’s voice didn’t fall from the tone that made me trust that I was safe in his care.

“Te mato,” he responded in a very calm but deadly tone.

I scooted closer to him, making sure the grip around his waist was tight.

The rain came down harder, and without my glasses, everything blurred, but I had never seen a better day in many, many years. He offered me his jacket, but I told him I was okay. That I liked the way the rain felt on my skin. I ran my fingers through my short hair, feeling the buoyancy of my curls. Something was close, I could feel it in the back of my neck, not the guys that attempted to catch up to us, not my family…

Negro was moving faster, and I held on tighter. Then it happened, quietly, so softly. It caught up–that feeling, something I couldn’t see, arriving on a random day as if it were meant to happen. I accepted and let go at the same time. I thought about the day I learned of Rod’s passing, how I’d held on to the sadness of his absence ever since.

I looked up to the sky, and its tears became my own. I smiled, whispered,

“I love you,” feeling like it reached him, wherever he was.

Holding onto Negro, I felt I could go anywhere…

Months later, Najayo received us again. We were in its waters, telling it our secrets, all the things we wanted out of this life. Again, he cradled me. It became our thing. He held my head as I looked up to the sky, caught in a trance. A hymn rising, fluttering from my toes to my head.

There was something about being in his presence that pulled me into retrospection and brought me peace and true happiness. Though I had been hurting for a long time, I yielded to reality, accepting the past, guarding memories, and tuning in to the present moment.

These poems, written as journal entries for moments in my life, have become an archive of what lingers in the shadows today. I believe it’s important to share them and the nuances that birthed them. These aren’t just words spilling out of me. They carry the DNA of someone who’s no longer here in the flesh. It makes them an author too–their legacy existing with my own.

Through the art of poetry, I’ve studied my own identity, meditating on the chapters of my life and the many conversations I’ve had along the way. This practice has become my greatest tool for navigating grief and the inevitable moments of life. I archive my experiences and emotions through poetic’n. It’s the only thread that’s existed as long as I have–

longer than my career
longer than friendships
longer than love.

In the Arms of my Guardian Angel marks a significant moment when I came to understand, all at once, that life and death, destiny and wisdom, experience and metamorphosis are the nature of one’s life. I remember the exact day, the moment, how it all unfolded.

This poem was inspired by Negro and dedicated to his memory. I found healing and love in his presence. He was later murdered in December of 2024, taking me further into a journey of grief that would change me forever.

Rest in peace Negro.