Fresh To Death

There is beauty in the anonymity or the mindlessness of reblogging cozy vibes, but tumblr has felt busy and loud and I'm looking for some stillness, connection, and some focus for discernment and creativity.

If we are mutuals or had some connection on here, please hit me up and we can connect on Instagram or exchange fax numbers.

Looking to wind down and take a nice break from here for a little bit.

If you miss me, you can read my poetry.

Much love, y'all!

Greeting Alejandro

At the fruit stand a block away

And waking to his bellowing voice, "¡Buenas días, Mateo!"

I miss watching him wield a small machete

Against the delicate skin of a papaya

Grazing the blade just beneath

Leaving as much fruit intact

I miss the homemade granola sprinkled atop

And the wry smile he would give as he asked,

"¿Miele, si?", as he squeezed honey

From the large red bottle with the tip carefully trimmed

You see, the bottle that,

Upon my first visit to the city,

I mistook for ketchup when he confidently tipped it over my papaya

And I politely panicked with a nervous

"No, gracias!"

We now chuckle each time

When it's the red bottle's turn in the carefully

Orchestrated breakfast concerto

Alejandro, the machete maestro

Me the papaya placated patron.

I hate single use plastics

But there is a space in the heart

For the memory of the sound of the plastic clamshell

Clapping shut

Carefully packaged papaya, granola, lime, & miele, hold the ketchup

And me cradling my morning blessing

Meandering to the new breakfast park of the day

Off to watch early morning lovers

Canoodling on a bench

Listening to the three older gentleman

Clamoring in the corner cafe across the calle

Smelling their cheap cigarettes wafting across the waters of the fountain

And feeling the warmth of the day

Meet me in my already blissful breakfast bench time.