tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49215566465706481632011-09-01T21:23:20.247-07:00real life is a writing promptMarianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.comBlogger141100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-55511301303227905192011-03-02T18:37:00.000-08:002011-03-02T18:38:11.672-08:00

Beet juice, bruise-red, sloshed around in its jar every time I opened her fridge. Mamá ironed all the fine linen suits "So Abuela can always look pretty during the time she has left." Final days were given to balconies, rocking to and fro in August heat, and transfusions at Centro Médico. Gagged and bound to deliverance, you were networked to electronic saviors. We chose not to bring you

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-60149228319117934672011-02-28T09:42:00.000-08:002011-02-28T09:46:07.637-08:00

I once walked her century-old halls, terrified and proud. Pockets of rainwater swelled walls and mold made us all sick. But she was ours! She's been in the news again. The books they carry? No match for tear gas and rubber bullets. ¡Dé gloria al luchador, honra de la Universidad! Some will shoulder the burden. The rest head to Ocean Park to sip beer and sunbathe. Boricua, you have forgotten

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-47108715136624288102009-12-11T15:06:00.000-08:002010-02-09T08:59:30.353-08:00

Shine on, Polaris!    and once again    you’re off in your own world    careening through the universeI’ll hitch a ride on a shooting star    that knows my whispered wish    to emit the illumination that persists    a voyager, even as I am deceasedBut my words are not like yours    mine live briefly, with little intensity    yet their demise is a brilliant blaze    as they collide against the

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-642308917411464222009-11-08T17:48:00.000-08:002009-11-08T18:02:10.690-08:00

I can see what never was        (nor will ever be)all we could have had        (we could have had it all)the sandy-haired kids with mud-caked jeanshiding among the plantain fieldsbare feet slipping on the Toro Negro river stoneslulled to sleep by the coquífar away from my city lightsyou could have given memorning mist clinging to the mountainsidebut there is no quaint rustic lifestylefor usthose

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-68222221384576844852009-03-14T12:06:00.000-07:002009-03-14T12:28:00.064-07:00

I find my bipolarity very peculiar. I harp on and on about how I'm tough (i.e., dead inside). Seeing me cry is punishable by death. It's not that I find anything wrong with being emotional, but if I'm emotional, it just makes me feel weak and manipulable. All it takes is one heartbreak. I forced myself not to suffer over it. In my haste to take shortcuts and recuperate, it was like I had

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-12922131730629015182009-01-24T10:19:00.000-08:002009-01-25T11:20:55.058-08:00

"It would never work between us."  I said it as calmly as if I had been commenting on the weather.  "How do you know?" His tone matched mine: nonchalant.   I pressed my lips together and wondered how I could answer.  I would always be afraid.  You're always off in your world; you slip into locally-owned coffeehouses (making it a point to boycott Starbucks) with your oh-so-bohemian friends and

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-65139293380493951772008-11-24T13:43:00.000-08:002009-01-25T11:21:21.471-08:00

"If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together–" It was clear in the minister's voice that he did not really expect any objection- "let them speak now or forever hold their peace."  There were just a few seconds of silence. Just a few. But those seconds stretched into eternities for me.   Leo turned his head, only slightly, and met my gaze.  He looked frightened. Wait.

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-19165007876540277682008-07-07T22:33:00.000-07:002008-07-07T22:51:30.836-07:00

  Shawty had them apple bottom jeans, jeans, boots with the fur, with the f-   Becca jerked her head up, irritated. The overplayed ringtone on her cell phone seemed to be blaring much louder than usual as it pierced the late-night quiet. She slipped her finger between the pages of her paperback to mark where she’d left off and glanced at her phone to see who’d called at this ungodly hour and

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-33161342603563160102008-06-17T16:31:00.000-07:002008-06-17T16:35:46.451-07:00

We walked around for several minutes, the steep streets reeking of urine, and I wince at the uncomfortable leather sandals that cut into my feet, but I still wear anyway because they’re so pretty.The only place we find open on a Monday night in Old San Juan is a small, dark pub called El Batey. I love it right away. The walls are covered with layers upon layers of writings- scrawled names,

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-27037254164489504192008-05-14T19:46:00.000-07:002008-05-14T20:07:04.055-07:00

Sebastian cleared his throat and automatically reached for his water bottle. The quiet murmur of the audience, the clinking of wine glasses, each table with a stack of copies of his novel... This was nothing new.But something was different. He knew, felt it. Not that he'd ever been one to have premonitions. His own fiancée joked that he had the spiritual sensitivity of a rock.The thought of

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-60320225041830911472008-05-06T20:10:00.000-07:002008-05-11T13:09:36.272-07:00

I feel conceited even as I pick up the university publication and thumb through the pages looking for his name beneath the headline.There must be something, I keep telling myself. Something that gives him away. Something only I could recognize. Something only I could inspire.Forgive me for trying to find myself in you.- We chat idly, and all the while I am wondering...How do I tell him that I

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-63128212126344128942008-05-01T09:54:00.000-07:002008-05-01T10:20:52.542-07:00

    -Mm, ah.. sigue ahí, sigue... ah, ah... ¡para, para, para!-   Joel levantó su cabeza abruptamente. -¿Qué pasó?-   -Duele.-   Pausa. -¿No quieres que siga?-   -No, estoy bien.-   Verónica jaló hacia arriba sus pantis, los cuales colgaban de su tobillo.   ¿Qué porquería de orgasmo fue ese? se preguntó, dirigiéndose al baño mientras Joel batallaba torpemente con el broche de su correa

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-25964454618676966172008-04-28T21:27:00.000-07:002008-04-28T22:02:41.515-07:00

"What are you thinking about?" Someone else. "Nothing," I mumbled, blinking my eyes back into focus.He smiled. He was too grateful for this moment to push it. Instead, he dipped his head and sucked on the skin along my waist.Your saliva is mixing with someone else's. If you knew that, would you keep going?I closed my eyes, already I was so far away... back in someone else's arms, enveloped

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4921556646570648163.post-86295420626875607932008-04-24T12:33:00.000-07:002008-04-28T21:54:58.936-07:00

Mothers.  They have a knack for saying little things that seem so insignificant, and yet, they find the way to engrave their words right into the marrow of your bones.Año nuevo, vida nueva.  "New year, new life."  My mother says this on every New Year's Eve.  And, as with many of her little well-worn slivers of wisdoms, it's something I live by.  But it's nowhere near New Year's, so... why am I

Marianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01143724595923154428noreply@blogger.com1