The B(ache)ry
I entered a bakery,
It smelled of flour,
Sweet strawberry jam,
Sugary greatness,
A warm scent of bliss.
I felt welcomed.
There were sweet tarts,
Fruity treats,
Frosty cakes,
Honey on soft velvet.
You gave me
Six tasty delicacies.
Each one a moment.
Each one too short.
Each one intense
Each one beautiful.
Each one succulent.
Each one soft.
You awakened me.
The flavor shook me.
Each bite tore me open.
Your flavors weakened me.
But the aftertaste inspired.
When these treats were done,
Completely gone forever,
I realized that you were still there.
I was awake with my eyes closed.
So I opened them.
You were not the treats,
You were the bakery,
and I was not finished,
But the closing hours forbade me.
Carlos J. Fernandez-Torres
Meiganga, Cameroon
February 14, 2012
February Baby
Inside this frame,
A set of six photographs.
Nesting new hopes.
I love this little stranger,
And will do so forever.
Nap handsome newborn.
Intrigue in your stare,
Awakened and curious.
Nephew, you are too far away.
I love you,
And can’t wait to see you.
No one means more right now.
Innocent little baby,
Ascending into our future,
Nothing will stop you.
Inspiring grandparents,
Amazing parents,
No excuses for you buddy.
In my soul, En mi
Alma. V mojej duši.
Newly and eternally yours,
Your February Uncle
February Uncle
February 23, 2012
Meidougou, Cameroon
Michigan Jones
A boy picks up a map,
He studies the details.
In his magnificent mind
every grid marks a red ‘X’.
There is so much to learn.
With a hat he goes on a green adventure.
His name is his purpose.
His vision goes beyond his binoculars.
His precision is genius.
His persona dances with charisma.
This boy returns with treasures.
Finally, his first expedition is complete.
With new friends,
Maturing ideas,
All sorts of flickering futures,
He realizes that no trouble is grave.
His discoveries are greater than his treasures.
He plans a new escapade.
A synapse explodes,
Chemicals spill,
he disposes his map and tries on a new hat,
Only behind his eyes he is fine.
Loved ones begin to disappear.
his kidnapped mind claims a dark exploration.
his throat turns into a black hole.
he covers his eyes with mirrors facing out.
All noise sounds like a replaying ice cream truck.
Like his last hat, friends get thrown away.
But none of that matters,
he claims this new quest inevitable.
After selling his treasures for candy,
After smearing his debt to his soul,
After shitting on his own mother,
After burying his discoveries alive,
After absolutely everything lost,
he cries for a new and brighter voyage.
Rumpled up with red x’s,
he picks up his previous map.
Carlos Jesus Fernandez-Torres
February 29, 2012
Meidougou, Cameroon
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