ohana

9 days of prayer commence the day we put my grandfather in the ground
a lifetime of ink begins for my brother dionysio
i call him ohana
he chooses to put our family name in our native writing alibata
surrounding these foreign symbols is derek, darion, dante, dionysio, arianna
darius and aida
in our frequented letters
letters that anyone can recognize
as far as the basco being represented in shapes not understood by the laymen's eye
well guess that's for us and the chosen few to really understand
and the chosen few is at least 100 deep in this family
and then there are our imbedded friends... that's even deeper
so i suppose in our world, it stands as a badge of honor for all who is worthy to comprehend
as my brother dante put it so well in his poem to pay ode to my grandpa at his wake
'the patriarch of the family
life span nearly a century
made you feel like being a basco
was like being a kennedy
one of the most important parts of my identity
and i'm here to carry on your legacy'

i take in the sounds of the rosary from the elders
the peace of prayer
and the sound of the tattoo gun in the garage we used to breakdance in
where now my brother sits in grandpa's wheelchair receiving a branding
a reminder
of today
of this life
of this family
our mourning and our joy
our song
and our strong

god bless these faces
this laughter
this home

for it is because of them
i learn love
i feel love
i am loved
i give love
i
am
love

i belong to a tribe that is more expansive and rich with color
than the sky can reflect
a tribe who's heart redefines compassion and unconditional
a tribe that looks like my niece's bravery caressing grandpa's face he recently retired
hand to his weathered skin
'i love you lolo, i'll miss you'
she saved her tears for my eldest brother derek to cry
as he watched his 3 year old daughter do what he couldn't cause goodbyes are always hard
it looks like grandma in her old age and short term memory
asking if we called tita emy and notified her of his passing in 6 minute intervals
but yet when serenading my grandfather in his death bed in the home of my youth
she bowed and wrapped her tears in his palm knowing she no longer was to wake up next to her 68 years
it looks like in the face of loss
we still gather and feed our community
open our doors and mourn openly
strumming guitar strings and sing the songs that bring us back to pittsburg
back to the days when we were safe
painting walls in the laundry room
with the lines and images only young imagination could muster
we pick our lot on the floor and stake our bed on the carpet we learned to walk on
word swapping with cousins till odd hours of the night
sneaking in the kitchen drunk off emotion looking for a late night bite
it looks like relatives that witnessed my birth that i don't remember
but it doesn't matter
they still look at you in marvel
in time and pride
they give you that look that anything is possible
like you're the most beautiful miracle
it looks like
belonging



we laid a leader
a beginning
a father
a son
a husband
a man
a cuya
a compadre
a golfer
a soldier
a survivor
a prisoner of war
a ninong
a manong
a lolo
a grandpa
down in the ground today
but his spirit will never rest
it will dance and hum inside of us forever
hold our hearts and be our drum

tears like songs, this family weeps
i hear them all over the universe
we're just trying to find the harmony
to grandpa's prolific melody


so sing on the hyms louder
tattoo gun sound stronger
what an honor to take part in this symphony
in this family