Silent Child

My child came to this world groaning 

Then he screamed

The sound of his existence 

Echoed the universe 

Completed cycles

Initiated reverbs

on the tight strings of my heart

new melody on my empty staff

My child came from the waters

Survived the passage

my eyes also watered

my own sobbing joy

I can still hear within that room

My child’s laughs are my bass

His innocent embrace 

The tempo of each day

My child came not to say

With words of everyday

The stars above witness

This silent child of mine

The sun has tanned on his skin

The memories only he knows

Deep within his genetic code

a decree was written for him

my ears eagerly want to hear 

my heart wants to believe

In my dreams he spoke 

He sang and shouted

but this awakeness

this persistent silence

and though all this chaotic life

Insane words on so many mouths

His silence makes everything music

His pause makes me wonder

If I could only write

The wisdom in his eyes

And how perfect his notes are

On the song of our lives

Fabiana Avila 

To my 5yo beautiful non verbal autistic son...

Fiat Lux

Fiat Lux


  
    
  
                  

art by Olivia Peters

There is a movement in the air

Renoir


Nymphets reflecting cliche

Monet


Watches melting hours to be

Dali


Open hearts, lida

Frida


Abaporu the clay Aborigine

Tarsila

Antropophagy, Anyla


Runs through the ages the same 

spectrum, light, pains

Same love

in multicolored ephyfanies


Cromus and Cronos

awakening

Asleep


Entangled in the web

ideas and dreams

dripping from the veins

empty hourglasses

Sand castles


Dually

The dawning Sphinx gazes

decipher me

As the dusking thinker

Ponders eternal in vain digression

Rodin


In the fertile tubes

Rest yet paints

chisels, rhymes

When suddenly

from within the stone:

A Scream

Fabiana Avila | Poet

Tiny little things

Tiny little things:

cells,

seeds

dew droplets

warm tears

Within the cytoplasmic membrane

the enigmatic code

the mathmatical sequence

Exact

Of things that are

and things yet to be

Tiny little things

the newborn’s hand

delicate flower blossoming in life

toothless smiles

the stripes on fuzzy bees

Tiny little things

tenderness, finesses

warm delights

of so much love

minutely structured

within the crimson fibers

of the pulsing heart

Tiny little things:

the stars,

little dots in the endless sky

so far,

but so brilliant

inside me

Fabiana Avila

A Firefly in Columbia Heights

A firefly!

Mom why?

Why do they flash lights?

At the sound of bumble bees

Wheezing buses

Aroma of roses

Why mommy?

Why trash on the ground?

The squirrel with a naked tail 

Chase the brown one

Over an occasional nut

Mommy that man needs a bath

Shhhhh

But mommy, he is so dirty

What’s that smell?

Trash, honey

We need to wash it mommy

She starts to sing

“- Let it go, let it go”

little hands like tiny magic wands

creating a new world

 Firefighters fly by

With screaming sirens
Gunshots echoes from Columbia Road

That’s too much noise on my ears mommy!

Smile

She seriously stands her right hand up:

- See the red hand? We must stop at the raised hand

Glimpses of wisdom

I suddenly understand

Beyond science

Why do fireflies flash their light

in Columbia Heights

Will this children's light ever shine?

by Fabiana Avila

Sistere (to stand still)

That brief moment

Our paths reach

Either our highest

Or lowest

Where do we start from?

Where are we going to?

Where in heavens will be traced

The Segment

Of our brief fragments?

Yet, when we begin

What before?

What era?

Ever?

Today reaches

The solstice of a soul

The world sees immobility

Appearance

A rock

But the course is changing

a new season rises

As this long wait ends

a new sitting begin

new drops form

for the next rain

new life sprout

to die and give life

again and again

silently

as the mountain moves

beneath our feet

by Fabiana  Avila

Hollow

It’s dark, and I walk alone

blinding lids of long shut eyes

I breath no longer

and the ground is lonely

Deaf has silenced my being

no howls, no cries

I hear no more

No words of good bye

Still this road

this ever so long road

to be under, to walk

climbing the stones of solitude

in this ebony silent night

The blood dries within my heart

as the last glimpses of consciousness

are pitch painted in the chambers of Lethe

Yet, from within the universe

This mighty propulsion:

Forward!

Steps, skips, falls

rivers of cold waters, I feel no more

The road is dark

and I stand alone

The man from Apolo 15

In 1985, as he publishes

Entering Space: An Astronaut’s Odyssey

I entered kindergarten on my literary voyage

In another world, Votuporanga

He is Allen IV,

I, just the middle child

He entered as salt and pepper sprinkles

on our Friday lunch

At the heat of our discussion

about the ugly faucets

our darling husbands

decided to choose

with the plumber’s guidance...

Here, back on Earth,

As he entered retirement in 2004

from his exits to the moon

I was leaving my Earth

(besides being called a loon)

As life’s shuttle orbited

Around years in and out

As I entered the galaxy of marriage

the constellation of motherhood

the nebula of my accomplishments

our paths cross:

He enters the room

with a gaze of one

who’s seen the moon

With a cane, and a NASA pin

on the navy blue lapel

Still in pilot mode

strategic stops

and plenty nerdy jokes

I tell him skeptical

Are you sure you are an astronaut?

You should have been a comedian

He smiles and tell

yet another one about the burned church.

Holly smokes, I just met Joseph P. Allen IV! 

Washington, DC, Salt and Pepper Restaurant, lunch time with Etna Cantora and Andrea