you were born
to a beautiful, sunny day
in april—
a great storm passing in the distance,
the remnants of one
that lasted a year.

you’ll be named maria.
funny how that works.
named after your mom,
y el pueblo,
y la madre,
santa maria—

because you’ll away break from
every evil that led you here,
with innocent grace,
that’ll come naturally,
like the piano you’ll play,
or the poems you’ll write,
and love—
the kind that connects you back
to yourself once again.

i’m listening to the velvet underground—
sweet jane.

she won’t let me name you elena jane.
too late to debate.
but maybe one day
you’ll take it,
as a pen name,
or a stage name—
and i’ll have finally learned
to bury the sad songs,
forget the color of the storm,
and just watch you grow.

because while some “evil muthers”
will tell you, “life is just to die”—
that’s not true.
life is rock and roll.
with the windows down.

my sweet jane.

te quiero.
te amo,
siempre.