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 break
everything that brought you here,
with innocent grace,
that comes natural
through the piano you’ll play,
the poems you’ll write,
and love—
the kind that connects you
to yourself 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 watch you grow,

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

my sweet jane.

te quiero.
te amo,
siempre.