THE PETRA SERIES - DOS

The stitched up toes 

When Petra, my abuela was 97 (circa 1989) she had surgery on her toes for bunions and ancient callouses. 

A woman who was always on her feet working or doing something involving the care of others finally had to sit and heal. 

I sent her a note with a drawing to make her smile that basically said,  With your legs up, if I were there I'd rub your toes, love and affection I'd give you with my hands, with my eyes that miss you I'd read you a story and these lips would pray to God that my sweet grandma get well soon.  I love you so much, your Ponquiria Elvia.  

She proceeded to edit my note, adding some smartass line to every one of mine: 

Not being able to kick anything but my pillows, you say you'd be here but I suspect you'd be out visiting your friends, that massage would certainly make me cry... Ohhhhh, would your eyes prove not to lie that you miss me? Yes, your storytelling would be a healing balm and if God hears your prayer I'll be well again and be able to cook your favorite rice. I hope your prayer is answered because because this ...really hurts. 

 

THE PETRA SERIES 

UNO: 

To Ponquiria from Abuela Petra 

I don't know where the nickname originated.  From the time I was in diapers she called me Ponquiria. Or "Pon" for short. 

I'm digitizing for perpetuity the original cards and letters I have from Petra, my maternal grandmother.  Some of them date to the 1960s, when I was away in boarding school in Guadalajara, Mexico and she was back with her daughter Lucy, my mom and family in Southern California.  

I didn't realize the accomplishment of her writings to me until much later in life, especially after I recorded some of her personal history for a women's history class in the 1980s.  When I learned that Petra never went to school, that she was given a prayer book as a study source for learning to read and write by Sra. Ibarra, the women she worked for as a nannay beginning at age 13 Jala, Nayarit, Mexico.  That the kind woman noticed Petra practicing writing out letters with a stick in the dirt.  What she remembered from bits of teaching by a young woman who brought some learning to the children of La Cofradia, a tiny mountainous hamlet attached to a big hacienda around the late 1890s. 

So when I began to look at abuelita's letters I noticed that punctuation was not always perfect and sometimes the writing was a bit phonetic.  But it worked and I loved it.  

Below is a birthday greeting she sent along with her own words in a rhyme en espanol. 

Te estoy saludando

con mucha alegria

se estuvieras aqui

besos y mas besos te daria

Las estrellas se visten de gala

y la luna se llena de encanto

al saber que hoy es dia de tu Santo

Y que no es ni Elvia ni Raquel sino Rosenda

Rosales Arriola de la cola? OK? 

De tu loca abuela, Petra Rivas.

Mario

Remembering my daddy as he lies in hospice. 

May 14, 2021 

I've been decluttering. And thinking about Dad and how much he says he's tired and ready to go.  But it's still not his time.  Found an old letter from Dad shortly after he visited me in New York City and stayed in my apartment in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.  He met my then girlfriend Clay, and he also met my new kitty cat Rachel.  In old photos it's clear that Rachel is still a kitten.  She'd been born in the spring and this was around the fall.  For sure it's 1985. 

He was a very independent visitor and tourist.  It was a dream for him to see New York City and to have the option to get around by walking or on subway trains.  I'll never forget how he arrived by plane from California to the Newark, New Jersey airport and took the train straight into the World Trade Center.  I had started working at the New York Attorney General's office in the summer.  The Department of Law would vacate those premises by October.   The twin towers are now gone.  Wow.  But in my memory we're still there, I'm working hard as a young lawyer in my beautiful office with large windows that look out on Battery Park and on the Statue of Liberty.  And Dad has called me and I am going down to the lobby to greet him and he's walking through the revolving door with a big big smile on his face.   He had a blast.  It was a big deal for me to introduce him to my new life, as someone involved with a woman.  I didn't have to use the term lesbian.  He figured it out and he was fine.   And I miss that energetic man.   So here's his perky letter to me following that visit: 

'

Pillowed Two

I slept in until 8 am
My eye is really swollen
Today I will go the country
I will order cider slush
for her
for me
and I will send us a picture 
I miss her

I awoke feeling so alone 
in the bed
I wanted to reach for you
and got a pillow
so cold
instead
Yearning for the snuggle
of your warm belly 
against my lower back
better than a heating pad

I reach for a hug
and all I get is mild
scent of you left in the 
unwashed sheet
my mind travels to a 
few days ago
and back again to now
where I keep reaching
for you, for the pillow
pushing away the waking 
moments 
without you.

Please Don't Tell Me

Please don’t tell me.

I remember your sweet hesitant smile
a holding back of words in your heart 
and mind
You would often just blurt out the truth
of your feelings
I remember how you
captured everyone's attention at public events 
with a warm, appealing

sincere voice 

I can’t remember much about
our few dates. 

I was too conflicted. 

I remember the night we first tumbled 
in each other’s arms on 

the extra futon in someone’s

apartment on the East Side 
after a big fundraising party for 

gay social justice 
we drank wine 
talked and talked more 
and then I looked at the clock

it was too late 

to drive back to Brooklyn
or take the subway

Such a convenient excuse 

There you were perky, 

the bright eyed 

Catholic boarding school rebel

now a spokesperson for lesbian rights 

I couldn’t stop 

Didn't stop 

Yeah we kissed

Me first? You?

Each of us saying

"Is this okay?" 
and your OK was 

more confident than mine
because I had a feeling 

that you'd become one more 

Hello and Goodbye 

in the usual dyke drama stories 

linked to my drunken 

forgetting to say 

"oh by the way..."
when I said it was OK 

that we kiss 

I meant 

with me
not with her

you know 

the one who’s been playing house with me for two years 

I remember our passionate tussle
and how we whispered

And giggled as I compared 

this huge Manhattan apartment 

to my cubby hole in Brooklyn  

And how I gently touched those soft lips 

That could speak truth to power 
or sometimes just tremble in anger
as we all fighters for justice 

For dignity to our queer lives 

Observed the ongoing patterns of 

A world leveling hate in our direction 

And even blaming natural disasters

To the existence of openly gay living

And now as I remember you

And the brief moments of US

I do regret that we lost touch

That the years went by 

That you found love and marriage and had kids 

And then vanished only to surface 

In this odd notice in a magazine I rarely pick up

Where it mentioned you 

And your final illness and 

our community’s loss of 

A fearless voice for justice.

And the writer should have mentioned

That you had a beautiful smile and 

Really soft lips.  

Elvia (Sudasini) Arriola 

@Edited (2019) 

Pillowed One

PILLOWED 

I called out to you
in the night
I heard your heartbeat
next to my ear
in my dream
I put my greying curls on your chest
we turned together
towards the light 
of the rainbow clock
but you slept 
ansDI dreamed
and it was just 
a thought 
captured between my unruly sheets
as the you that was only me
a pillow
big and fluffy and warm 
like you 
dropped
to the floor 
and woke me up.