Bonafide Rojas
ON THE LAST DAY
ON THE LAST DAY
the last day will
be a glorious one
filled with
things i love
laugh with my son
read my
favorite poems
listen to music
the whole day
dance with
my mother
who hates dancing
tell my sister
i love her
& i’m proud of her
call everyone
i’ve cared for
thank them
for the years
of friendship
tell people on
the street
they’re beautiful
tell them
that compliment is free
ride a train
ride a bike
ride a boat
go to the
tallest building
scream something
beautiful like
i love you
maybe someone
will respond
fight for
my independence
paint murals
of my heroes
across my heart
betances, neruda,
albizu, che, king,
kahlo, dali, miro,
miles, malcolm, lorca
de burgos, nin,
lennon, hendrix,
bolivar, marti,
hostos, toussaint,
zapata, zappa,
baraka, ginsberg,
jaco, coltrane,
cobain, basquiat,
& garcia marquez
& i thank them
for their art
i’ve learned how to
live on my feet
& fly in their dreams
& only kneel when
i feel thankful
& i talk to the universe
when i feel
no one is listening
& i apologize to those
i should apologize to
& the rest i learned
that they’re still not not worthy
i speak to my father
who’s been deceased for years
it’s not the first time i’ve done it
but i tell him about my trips
to puerto rico
& how i think
he would’ve been proud
i’ll go to all the corners
that are catalysts of my life
& i remember
& reenact them
& see the young
versions of myself
wild, stupid
rambunctious
ego driven
hyper-sugared
up all night
graffiti sprayed
& broadway made
i write my name
in honor of the past
tell those moments
thank you for existing
for being a building block
for right now
& i think of all the cities
& countries i’ve visited
puerto rico, havana
london, paris, amsterdam
barcelona, brussels
los angeles, toronto
dc, versailles, chicago
san diego, montreal
oakland, albuquerque
st. thomas, st. john, tortola
virgin gorda, rotterdam
manchester, boston
berlin, rome, miami
& san francisco
then i visit all the houses
my son has lived in
& i thank them for
keeping him safe
then i take a walk
around the city
that raised me
that i love & hate
i eat pizza from
patsy’s in spanish harlem
drink sangria from
camaradas el barrio
then i go home
to the only
place i’ve ever
considered home
on the grand concourse
with memories in
every splice of
hardwood floor
i bring down
the paintings
pack up the books
clean the living room
& open this old black chest
that has almost
all the journals
i’ve ever written in
i take them out
to see how erratic
my handwriting is
someone once
said it looks like
a sociopath’s handwriting
but i’ve never believed
in a diagnosis given
by a doctor who was
paid by medicaid
then i read the first
poem i wrote
it was called
LIFE
& i read to myself
& see how ironic it was
that this 17 year old
was trying to tackle
something so massive
as LIFE
but i don’t blame him
he had nothing then
he probably
thought he would
never achieve anything
go anywhere
be anyone
love anything
love anyone
or be loved
& i see the
progression
through the years
& i go to my
bedroom window
the one that my son
& i have both looked
out of & i look at the big sky
over the abandoned church
across the street
& i watch the sunset
& if today is
my last day i’ll say
damn!
i was a lucky
bastard wasn't
i.