Naranjas En La Palma De Su Mano / Oranges In The Palm of His Hand
Todavía puedo olerlas antes de verlas,
una fragancia dorada que flota en el aire—
cítricos frescos, como el sol atrapado en su cáscara.
Abuelo las sostenía en sus manos callosas,
con la misma ternura que la tierra abraza sus raíces.
Con la uña del pulgar, deslizaba la piel con paciencia,
sin apretar demasiado, sin derramar el jugo de su corazón.
Me miraba, con una media sonrisa y un leve asentimiento,
mientras partía la naranja en dos, tan fácil como si partiera el cielo.
"Toma, es buena para ti."
Si dudaba, su ceja se alzaba con dramatismo.
"Anda, cómetela antes de que me enoje," solía decir,
la broma danzando en su lengua, su risa en el aire.
Y yo, con un suspiro fingido, cedía siempre,
porque cómo decirle que no a las manos que me alimentaron de amor.
El jugo era dulce, a veces con un beso de amargura,
pero siempre generoso, desbordándose entre mis dedos.
Me reía, las manos pegajosas, la culpa derramándose en mi regazo.
Él reía más fuerte, con la voz del viento entre los árboles,
señalándome, con sus ojos llenos de burla tierna.
"No es mi culpa, es la naranja," protestaba yo.
"O tal vez es tu culpa, Abuelo."
Ahora las naranjas me miran desde el frutero,
la misma fragancia, el mismo sol en su piel.
Las pelo con la misma paciencia que él,
aunque mis manos no son las suyas, aunque la risa ya no resuena igual.
Rompo la fruta en dos, siento su peso en mis palmas.
Miro a mi hermano, a mi hermana, a quien esté a mi lado.
"Toma, es buena para ti."
Y por un momento, el eco de su risa vuelve a casa.
—vie.
English Translation
I can still smell them before I see them,
a golden fragrance drifting in the air—
fresh citrus, like sunlight trapped in its skin.
Grandfather held them in his calloused hands,
with the same tenderness the earth gives its roots.
With the edge of his thumb, he peeled the rind with patience,
never pressing too hard, never spilling the juice of its heart.
He would glance at me, a half-smile, a slight nod,
as he broke the orange in two, as if splitting the sky itself.
"Take some, it's good for you."
If I hesitated, his brow would lift in mock sternness.
"Go on, eat it before I get mad," he would say,
the joke dancing on his tongue, laughter thick in the air.
And I, with a sigh of pretend defeat, always caved—
because how could I refuse the hands that fed me love?
The juice was sweet, sometimes kissed with tartness,
but always generous, spilling between my fingers.
I would laugh, my hands sticky, guilt pooling in my lap.
He would laugh louder, like the wind through the trees,
pointing at me, his eyes full of playful mischief.
"It’s not my fault, it’s the orange," I would protest.
"Or maybe it’s your fault, Abuelo."
Now the oranges watch me from the fruit bowl,
the same fragrance, the same sunlight in their skin.
I peel them with the same patience he once did,
though my hands are not his, though the laughter is softer now.
I break the fruit in two, feel its weight in my palms.
I look at my brother, my sister, whoever sits beside me.
"Take some, it's good for you."
And for a moment, his laughter finds its way home.
—vie.
*.ೃ༄
This poem is dedicated to my Abuelo ( grandpa ). Lately, my mom has been buying oranges more often than usual, oranges were my Abuelo’s favorite fruit, grief is a troubling thing to deal with and while I’ve grown accustomed to his absence. There isn’t a day that goes by where I do not think of him. I almost rarely never write poetry in my first language, learning English as a child has become my main language now, and while I do speak Spanish I don’t feel as proud of it was I used to due to my pronunciation on some words ( this applies when I speak English too, as some words are hard for me to say due to my lisp ). I’d like to think he’d liked this poem, probably brag about it, after all he was that type of man. Without getting more sentimental & dragging the caption longer then needed, my Abuelo was more than just my grandfather; he was a father figure in my life & a piece of him will always linger inside me just as the tears in my body never leaving.
*.ೃ༄
Q: should I post more poems in Spanish? I also have a couple of short stories, I’m not sure if you guys would be interested in that, would you?
NOTICE FOR PSYCHOTIC PEOPLES LIKE ME AND THE NEW TOMODACHI LIFE: Please please pretty pretty please be careful while playing Living the Dream, esp if you’re currently unmedicated!!!
The game treats the Miis like they’re real people and makes zero mention ever that they are not, and only ever refers to them and their POV as if they are real and you are their caretaker! While playing this honestly messed with my head pretty badly at times and made me worry a lot on if I was hurting real people/not doing enough for real people while I was playing!
I cannot imagine how much worse this would be for someone who’s unmedicated, non-dormant, or experiencing breakthrough symptoms! Do please be careful and PLEASE remember to have a way to reality check yourself while playing the game!!!
Also: If you’re not psychotic, please reblog this anyway!!! It may not seem like a big deal to you but these kinds of things are REALLY important to know for us psychotic folk in a world that is both hostile and negligent to us and our needs!!!
This doesn't affect me, but there's a possible scene in that dream where the miis have a conversation with a lamp where they say something that breaks the fourth wall (I don't remember what exactly), there's a brief moment of silence, and then suddenly the mii whips their head up to look directly "at you", then the dream ends. And while to me personally this was a funny "oh shit he can see me lol" moment, I did very much also immediately think that this is gonna fuck someone up.
Be careful about the lamp dream if you're sensitive about this stuff. Possibly skip it just to be safe
Please don't scroll past this message. It breaks my heart to think someone might see this post and ignore my plea without offering even a single word of support during this difficult time.
I am writing this with a heavy heart for my baby girl, who is only two months old. I recently took her to the doctor because her inner eyelids looked unusually pale, and I was absolutely devastated by the diagnosis: she is suffering from severe malnutrition.
The doctor explained that the severe malnutrition I endured during my pregnancy due to the famine is the root cause, and she now desperately needs medication. As a heartbroken mother, I am pleading with the world: please donate. Your help could save her life. 🙏
quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog
Ever since I was a little tadpole, I knew I wanted to spend my life in this tepid water that gets just a little warmer. and a little warmer. and a little warmer. and a
Like they tried to change Reblogs and people rightfully got up in arms, this is a LOT worse. In order to have access to any sort of thing dubbed mature, and We haveALL seen what they think is mature, Everything from a black and white photo of a black woman's arm, to posts about IUD recalls, to a nude painted by a 17th century artist, to anything involving the word Trans; you have to send your personal information to a third party site that WILL get hacked, and you will be doxxed. And they can say "Oh shit, well it wasn't us who sent your name address and gender identity to Moldovan teenagers, here's a couple extra minutes in the ball pit.
That's bad enough!!!!!!!! But the entire idea of needing permission from state authorities to access anything labeled mature by our friendly AI overlords is some fucking Boll shit. Die Gedenken Sind Frie baby. This is all a reaction to people getting uppity about their lowly lowly rights and is being propped up by the same bad actors tht have made life unlivable. Fuck that shit.
"Well it's only being rolled out in Brazil and UK" Yeah, to start. "Well they're being forced to do this by laws." YOu know it's always really funny when these tech giants (Or whatever you call owning tumblr dot com) get really antsy about laws considering they pick and choose which ones they abide by.
This is a breaking point and it's going to be very interesting to see how we proceed from here.
Hey there! I need to sell only 10 commissions in the next 4 days to be able to pay rent. I really really need to pay on time since my landlord told me that otherwise I will have to leave. He gave me many second chances in the past (as you guys know) but now I really have no other option. If you want to commission me, just hit me a DM. If you want to place your order or support me directly,
my ko-fi is ko-fi.com/itolynart Thanks for reading. To update:10/10slots available.
look at me, slow artist. it's ok, slow artist. whatever you spend time on will be worth it, slow artist. you'll look back at every second you've dedicated to your craft with gratitude for your patience and determination, slow artist. isn't it beautiful to live doing what you love. I love you, slow artist.
stephcass hallucinating each other is so funny because steph is always like Oh No My Pathetic Emotional Support Hallucinations, What a Shameful Coping Mechanism while cass is out here going hiiiii :) yay hallucisteph :) my best friend :) wow its been a while, missed you :)
and neither of them are telling each other for very opposing reasons
Murder mystery detectives aren't supposed to be sexy. They're not supposed to be alluring, or to be a POV character whose eyes you see things through. A detective is supposed to be like a cool weird bug that's crawling around on and around you and you're like ooh aren't you shiny and fun to look at- no wait don't go in there DON'T GO UP IN MY SLEEVE NONONONO don't snoop in there!
small dog you’re so funny when you snap
small dog you’re so funny when you shake
small dog you’re so bad when you bark
small dog you never learned the rules
small dog lays flat on the floor
and sighs and whines
while it waits for you to come back from wherever you go
all day small dog doesn’t know if you’re coming home
small dog hides under the bed to puke
does it quiet
eats its shame before you ever smell it
small dog’s bark is worse than its bite
small dog you are so funny when you bite
small dog it’s so funny when you’re mad
so by all means pick it up
throw it around
lock it in a cage while you laugh
small dog you are so funny when you cry
small dog can’t remember being a wolf
can’t remember being big
howling in harpstring harmony
like a plucked and quivering note in a catacomb
sleeping in a warm pile of bodies in a dry place that smells like family
the taste of fresh hot blood and wet bone
iron
fire
honey
salt
small dog run free beneath the moon in your dreams
small dog is so happy you’re home!!
small dog loves you!!!