every time i cry, i hear birds
their wings whisper things i can’t define
it’s eerie,
like death hums softly in my mind
are they warning,
or calling,
or both in disguise
their chatter feels holy,
their comfort unkind
—
here come the birds again
as i sit with this ache
their songs leak through
the cracks of morning
the cracks of my mourning
—
they always appear when i cry
like they know
what silence can’t say
maybe they’re angels in disguise
or maybe they’re just echoes
of everything i’m scared to lose
—
i close my eyes and i’m back there
—
the red couches
the smell of coffee from the greca
you’re calling my name from the kitchen
the same warmth
that could hush any storm
—
you’ve always been my favorite
you never hid it
never made me guess it
you raised me
the best you could
and though you made mistakes
my love never bent
—
your home was my escape
the only place that felt like home
—
everywhere else i was running
from noise
from eyes
from walls that didn’t feel mine
but never with you
—
in your presence
i never felt displaced
your house was the stillness
i prayed for
a safety i couldn’t find anywhere else
—
i think of luz
the light in meaning
the light in you
the only light
my life has ever known
—
and yet
in my mind
the birds stay dark
because you haven’t joined them yet
—
they wait
fluttering in the shadow between worlds
their songs half-formed
their wings not ready to glow
—
am i foolish
for planting these thoughts in my head
knowing you haven’t gone yet
—
maybe i’m just trying to cope
with a bad dream
i haven’t awoke from
a grief rehearsed before its cue
because if i wait
i may not know what to do
—
i pray to you in the dark
when i feel like no one hears me
—
to be loved
is to be seen
and i know
you’ll never take your eyes off me
—
am i preparing for the worst
or does my soul already know what’s near
—
when you go to heaven
you’ll grow your angel wings
you’ll stretch them wide
and lighten the sky
above puerto rico
where rivers run toward the sun
—
Luz river
Luz Rivera
—
your spirit returning home
to run toward the light
that’s been calling you all along
—
this isn’t a eulogy
not a death note
but i wish it was me
running toward the light
as i’ve been doing my whole life
—
how do i live
when a part of me goes
what’s worse
is that i can write it
but can’t say the words aloud
—
i don’t know how to talk to you
or how to comfort irene
even as i break
i push away the comfort
God brings me
—
you raised a strong woman
but when the woman
who taught me strength grows weak
what do i do
—
it kills me knowing i can’t help
that i can’t trade places
i’m not suicidal
but i’d take your place
in a heartbeat
—
give you my youth
my lungs
my life
—
you’re not gone yet
but i fear the silence that’ll follow
the way it might steal my words
the way it might dull my pen
—
i pray you make it through the holidays
that you reach one-two-three
that you beat the odds
and stay a little longer
—
maybe it’s selfish
to ask time for more
but i’ve never been good
at letting go
of what’s mine
—
and here come the birds again
as i tear while writing this
everything i look at
reminds me of you
in some quiet way
—
oh, how i wish you could stay
how i wish
God could hear me pray
—
the wind hums your name
the air holds your scent
and i’m stuck
between wanting to believe
and knowing what belief costs
—
every sound feels like a sign
every silence feels like loss
—
but when the day comes
and you join their flight
the birds won’t sound so eerie
they’ll sound like light
—
they’ll carry your laughter
your warmth
your grace
and i’ll know
you’ve finally found your place
—
and if i close my eyes again
i’ll see you
—
pink shirt
white linen pants
slippers mom bought
smiling at the sky
—
you’ll whisper
“la luz à la luz”
and i’ll understand
—
this isn’t goodbye
—
just the birds
returning
—
just the light
shifting
—
just me
mourning
—

You will speak to me again — I know you will.
Not in Spanish this time, and not in the words I’ve always struggled to find in English.
You’ll speak to me in dreams, in visions, in the subtle ways the world rearranges itself when love refuses to die. You’ll speak through signs I can’t explain — the birds at my window, the songs that play at the right time, the moments where I’ll swear I can smell the coffee from your greca again.
There was always a language barrier between us, but love translated everything we couldn’t say. Soon, there will be a distance barrier too — one that separates this world from the next — and yet, I know that won’t stop you either. Because our love has never depended on closeness. It’s survived silence, space, pride, and pain. It’s endured every kind of absence.
When you go, you won’t vanish. You’ll just shift forms — become light, wind, memory. I’ll find you in the flicker of candles, in the lull of morning, in the birds that return when I cry. Maybe they’ll finally stop sounding so dark once you join them — maybe then their song will make sense.
And when you do come to me, I’ll answer. Not in words, but in the way I live. In the discipline, the patience, the strength you taught me without ever having to name it. I’ll respond in action — in the small, deliberate ways I carry you forward. Because that’s what we’ve always done: we’ve spoken across worlds, across tongues, across everything meant to divide us.
You were my home before I understood what home meant. You were the only light that never dimmed, even when life tried to bury it. And when the day comes that you run toward the light — your light — I’ll still be here, walking in it.
This isn’t goodbye. It’s just another translation of love —
one spoken through dreams, heard through memory,
and understood in the language of the soul. Say Hello to Mariley for me, as my heart mourns for her daily but wasn’t give the chance to cope prior!