Hello Mexico City!
La Ciudad de Los Angeles?
Oh wait, that's Los Angeles.
I remember you, D.F.
Being amazed at your velocity,
The way you managed to maintain
that old world feel
in a metropolis of speed.
But I wonder
If you remember me.
I'm that lonely presence
that spent Sundays
listening to The Beatles,
All You Need,
As I walked from UNAM
to the hipster, anti-fresa
hangout, where tourists
bought Xicano tee's
and Aztec objects.
I walked with Los Beatles
and stared, sometimes spoke
to a European exile
but mostly looked and looked
hoping to see friend or family member.
I didn't ask much of you
and maybe that was the problem.
You wanted me to want you
to be wrapped in your passions
your people.
I liked your museums
and the metro, I adored.
Xochimilco flowered me
with a Mother's warmth.
But I ignored your narrow streets,
where one had to go deep,
to see.
That I didn't see,
that's why I cried.
I cried for home.
For mi lengua nativa,
mi familia, comunidad.
Mexico City, you made me
feel alone, depressed.
Or did you?
I'm sorry I left in such a scramble.
I didn't say goodbye
and hoped you'd understand.
I wanted to let you know,
It wasn't you, but me.
I do miss thee, Me hi co
but don't know if you feel the same.
Que rica problem.
Perhaps you never cared,
That's what scares me.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Psalm 39
5: "You have made my days a mere
handbreath;
the span of my years is as nothing
before you.
Everyone is but a breath,
even those who seem secure.
6: Surely everyone goes around like a
mere phantom;
in vain they rush about, heaping up
wealth
without knowing whose it will finally
be.
13: Look away from me, that I may enjoy
life again
before I depart and am no more."
handbreath;
the span of my years is as nothing
before you.
Everyone is but a breath,
even those who seem secure.
6: Surely everyone goes around like a
mere phantom;
in vain they rush about, heaping up
wealth
without knowing whose it will finally
be.
13: Look away from me, that I may enjoy
life again
before I depart and am no more."
Friday, October 9, 2009
A Poem for Water
Land of many rivers,
where crystal water once
flowed like honey.
Not a mustard honey
for sandwich meat,
but a golden honey,
more precious than its color.
This land where woman rose
and tasted the first fruits
of the garden.
This land where man
tended to the cucumbers call,
and the orange carrots cry.
Water reigned on this land
and flowed with the moving earth,
tugged at the dirt,
played with the rocks
and laughed, tickling tadpoles.
You were so happy then,
water,
baptizing life,
making things new.
But now you're gone
and the earth mourns its dear friend.
Why did you stop tickling the tadpole?
Did he hurt your name?
Forgive us, your lovers, water,
then we can caress one another, again.
Surely we will wait on the one
who baptizes us
and gives life.
Surely you will return,
dear,
blue
friend.
where crystal water once
flowed like honey.
Not a mustard honey
for sandwich meat,
but a golden honey,
more precious than its color.
This land where woman rose
and tasted the first fruits
of the garden.
This land where man
tended to the cucumbers call,
and the orange carrots cry.
Water reigned on this land
and flowed with the moving earth,
tugged at the dirt,
played with the rocks
and laughed, tickling tadpoles.
You were so happy then,
water,
baptizing life,
making things new.
But now you're gone
and the earth mourns its dear friend.
Why did you stop tickling the tadpole?
Did he hurt your name?
Forgive us, your lovers, water,
then we can caress one another, again.
Surely we will wait on the one
who baptizes us
and gives life.
Surely you will return,
dear,
blue
friend.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
So I've only read the first chapter of Dan Chaon's novel, "You Remind Me of Me", but wow!, it's vivid, powerful and very sad. The descriptions are amazing as well as the randomness which is all too real and by the end of the first chapter, you need a break, perhaps a long one to emotionally stabilize yourself. Dan teaches creative writing somewhere, I forget, and he mentioned in an interview that he usually begins stories with an image that won't escape his head. Usually an intense image, strange; those are always the best. He writes about depressed, Mid-western characters, and the chapter I read is all about the most depressed 6 year old boy you'll ever meet. In class today, we were assigned to go outside and describe what we saw, as if we were a camera hovering over life from a helicopter and we slowly zoomed our lenses in. Here's what I came up with:
The light is bright, like 10,000 summer days compacted to fit on the tip of my finger and then flicked off into the sky. The trees below are as tall as 5,000 clay bricks, piled one on top of the other, creating a haven for the flying workers. A place to not only rest their red, orange and black beaks, but to sing songs for the humans below. The humans huddle between boring brown buildings which match the mess on their heads. The rustling green columns above seem to be inviting these humans to the concert which is about to begin as each bird hums its vowels, smoothing out the curves of each sound. But the humans don't hear because their ears are connected only to their guts, through many canals and fleshy pink tubes. Their ears succumb to these gnawing, viscousy guts. A little less bright now, the light turns its attention to its feathery children, where a momentous event is ready to begin.
The light is bright, like 10,000 summer days compacted to fit on the tip of my finger and then flicked off into the sky. The trees below are as tall as 5,000 clay bricks, piled one on top of the other, creating a haven for the flying workers. A place to not only rest their red, orange and black beaks, but to sing songs for the humans below. The humans huddle between boring brown buildings which match the mess on their heads. The rustling green columns above seem to be inviting these humans to the concert which is about to begin as each bird hums its vowels, smoothing out the curves of each sound. But the humans don't hear because their ears are connected only to their guts, through many canals and fleshy pink tubes. Their ears succumb to these gnawing, viscousy guts. A little less bright now, the light turns its attention to its feathery children, where a momentous event is ready to begin.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Background info on Amelia, a character I'm developing
“6 or 7 Things I Know About Her”
Her Mother’s Power Suits and 1st Criticism
The first shopping mall experience she can remember was when she was barely 6 years old and had just learned to read her first book, The Little Prince. The women shopping, all the clothes and obnoxious noises, was nothing like the prince’s world. She already knew what she dreamed of becoming, the Moon Princess. Her mother, with an arm full of power suits, steered her into the dressing room. What a strange smell, she thought of the polyester, deciding that as a princess she’d never wear such a thing. The room attendant, nosy as she was, desired deeply to see what Mom looked like in the suit. “Oh heavens, don’t you look like a woman on a mission. Doesn’t your mother look lovely”, she asked. The young girl shyly smiled. “Don’t you want to be a professional woman with power, like your Mom,” she hotly breathed over the girl’s pigtails. “I wanna be a princess and live on the moon,” she said, twirling like a ballerina. That made the strange woman laugh out loud. The chubby attendant with painted eyebrows finally caught her breath and said, “Oh honey, that’s quite a dream, but I’ve never seen a princess as dark as you. You better have a back-up plan.” The little girl quickly turned to her Mom, who she was sure would tell this woman that she could still be a princess, but Mom was busy staring at her suit in the mirror.
Dad’s Tickling Hands
He always tickled them. He would hover over Amelia and her sister and tickle their abdomens until not even a cry could escape their mouths. He even tickled the neighbor, Amelia’s best friend who looked like Sleeping Beauty. Dad always called her la guera, but never in front of her parents. Amelia always had friends over, for birthday parties, her parent’s bible studies, or just because. She can’t remember why her neighbor spent the night on that day, she can’t really remember anything from that night. But she knows her father must have tickled the girl because after that he went away and Amelia wasn’t allowed to see blondie anymore.
The Classroom
The kinder garden teacher must have been really naïve. The blocks, puzzles, even a few stuffed animals, were all cute and fine for a pre-schooler, but this was the age to start learning famous quotes so Amelia could discover where she fit in on the playground. Some of the children must have had really intelligent parents who weren’t raised in a small village in Mexico. Their kids were cooler than Amelia. Like Cassie and Jeremy. How else would they know to steal away at nap time, hide under the table, and touch one another’s lips together, tasting tongues?
Listening In
Past her bed time in the lightless room, her head is completely submerged beneath the sheets. “Please, Jesus, don’t let them touch me. There’s too many of them.” She squeezes her eyes shut so tightly, wishing they’ll pop.
Self-Criticism
“I never wanted to be a girl, especially not a dark girl. Well besides the time I wanted to be a princess. But after that I always imagined cutting off my boobs, but what about down there?
Fantasies
Amelia always wanted to be the one under the kinder garden table kissing Jeremy, but she was always too afraid of her father’s jealousy.
Her Mother’s Power Suits and 1st Criticism
The first shopping mall experience she can remember was when she was barely 6 years old and had just learned to read her first book, The Little Prince. The women shopping, all the clothes and obnoxious noises, was nothing like the prince’s world. She already knew what she dreamed of becoming, the Moon Princess. Her mother, with an arm full of power suits, steered her into the dressing room. What a strange smell, she thought of the polyester, deciding that as a princess she’d never wear such a thing. The room attendant, nosy as she was, desired deeply to see what Mom looked like in the suit. “Oh heavens, don’t you look like a woman on a mission. Doesn’t your mother look lovely”, she asked. The young girl shyly smiled. “Don’t you want to be a professional woman with power, like your Mom,” she hotly breathed over the girl’s pigtails. “I wanna be a princess and live on the moon,” she said, twirling like a ballerina. That made the strange woman laugh out loud. The chubby attendant with painted eyebrows finally caught her breath and said, “Oh honey, that’s quite a dream, but I’ve never seen a princess as dark as you. You better have a back-up plan.” The little girl quickly turned to her Mom, who she was sure would tell this woman that she could still be a princess, but Mom was busy staring at her suit in the mirror.
Dad’s Tickling Hands
He always tickled them. He would hover over Amelia and her sister and tickle their abdomens until not even a cry could escape their mouths. He even tickled the neighbor, Amelia’s best friend who looked like Sleeping Beauty. Dad always called her la guera, but never in front of her parents. Amelia always had friends over, for birthday parties, her parent’s bible studies, or just because. She can’t remember why her neighbor spent the night on that day, she can’t really remember anything from that night. But she knows her father must have tickled the girl because after that he went away and Amelia wasn’t allowed to see blondie anymore.
The Classroom
The kinder garden teacher must have been really naïve. The blocks, puzzles, even a few stuffed animals, were all cute and fine for a pre-schooler, but this was the age to start learning famous quotes so Amelia could discover where she fit in on the playground. Some of the children must have had really intelligent parents who weren’t raised in a small village in Mexico. Their kids were cooler than Amelia. Like Cassie and Jeremy. How else would they know to steal away at nap time, hide under the table, and touch one another’s lips together, tasting tongues?
Listening In
Past her bed time in the lightless room, her head is completely submerged beneath the sheets. “Please, Jesus, don’t let them touch me. There’s too many of them.” She squeezes her eyes shut so tightly, wishing they’ll pop.
Self-Criticism
“I never wanted to be a girl, especially not a dark girl. Well besides the time I wanted to be a princess. But after that I always imagined cutting off my boobs, but what about down there?
Fantasies
Amelia always wanted to be the one under the kinder garden table kissing Jeremy, but she was always too afraid of her father’s jealousy.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
www.fccethiopia.com
If I grew up in Africa, would I know what a starburst was? What about a bursting star? Or a burst of stars? Would I feel differently about stars? If a small village in Africa was all I knew, would I know how to tie my shoe? Would I even have a shoe to tie? Would shoes matter to me? I was born in America and shoes do matter to me. Sometimes I wish they didn’t, but I put them on every morning before I leave the house. Sometimes I even wear one of my many pairs of different colored shoes within the walls of the house, even though the floors of our home is clean, not covered in dust or dirt. And sometimes I spend time cleaning my shoes, either in the fancy washing machine, which uses gallons of water, or I take a fancy toothbrush with a soft rubber handle for a comfortable grip, and I carefully brush clean my slightly worn shoes, one square inch at a time. Great care is put into these shoes so that they always appear just right, as if every day was their first. The care I put into my shoes is quite impressive, I’ve actually just impressed myself thinking about it and that says a lot because I am not impressed easily! I’m not even sure why I care so much about shoes. Like I mentioned before, if I had, by chance, been born and raised in a small African village, say in Ethiopia or Sudan, would I have ever been the owner and caretaker of a pair of shoes? Perhaps no. What, then, would I have spent time doing in order to impress others as well as myself? Maybe I should go to Africa, a small village, meet a girl my age and ask her what she does to impress herself. Maybe I’d discover that secretly she dreams of owning a pair of Air Force Ones, along with a rubber gripped tooth brush, so she could spend time cleaning away all the dust and admiring her hard work. Or maybe she wouldn’t. But I think maybe she does. I think that because I think we can’t, as young women, be all that different, right? Deep down, where we can’t reach to clean with a toothbrush, even the extra professional ones, maybe we’re the same, give or take some dust and dirt. I’d like to hope so, at least. I just wish it was easier to reach her and offer a newer pair of my shoes…
Thursday, October 1, 2009
No one's perfect! That's why we Need Jesus.
I feel sad. Sooo, soooo, sooooooooo…..Sad! This sadness I feel for humanity is
overwhelming and I have no idea what to do about it; surely the world is coming to an end soon, yet there is something I’m happy about! Well more than one thing, many things in fact. But I still feel sad! I’m glad I’m getting married next year to the one I love dearly and I’m glad I’m not working a 9-5 job right now, those things really kill you! What’s really eating away at me though, is the disturbing situation between my parents. I mean, no one truly likes watching their parent’s marriage fall apart before their eyes, do they? Or maybe I’m just an idealist with too many hopes and dreams for humankind.
Maybe people do like watching their parent’s marriage fall apart! Right? I mean, you always hear people talking crap about their parents and wishing ills upon them, so maybe it makes most people feel a sense of relief when their parents finally go psycho and threaten to kill one another!! If little Bobby didn’t mean to call his Mom a whore and his Dad a wicked midget slut, then why did he open his mouth? People mean what they say right? Like when I tell my fiancé I love him, I mean it! And when I’ll tell my future daughter she’s the prettiest girl in the world, I’ll mean it! So when my Mom told my Dad he was an F-in A-hole (except she said the real thing), she meant it, right? And to think, growing up I believed my parents truly loved one another! That when they said, “I love you, dear”, they really meant it! You would think the world would have made me more cynical by now, after all the pain and lies I’ve experienced, but no, not really. In fact, I’m more hopeful about the future now than ever! Would you like to know the secret to my positive outlook? Well, it has to do with two words, faith and doubt! I’ve learned to have faith in a God who loves me, and I’ve learned to never doubt Him when he tells me, “Sarah, I love you”! Doubt is a wicked and base creature that leads us to being all sorts of crazy, like jealous and deceptive, cheating and murderous. So I try my bestest not to doubt because I don’t want to turn into a cheating, lying and jealous midget hater! Especially since midgets are the coolest ever because they’re miniature sized humans and all things mini are cute!
But this situation with my parents is not mini and it’s punching me in the gut, daily, telling me to doubt, doubt, doubt! “Doubt Love!”, it screams out, every time my Mom confides in me about what a lazy, jerk my Father is. Does she really think I enjoy hearing this? And when I tell her that he’s only human, she quips back, “I just made brownies, they’re super good!” Brownies? Sure, I’ll take a brownie and I’ll eat it and forget all about words like suicide, double homicide, cancer of the throat and others, that nothing like a little chocolate can’t cure! But yeah, I love my Mom and I love my Dad! With all my heart! And when I say it, I mean it!!
I’m an idealist who believes I have it all figured out but still those closest to me are suffering. Suffering, suffering everywhere! Why can’t they see what I see?!? Live the life of a bee in a tree, never hungry and always free! Yet, still, if one suffers, we all suffer, and this is truth. As long as there is breath there will be suffering. The point is to have hope in the midst of suffering, but I’m not so sure that’s as easy as it sounds! Well not for everyone! Zounds!
overwhelming and I have no idea what to do about it; surely the world is coming to an end soon, yet there is something I’m happy about! Well more than one thing, many things in fact. But I still feel sad! I’m glad I’m getting married next year to the one I love dearly and I’m glad I’m not working a 9-5 job right now, those things really kill you! What’s really eating away at me though, is the disturbing situation between my parents. I mean, no one truly likes watching their parent’s marriage fall apart before their eyes, do they? Or maybe I’m just an idealist with too many hopes and dreams for humankind.
Maybe people do like watching their parent’s marriage fall apart! Right? I mean, you always hear people talking crap about their parents and wishing ills upon them, so maybe it makes most people feel a sense of relief when their parents finally go psycho and threaten to kill one another!! If little Bobby didn’t mean to call his Mom a whore and his Dad a wicked midget slut, then why did he open his mouth? People mean what they say right? Like when I tell my fiancé I love him, I mean it! And when I’ll tell my future daughter she’s the prettiest girl in the world, I’ll mean it! So when my Mom told my Dad he was an F-in A-hole (except she said the real thing), she meant it, right? And to think, growing up I believed my parents truly loved one another! That when they said, “I love you, dear”, they really meant it! You would think the world would have made me more cynical by now, after all the pain and lies I’ve experienced, but no, not really. In fact, I’m more hopeful about the future now than ever! Would you like to know the secret to my positive outlook? Well, it has to do with two words, faith and doubt! I’ve learned to have faith in a God who loves me, and I’ve learned to never doubt Him when he tells me, “Sarah, I love you”! Doubt is a wicked and base creature that leads us to being all sorts of crazy, like jealous and deceptive, cheating and murderous. So I try my bestest not to doubt because I don’t want to turn into a cheating, lying and jealous midget hater! Especially since midgets are the coolest ever because they’re miniature sized humans and all things mini are cute!
But this situation with my parents is not mini and it’s punching me in the gut, daily, telling me to doubt, doubt, doubt! “Doubt Love!”, it screams out, every time my Mom confides in me about what a lazy, jerk my Father is. Does she really think I enjoy hearing this? And when I tell her that he’s only human, she quips back, “I just made brownies, they’re super good!” Brownies? Sure, I’ll take a brownie and I’ll eat it and forget all about words like suicide, double homicide, cancer of the throat and others, that nothing like a little chocolate can’t cure! But yeah, I love my Mom and I love my Dad! With all my heart! And when I say it, I mean it!!
I’m an idealist who believes I have it all figured out but still those closest to me are suffering. Suffering, suffering everywhere! Why can’t they see what I see?!? Live the life of a bee in a tree, never hungry and always free! Yet, still, if one suffers, we all suffer, and this is truth. As long as there is breath there will be suffering. The point is to have hope in the midst of suffering, but I’m not so sure that’s as easy as it sounds! Well not for everyone! Zounds!
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