Woman, look at this body you have created.
Look at the skin you’ve caressed,
the skin you’ve scrubbed raw, trying
to feel clean again.
Look at the face you’ve examined
so many times
through the looking glass:
the bump on the bridge of your once-broken
nose, the indentation of chicken pox
by your right eye, the lips you nibble
till they crack and bleed.
Look at the shoulders
you’ve stooped and straightened
and tensed.
Look at the arms that reach out
and carry, the arms that hug your rib cage
to hold yourself in.
Look at the scars,
the trenches and valleys you’ve torn
by accident
or not accident,
raised and red and tender.
Look at the hips
where you have perched children
and clothesbaskets.
Look at the belly
that aches and rumbles,
shrinks and grows.
Look at the legs,
knock-kneed and stubbly.
Look at the feet you drag and shuffle
and blister, the feet you thrust out
in practiced kicks.
Look, Woman,
look close and long
at what is real.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
tale of the raping woods
feel free to leave feedback, good and bad. I'm trying to improve this.
When our eyes met
I heard your cries-
roars rumbling round ripping ruckus
among the golden skirt of leaves
that twirls along the forest floors;
the forest I fought to escape...
In an instant, I’m brought back to
Skies screaming silver torrents down
beating bruises into our limbs...
Your crime-pain fused with mine.
On legs fast and nimble,
they carried me here
where I found you,
in the forest of fear
among the pines and the elms.
But someone found you before I did,
in your grace,
beaten and oddly blue,
choking on the very secret
we all long to tell.
Our innocence a match
our pain the flame.
And all it took,
was a flick of flint and embers
among the floor
and those golden skirts of leaves whirled in rage red.
Flames licking the gnarled eyes-
burning the vice limbs of the raping woods...
and then the trees were no more.
Their snickers and taunts,
chased by the most northern wind
were swallowed by a mother elm with her wise laugh.
Evil now trapped-
and gnashing within the maternal womb
of the wood,
thrashing against the strength and innocence,
of a thousand women captured in a hollow tree.
Never again a tale to be told of spilled youth,
draining into the roots of the land,
mixing with our tears, our maiden-blood, and our nightmares.
It ballooned up into an eternal inferno,
that burns still between every acknowledgement of injustice
and every nod of vengeance paid.
When our eyes met
I heard your cries-
roars rumbling round ripping ruckus
among the golden skirt of leaves
that twirls along the forest floors;
the forest I fought to escape...
In an instant, I’m brought back to
Skies screaming silver torrents down
beating bruises into our limbs...
Your crime-pain fused with mine.
On legs fast and nimble,
they carried me here
where I found you,
in the forest of fear
among the pines and the elms.
But someone found you before I did,
in your grace,
beaten and oddly blue,
choking on the very secret
we all long to tell.
Our innocence a match
our pain the flame.
And all it took,
was a flick of flint and embers
among the floor
and those golden skirts of leaves whirled in rage red.
Flames licking the gnarled eyes-
burning the vice limbs of the raping woods...
and then the trees were no more.
Their snickers and taunts,
chased by the most northern wind
were swallowed by a mother elm with her wise laugh.
Evil now trapped-
and gnashing within the maternal womb
of the wood,
thrashing against the strength and innocence,
of a thousand women captured in a hollow tree.
Never again a tale to be told of spilled youth,
draining into the roots of the land,
mixing with our tears, our maiden-blood, and our nightmares.
It ballooned up into an eternal inferno,
that burns still between every acknowledgement of injustice
and every nod of vengeance paid.
Monday, May 17, 2010
a saint in every dream
I've been sleeping for the last 9 nights in a row. Amazing. not just a little either. I'm talking an average of 6 hours each time of mostly uninterrupted sleep.
I didn't use medication or anything. I just went to bed and fell asleep; as I imagine most normal people do. and it's good.
On the other hand, my work life has been a bit insane. Everyone is freaking out about if they have a job or not next year. This is a normal thing to freak out about but personally, i just don't see the point. Most of the people who are worried are pretty awful at their jobs and I say, good riddance if they are gone after this year. I love my kids and i'm good at my job, so I don't see the point in worrying about that.
besides, there's plenty of other more important things to worry about. like my kids for example...
K and T are siblings. I teach both of them in different classes. On friday, I noticed K was a bit out of sorts in class, and I asked why T hadn't been in class earlier in the day. He mumbled something and put his head down... Later he approached me, as I stood teaching, with a scribbled note telling me he didn't want to get mad and get in trouble so he was gonna go sit in the hall for a bit. These kids often lack the words and language for how they are feeling so I let it be... i went to check on K after awhile and he confided his home had been broken into at 3am and that his mom and sister were pistol whipped and "hurt", as was his father and uncle. he was roughed up a bit, but mostly just forced to watch... the ultimate shame.
i didn't really let that settle into me... I just let the words hang there in the air for a few more moments. i didn't want to take them in. They could have killed him, but they wanted to hurt him, and they did that through his family. I knew there was much more there than i wanted to know... and i just didn't want my mind working to figure out all that he hadn't told me. I wanted to blot it out, and I did.
I just started asking questions, trying to keep him talking and trying to help him find the words to match the emotions he was feeling... he wanted to go home and get his gun and handle the people who did this to him, the people who shamed him and his whole family. He knows who they are, but he won't snitch. The moral code of the hood: snitches are bitches, and he's no bitch. If something needs handling, you do it yourself, not by hiding behind the po-po, or the law. he's talks a big game about retribution, but part of him is scared- scared cause he's not that kind of kid. not really. he's a big kid and he looks all hardcore thug, and plays the role often for his friends, but deep down he's got a heart of gold and he isn't lost... yet.
I asked him to sit in my room for the day, just to process his thoughts and not get all caught up in the anger. I knew his friends would get him worked up and only add fuel to the fire already burning inside him. I stood there looking at him trying to process his life and the situations that have lead to him being who he is. I kept remembering how the day before in class we listened to and deciphered the lyrics to "I'm So Hood". We discussed the song at length and k kept quoting "You can't even blame me, it's what the hood made me"-- Our debate in class was about an individuals responsibility for their own actions. Through every novel and poem on the curriculum the kids were adamant that they are all still individuals and responsible for their own choices and actions. But with this song, and not the ultra white conservative curriculum, things were different. They had a whole new outlook. The hood could change you, it could make you turn into someone who had no moral guage, and society was to blame for that... They couldn't see this song as a piece of literature that provided insight into a culture and time period- instead it was their safety, their anthem, and definitely not literary...
I worked hard to keep the rest of what he said from entering my mind when his sister, T, approached. She was beaten badly, her face swollen and bruised, with fresh stitches on her head and face. It hurt to see her. She said she had just been released from the hospital and wanted to get some work so she didn't fall behind. i told her the work didn't matter, she should be at home, resting... She said she didn't want to be there cause she was nervous about the test results from the rape kit coming back; she just wanted to move on. I acted unaffected by this statement, following her casual lead. K got up and walked the hall not wanting to hear the words that followed. Her eyes filled with tears as she described the terror of the men busting through the door and tieing her up, then shooting at her younger sister (and thankfully missing, twice). Then she told me about the man who sodomized their father and uncle with a gun while she was tied up, then the 4 men who gang-raped their mother while holding a gun to her head. hitting her with it when she cried...
then, when they were done with her mom, they each had their turn with her--
she told me how she closed her eyes to forget and make it all go away.
I wanted to fall over. The words kept hitting me and whirling around in my head. I couldn't look at her without seeing the pain and fear she had just endured.
and she came to school hours after this incident so she wouldn't fall behind. WTF
and what about him, K? men broke in to shame his family, to take the power from K who is running the block and making more money than anyone else... the business he inherited from the men in his family... They wanted more power, so they busted in roughed him up and took it from his family and him. Animals. I can't lecture him for the life he leads, and besides that the kid has enough guilt weighing him down after this incident. he doesn't need to be lectured, he needs to be shown another way...
and all of this, this perspective of MINE, what it felt like for ME, is nothing compared to what it was for them. This is their life and this happened to them, and they're picking their heads up and moving right along. going through the motions, continuing the oppression- the example that has been set forth is that no one cares, they know it, they feel it and they accept it. I'm still trying to process how the fuck this shit goes on- and better yet, WHY- - and they are moving forward as they are expected to do.
so, as i was saying, there are more important things than worrying about bev p's fucking budget and if i'll have a job next year... i'm worried about my kids and everything else just doesn't seem as important.
What do you tell a kid who has just experienced all of this.... how do you support them? They both were in school today, seemingly unphased & untouched, but something in them has been forever altered and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
that kind of history puts a saint in every dream.
I didn't use medication or anything. I just went to bed and fell asleep; as I imagine most normal people do. and it's good.
On the other hand, my work life has been a bit insane. Everyone is freaking out about if they have a job or not next year. This is a normal thing to freak out about but personally, i just don't see the point. Most of the people who are worried are pretty awful at their jobs and I say, good riddance if they are gone after this year. I love my kids and i'm good at my job, so I don't see the point in worrying about that.
besides, there's plenty of other more important things to worry about. like my kids for example...
K and T are siblings. I teach both of them in different classes. On friday, I noticed K was a bit out of sorts in class, and I asked why T hadn't been in class earlier in the day. He mumbled something and put his head down... Later he approached me, as I stood teaching, with a scribbled note telling me he didn't want to get mad and get in trouble so he was gonna go sit in the hall for a bit. These kids often lack the words and language for how they are feeling so I let it be... i went to check on K after awhile and he confided his home had been broken into at 3am and that his mom and sister were pistol whipped and "hurt", as was his father and uncle. he was roughed up a bit, but mostly just forced to watch... the ultimate shame.
i didn't really let that settle into me... I just let the words hang there in the air for a few more moments. i didn't want to take them in. They could have killed him, but they wanted to hurt him, and they did that through his family. I knew there was much more there than i wanted to know... and i just didn't want my mind working to figure out all that he hadn't told me. I wanted to blot it out, and I did.
I just started asking questions, trying to keep him talking and trying to help him find the words to match the emotions he was feeling... he wanted to go home and get his gun and handle the people who did this to him, the people who shamed him and his whole family. He knows who they are, but he won't snitch. The moral code of the hood: snitches are bitches, and he's no bitch. If something needs handling, you do it yourself, not by hiding behind the po-po, or the law. he's talks a big game about retribution, but part of him is scared- scared cause he's not that kind of kid. not really. he's a big kid and he looks all hardcore thug, and plays the role often for his friends, but deep down he's got a heart of gold and he isn't lost... yet.
I asked him to sit in my room for the day, just to process his thoughts and not get all caught up in the anger. I knew his friends would get him worked up and only add fuel to the fire already burning inside him. I stood there looking at him trying to process his life and the situations that have lead to him being who he is. I kept remembering how the day before in class we listened to and deciphered the lyrics to "I'm So Hood". We discussed the song at length and k kept quoting "You can't even blame me, it's what the hood made me"-- Our debate in class was about an individuals responsibility for their own actions. Through every novel and poem on the curriculum the kids were adamant that they are all still individuals and responsible for their own choices and actions. But with this song, and not the ultra white conservative curriculum, things were different. They had a whole new outlook. The hood could change you, it could make you turn into someone who had no moral guage, and society was to blame for that... They couldn't see this song as a piece of literature that provided insight into a culture and time period- instead it was their safety, their anthem, and definitely not literary...
I worked hard to keep the rest of what he said from entering my mind when his sister, T, approached. She was beaten badly, her face swollen and bruised, with fresh stitches on her head and face. It hurt to see her. She said she had just been released from the hospital and wanted to get some work so she didn't fall behind. i told her the work didn't matter, she should be at home, resting... She said she didn't want to be there cause she was nervous about the test results from the rape kit coming back; she just wanted to move on. I acted unaffected by this statement, following her casual lead. K got up and walked the hall not wanting to hear the words that followed. Her eyes filled with tears as she described the terror of the men busting through the door and tieing her up, then shooting at her younger sister (and thankfully missing, twice). Then she told me about the man who sodomized their father and uncle with a gun while she was tied up, then the 4 men who gang-raped their mother while holding a gun to her head. hitting her with it when she cried...
then, when they were done with her mom, they each had their turn with her--
she told me how she closed her eyes to forget and make it all go away.
I wanted to fall over. The words kept hitting me and whirling around in my head. I couldn't look at her without seeing the pain and fear she had just endured.
and she came to school hours after this incident so she wouldn't fall behind. WTF
and what about him, K? men broke in to shame his family, to take the power from K who is running the block and making more money than anyone else... the business he inherited from the men in his family... They wanted more power, so they busted in roughed him up and took it from his family and him. Animals. I can't lecture him for the life he leads, and besides that the kid has enough guilt weighing him down after this incident. he doesn't need to be lectured, he needs to be shown another way...
and all of this, this perspective of MINE, what it felt like for ME, is nothing compared to what it was for them. This is their life and this happened to them, and they're picking their heads up and moving right along. going through the motions, continuing the oppression- the example that has been set forth is that no one cares, they know it, they feel it and they accept it. I'm still trying to process how the fuck this shit goes on- and better yet, WHY- - and they are moving forward as they are expected to do.
so, as i was saying, there are more important things than worrying about bev p's fucking budget and if i'll have a job next year... i'm worried about my kids and everything else just doesn't seem as important.
What do you tell a kid who has just experienced all of this.... how do you support them? They both were in school today, seemingly unphased & untouched, but something in them has been forever altered and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
that kind of history puts a saint in every dream.
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