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Luiza's Inner Art DogYou really need to take yours out for a walk! January 15 Fallenin your eyes i got lost
and i fell
by your sweet smile
I was besotten
further fell
falling
quickly falling
never looking down
The net you promised
was full of holes
Today
I hit the ground December 29 Mother: A very short storyHis head is in my lap—my hands stroke his hair. Glassy-eyed, he tries to focus and cannot. “Ma…” he tries to speak. “Shh, don’t try to talk” I say and take his hand. It’s cold. Shock has drained the colour from his face. My heart pounds in my chest as if challenging his to beat harder too. His eyes slowly close, his stillness almost peaceful. Almost. Except for the bright red stain spreading from his head into the fabric of my dress. He shudders and a small voice in my head reminds me that this child is in need of a mother’s love. Abruptly he opens his eyes. They are focused now and intently he stares into my own teary eyes. “I love you mom” he says and then, with a long breath like a sigh, he is gone. The taxi driver sits with head in hands, praying and crying. Other passengers stop examining their cuts and bruises. An eerie quiet has fallen. “I heard him say… well, what I mean is… are you his mother?” a young girl holding a handkerchief to her head asks. “Sometimes, I am everyone’s mother” I reply and cover this son with a sarong. NOTE: I wrote this in Thailand after hearing about yet another accident that took the life of yet another young backpacker far from home on holiday. I like to think that my own children are surrounded too by angel mothers everywhere they go.
September 01 Tollbooth SmileThe guy at the tollboth
says
"Good Morning"
to me
It's after noon
nearly two
I smile as I accelerate
And wonder how he knew February 04 At Times Such as theseAt times such as these, when I'm struggling to remember the name of that bird the one that's new to our yard the one that walks upside down to the suet feeder and now saying its name "nuthatch, nuthatch, nuthatch" after looking it up in "Birds of Maine"
At times such as these I pray with all my heart Dear God, don't let me forget
The touch of my children's hands on my face The warmth of small bodies suckling
First teeth, first steps, first days of school Kimie's first "party dress" Geoff's first header goal Driving lessons in the Lincoln First loves, first heartaches, first jobs
The sound of my lovers' voices The ecstacy of their touch Sunset at Point Dume Latenight cityscapes Dancing in moonlight
The best vegetarian food ever The most beautiful place in Maine
The faces of the boys in Ta'an Park in Taiwan when I kicked their soccer ball back in perfect arc The early morning sound of chanting in Peace Park
The feeling of monsoon rain on bare skin as we emerged from the Gulf of Thailand and ran laughing to our hut on the beach
The hot, hot sun on my shoulders as I climbed the ruins at Angkhor Wat (before Angelina made it trendy to go) Happy Pizza, happy walks, happy motorbike rides in the dust
The taste of banana pancakes in the full moon's light down the beach where the hosts serve ganja with dessert
Massages by Mr. Mak under the coconut tree long conversations in languages I barely know
and smiles that transcend all language.
The company of women and the joys of feminine love Sisterhood, when you choose your sisters and contentment that comes from acceptance
At times such as these I pray, Dearest Lord please don't let photos take the place of memory.
I don't mind if I forget the painful beginnings of my life these times have their place in my past.
I’m not sure that I want to be like my father who now, after his stroke, can't remember anything before 1974 who has lost memories of MY childhood and carries photo albums like maps
June 15 Blueberry Dessert
Disguised as tourists we embrace amongst the clouds.
The Empire State Building still tall enough to make hobbits of them all.
Breakfast in bed left tangible sweetness in your mustache;
we kiss blueberry dessert. May 18 Smoker's Haiku
Smoker’s hack Teeth stained yellow brown Cough
Ashtray breath Lungs withered and black Gasp
Buy a pack Pay them to give you Death
You are sheep Rich men in blue suits Laugh
Killer Bees
Once there was a girl Desperate for love (love was undefined) an innocent child in the body of a whore all long legs & breasts getting attention from men she never got from mom
Prescription for disaster Sweet honey to killer bees
Now there’s a woman still yearning for love (love which will last) The scars that she bears on her body & her soul remind her of days so confounded & confused she never understood
Bees don’t love the honey and dismiss the beauty of the bloom
May 08 EvolvedA small golden butterfly lightly brushed my cheek
My unconscious self remembers how it felt to evolve
Into this place from a cocoon spun across the breadth of space and time. April 23 There's poetrythere’s poetry in there I know there is inbetween the lines of street signs and in the traffic noise
there’s poetry in it somewhere just underneath I know it’s there it echoes in my head and tries to sing itself off the tip of my tongue
there’s poetry out there everywhere written on the faces that pass me on the street peering out car windows flying past on the wings of birds
there’s poetry around above and below and someday I’ll make words of it because there’s poetry in me all the time waiting to be written on my face and on this page.
January 29 L.A. Lessons: Life in Eight Partsby luiza Lesson One
Don’t feel sorry Julio says It demeans the boy. But he’s so young Innocent, His face as yet not Street-hardened nor afraid. Genuine’s his smile As he trades me Flowers for cash. He probably feels sorry For you Stuck there in traffic On the way to 9 to 5 On this gloriously sunny American day.
Lesson Two
WHY ISN’T HE IN SCHOOL? I ASK AND JULIO, HE LAUGHS. HE IS. YOU KNOW—LEARNING SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST SUPPLYSIDE ECONOMICS CAPITALISM 101. THAT’S NOT FUNNY I SAY:
HE MUST LEARN TO READ & WRITE MASTER COMPUTERS AND OUR LANGUAGE. HE HAS A FUTURE TO PREPARE FOR! THERE’S HIS FUTURE (JULIO’S SMILE IS GONE) HE POINTS ACROSS THE STREET. DAY LABORERS GATHER IN THE EARLY MORNING SUN.
homework
His name’s Raul. I talked with him today. His family’s from Chiappas and they live a mile away in a “big one bedroom place” and they have a cat named Tom. Raul, he said this proudly, then he pointed out his mom. She was standing on a corner right across the street; “that pretty one’s my mama” he said (little boy sweet). “My papa works in brentwood he takes care for people’s lawn. and I have a brother, pedro; It’s been six months now he’s gone. He’s in jail for robbin people. He did this with his gang; They have these black & shiny guns just like on tv” he sang. “why aren’t you in school?” I ask. His answer brings a tear: “Too many fights, too many drugs Mama says I’m safer here.” Rebuke (or, the big fight scene)
“I suppose you gave him money!” Julio screams in his rage. “your pity, ‘charity’ you call it. It’s sickening! It will weaken his spirit Make him question his life, Doubt his parents, Make him restless…greedy…dangerous!” “I only bought his flowers” I timidly reply. (only bought them all at double price then gave them away to co-workers all except these which I kept) “for the dinner table.” Julio screams at me then Violently sweeps Vase & flowers To the floor. “you demean him gringa!”
exam
The vase is broken Flowers broken. Mostly, it seems Julio is broken . He sits on the carpet, Amidst flower and vase, Head in his hands Quietly weeping. I am American; It takes me a while But then I understand: The little boy Raul Is Julio. And everything I love in him, His strength and stubbornness, Came from the hot hard streets of home Where he sold tamales With Maria and Mama
To the tourists visiting his sun. “Nobody ever gave me anything I didn’t earn.” He quietly pronounces, “and that is why I succeed here in your world.” Lesson three
Everyday for three weeks now fifteen minutes out of my way avoiding the corner the searching young eyes of the child Raul; buying flowers at Von’s (supermarket penance). Even this does not banish him from my dreams.
Julio has healed; we don’t speak of that day, of the broken vase. I’m “baby” again, not “Gringa” but I wept last night when we made love, wept for the child in my lover’s eyes. Lesson four
6 months later I figure, what the hell. Why not just go the fastest way? It’s been so long; He won’t possibly be there. It’s January. It’s raining. And it’s cold. I exit the 405 and am excited— Disappointed—ashamed— To see his smallish figure approaching the line of cars. I turn a quick & panicked right, barely avoid another vehicle when I swerve into his lane. In my rearview mirror I watch Raul as he turns toward the screeching tires. I pray his memory fails him.
Final exam
It’s very late. I’m very tired. So, anxious for bed I take the “old way” home. Stopped at the red at first I fail to notice the smallish, mannish figure underneath the light. He rushes to my window: “hey lady—open up. It’s me Raul.” I lower my window glad for the darkness hiding my face. “It’s late. What are you doing here?” I ask. “Working for my brother; Pedro’s home now more than 3 months.” He glances nervously around. “Hey, lady—wanna buy some weed?” the light’s turned green; I cannot move. “Come on lady—you know me—it’s good stuff.” “Oh, Raul!” I cry as a bigger figure hard & angry hurridly approaches. Wiry and mean; all tattoo and attitude: It’s Pedro. No big brother protector here. He pushes Raul roughly aside. “Hey gringa! Either buy the shit or get the hell outta here!!” He glares at me, and at the boy. “Come on little homes we got some green to get. Just forget about this stupid white bitch!” “Forget you, gringa bitch!” Raul intones, New hardness in his voice & on his face. He walks away. I’m American; sometimes I fail to understand. I fail. |
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