Silky sleep pulls me down.
Light leaks in to closed eyes.
Melody makes ears awake first
Noon nap ends with birdsong.
Noon nap ends with birdsong.
Ends each dream retreats.
Body begins to shift.
Eyes unclose and close again.
Calming comfort of rest.
Day dawns once again.
Evolution of a Freedom Fighter
I. Victim Blaming
i can’t believe
i can’t believe this
i can’t believe this is happening
why is this happening to me?
what did i do?
what did i do wrong?
i must have done something wrong
II. Bystander Intervention
i saw something
i saw something
i saw something bad
something bad
something bad happened
something, something, something
not right
why is he doing that?
someone should help.
someone should help.
I should help.
I should do something.
I should say something.
I should tell him to stop.
“STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!”
Other voices join me.
“HEY YOU, STOP!”
He stopped.
I did it.
We did it.
III. Consciousness Raising
why did this happen to us?
why did this happen to US?
what did we do wrong?
what could we have done wrong?
We did not do something wrong!
What happened was wrong.
How did it happen?
We will find out.
IV. More Consciousness Raising
what can i do?
i can’t do it alone?
what can we do?
they have the power.
do they have the power?
they have the power because
we give them the power
we give them the power so
we are the power
they do not have the power
unless we give it to them
V. Social Change
We will remember that we give the power.
We will convince others to see this truth.
We will remind them that we have the power.
We will withdraw our consent to be ruled.
We will rewrite the history they tell.
We will remove our support for their ways.
We will refuse to fulfill their demands.
We will insert ourselves into their plans.
We will undo the so called “done deals”
We will create our own means to the end.
We are the power.
We are the power.
We are the power.
We Will be FREE.
———————————————————————————————————–
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 12
Something About Eli
I want to write something about Eli
quintessential second of two
I want to write something about Eli
but he’d never demand that I do
I want to write something about Eli
if his sister would stop all this chatter
I want to write something about Eli
but I’m running around like a Hatter!
I want to write something about Eli
he’s deserving of some of my time
I want to write something about Eli
just one sentence, one story, one rhyme
I want to write something about Eli
how his smile’s full of mischief and mirth
I want to write something about Eli
maybe tell you the tale of his birth
I want to write something about Eli
how it’s so different having a boy
I want to write something about Eli
but I’m too busy tripping over his toys!
I want to write something about Eli
the two-year-old young Houdini
I’d like to write something about Eli
but I’m hearing his, “Carry you me!”
I’d like to write something about Eli
but he wants me to run, jump, and play
So I guess that a poem about Eli
will be written on some other day.
Grocery List
Carrots, celery, sprinkle cheese, thyme
taco shells, cheerios, batteries, lime
baby wipes, oranges, pepperoni, rice
ginger beer, dobi, shampoo (anti-lice!)
sandwich bags, veggie sausage, sippy cups, towels
alphabet soup – but hold the vowels!
Seedless grapes, pitted olives, lactose-free milk
don’t forget the apron made of silkworm-free silk!
Being a domestic god(ess) has its perks,
but let’s be clear, the truth is it’s a lot of work!
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 10 (prompt was an un-love poem)
Indian, American
I’ll tell you when it happened to me
floating unsuspectingly
inside a watery balloon
muffled Tamil filtered through.
The world outside awaited me
Mama and chittis, thatha, and patti.
dhal and iddli, curds and rice
scents of spices to entice.
My fate was settled it would seem
a child of India I would be
destined to live in families’ arms
plying my first- granddaughter charms.
But then, a hairpin turn in fate.
My life in Bharat would have to wait.
A conversation passed between
mother and father still unseen.
He left for opportunity
she stayed and waited there for me
then later she would make her way
the crying babe would have no say.
Together they would meet him there
and build a life in Delaware.
And now I am the me you see
American minority.
So much of who I am today
the things I think and do and say
are born of one small change in course
that had an immeasurable force.
Indian I will always be
but American is what makes me, me.
———————————————————————
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 9
I Ride the Broad Street Line
I ride the Broad Street Line from knees to heart.
Quiet pulse pumping, pushing me toward
the turnstile’s heavy lift and drop,
then down dimly lit steps.
I wait. Slow rattle approaches.
Uniquely uniform striped hair
tops the heads on faces of all shades.
I gotta get me a do like that.
Inside this traveling white blood cell.
I see each station pass.
And remember them by their color scheme.
City Hall stop is familiar.
Concord high Raiders maroon and gold.
Race/Vine’s a bathroom stall pale green.
My own heart skips as I maneuver
the spinning metal grating
that releases me out
la toxin passing through the skin.
In front of me
the tip of Goliath’s paint brush
peers out from between.
Majestic seat of local power rises.
Penn surveys his glassstone forest.
Under my feet the vein
is pumping, passing,
pushing, waiting,
until I return
to be transported
again.
————————————————————————————————————-
NaPoWriM 2013: Day 8
Companion to “I Ride the Regional Rail” posted in October 2012
Soul’s lullabye
Close your eyes
gentle man.
Let the fire
grow dimmer.
Stars inside you
fall around you.
All the lights
begin to fade.
Close your eyes
gentle man.
night is calling to you.
Close your eyes
gentle man.
Let your spirit pass through.
__________________________________________-
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 7
Who we will be
In this two months ours home
some how a sense of deja vu
but in lieu of “This has happened before.”
more, “This will happen and happen.”
wrapping me in familiar, warm,
storm-sheltering calm.
I will know this place.
Each space will tell a tale.
The veil of age will fall here.
Years and years of being,
Seeing the ups and downs,
the sounds of child growing
us slowing, me and you
who we will be.
To Spring
To Spring.
We must first coil.
Curl up inside the soil.
But soon the nest becomes a tomb.
We bloom!
——————————————————————-
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 5 (a Cinquaine)
Work. Dream. Haiku.
Unraveling dream:
“What is God’s theory of change?”
Measuring belief.
——————————————
NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 4
american incarnations 