Saturday, February 26

Know The Names of Things

This picture is from the reading I had last year that was the end product of the Intergenerational Writers Lab. We were nervous before the reading and I was scared that the microphone would be too close to my mouth and you could hear every little spit drop in my mouth or that I couldn't move the mic low enough for people to hear me. Something happens when I get on stage and all of that goes away and then I just want to be strong and loud to make sure everyone knows I mean it.

Only she thinks

She wears chanclas,
and of course her sky is red and
her ground is green.
Not on fire,
just alive.
Always worried about
time and locking up.
She never wants to be the last one
but she always is.
How much of her time is checking
for keys in her purse
or planning backwards
to make sure she has enough time?
Look at her smile.
Cheeks balled up
up to something.
“Me vale mierda”
she thinks.
But never says out loud
doesn’t believe she can get away with it
a phrase repeated often.
This woman is her own woman
only to herself.
Blasting in her head,
to all these damn people.
Looks at you, burning
to make sure you don’t know
what’s really going on in there.
Red lipstick, red hair
not on fire,
just alive inside.

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