Tuesday, July 03, 2012

The 51%


The 51%

In this funk I can’t look at others and not judge them for their bodies.
It’s impossible not to compare.
Jealous of anyone smaller than me, and so embarrassed of my jealousy because
I know better. I know that I should love my body as I am
Or at least most of me does.

But that 51% can’t let go of the constant consciousness 
of the roundness of my face, 
folds surrounding my belly, the soft mass of my growing frame
And I’m constantly protesting, disgusted inside, 
“I wasn’t like this last year!”

I, in stark contrast to the protruding angles of the POWs I saw recently
ribs jutting, concave bellies under sunken faces.
Their eyes look bigger. There is 
pain. We both struggle with our bodies
But I, in my plenty, do I have the right?

In these travels, my carefully considered needs 
become heavier the longer I carry them. 
I thought I packed so light
What is this stuff that contributes to my comfort?
Ends up aching my shoulders and back

My blessings of plenty have their own burdens: 
Like endless choices of what to eat.
(and I want to try them all)
So 51% of me knows that a number doesn’t determine
my worth and lovability
But 51 is very close to 49, and for now,
I’m stuck somewhere in between

7.3.12

Friday, April 27, 2012

Assault on My Senses

Assault on My Senses

My pillow smells faintly like starched mothballs
It’s comforting in a grandmotherly sort of way

On the street, a cacophony of smells, sounds and sights intermingle with taste
like a poorly-planned party where the guests feel awkward
and can’t wait to leave

Old urine, fresh urine, tomorrow’s urine
piled high but invisible
Sautéing spices,
air-conditioned body odor
fields of burning plastic
sulfuric sewage
smoldering incense wafts to meet my nostrils—
thick, perfumey
and the flowers—
oh, intoxicating flowers
struggling to mask the urine trails
of intoxicated bums

lying between the brightly contrasting homes of mixed hues
with a colorful temple on every corner and bold, vivid scenes
depicting the heroic acts of gods
and goddesses venerated
for thousands of years                                                      
Flowing silk saris of every shade
folded neatly, stacked ceiling-high
make it impossible to choose
which one to buy
Same dilemma with the dazzling jewelry,
variety of bags, rugs, blankets, sandals
whatever you desire
To illustrate the scene,
each crayon in the box would feel like a VIP

Dogs barking get lost in the
honking beeping shrieking banshee horns
announcing our arrival
or impending doom with a lost game of Chicken
Incessant horns on the road,
more prevalent than seat belts, ironically
compete with others for the biggest, baddest sound
Can I pay more for a bus that doesn’t honk?
Train whistles make it hard to sleep
As do the (loud)speakers blaring music
all through the night
of that woman singing nasally high-pitched
What harvest festival is this?
Did you have to blast it to the moon?
Celebrating new produce, weddings and young girls’ first periods

Food is vital to a celebration
Vital to life
Salty, sour, sweet, pungent and bitter in every bite
Delicious, exotic, spicy and hot
Can my mouth handle this?
Sinus-cleaning: a bandana is my necessary utensil
to wipe my dripping forehead and nose and
chewing my banana-leaf plate helps temper the flavor
while eating in
air so thick I could sit on it

The heat, they say, is oppressive
But nothing chokes me more
Than what we do to each other
Strangers to strangers,
Nations against nations,
Friends and families
No one is immune, it seems,
From the daily offenses given
And received
(sometimes when none was intended)
So many are petty, yes,
but can anyone deny
The significance of so many horrors happening
In homes that are no haven

I sleep on this mothbally pillowcase
And I try to sort out the scenes of the day
I know that later, in another place,
any of these senses can whisk me back to this moment—
Nay, to this place
My senses easily recover from the dissonance they’ve encountered
But hearts—
They are a different matter

4.21.12

My Body Is Like Machu Picchu


My Body Is Like Machu Picchu

To those who are seeing for the first time,
Trekking breathlessly up its slopes,
Machu Picchu is a natural wonder
With its powerful waterfalls
Craggy overhangs and grassy resting spots
Wildlife bounding freely through
Breathtaking vistas

They are blind to any flaws
Novelty in this case is easy beauty
(love at first sight)

But can I,
Who live on this mountain,
Maintain my wonder and awe
For God’s great creation?
And allow others to marvel
Or just appreciate it
For its simultaneous simplicity
And grandeur?

And admire all subsequent sights?

4.21.12

Paper Airplanes: Reclaiming Myself

Paper Airplanes: Reclaiming Myself

Dear God,
I love you.
I just said I loved you, but you know I’m not feeling it. I show it in many actions, yes, but the feeling’s not there now.
And I know you love me, but I’m not really feeling that either.
I’m so sorry.
This is not how I want to be, but I bring it upon myself and give in to the pull of my demons. It’s a very familiar place, and I actually thought I had left it behind—possibly forever—until very recently.
How quickly I fade into the shadow.
I want to bask in the Son shine.
This prayer wants to be a poem, but what’s a poem without feeling? On that note, what’s a prayer without all of my heart? Like a paper airplane that nosedives upon take off. But somehow, I have a feeling that God will lift up my floppy prayer and carry it home.

9.21.11

Build Me A Spaceship


Build Me A Spaceship

Imagine the vantage point of earth
from space: Sphere of swirling whites hovering vibrant greens and blues,
bordered by browns and abyss of black barely seen by the mere airplane pilot
who to me is pretty awesome already and who
spends more time with the sun than those of us
below the clouds

Is his the big picture?
Something in me says Nay, there’s more

Jealous of astronauts
Who’ve taken the journey
Fraught with risks, of course—
Even this field has its martyrs—
They’ve defied gravity
to experience things
the rest of us only simulate
in our virtual-reality ways

Glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling are: playful, fun
Planetariums and nights out with aurora borealis are: insightful, romantic
With feet planted firmly in the ground
I crane my neck to look skyward
Ah, yes, I can somewhat make out
that constellation

*  *  *
God said
All Things Are Possible With Me!
and I Will Prepare A Way To Do What I Ask!

Ahem,
He wants me to fly to SPACE?
Some distant planet’s waiting to be explored
inhabited
discover new moons and stars and
Life
my new life there
in some galaxy that is light-years away
only visible through a telescope and oh, man, my lens is cloudy
[Here, let me wipe that for you]

Contemplating the universe,
Earth suddenly seems: so secure, familiar
We’ve been here for eons
It’s the only world I’VE ever known
Hey, I have roots here
You want me to do what now?

[Deep breath]
So. Help me build the spaceship
Clearly I can’t fly. (That parachute I tried making out of a bag as a child was a real flop)
All previous methods of transportation have
failed to get me there.

Okay—I say Yes.
I’ve done my research and I just need
a little spaceship to travel

You say
It Is Possible! Well,

Pissible Possible!
That freaking spaceship is a metaphor for a cosmic chasm that does exist!
And a metaphor can’t carry me a single step
So, Lord, what the heck on earth do I do?

Enjoy the Odyssey, Dear One.

3.7.2012

Monday, February 13, 2012

Onomatopoetic

Onomatopoetic

In my present state,
I love to say the word
“ferocious,”
feeling the way each phoneme combines to create
a word whose meaning matches my mood like
an emotional onomatopoeia. Starting on the lips,
the deep “o” comes from behind and grabs the “f” and “r”
down into the gutter
where they all churn with the “cious.”

2.13.12

Raw Poetry

My photo
Oakland, CA, United States
Writing my poems has been healing for me, and I find that sharing them has been too. So I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to comment. Did anything resonate with you? Bring up questions? Move you to action?