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three more pandemic summer haiku
i still love you like burn it all down but now it’s what’s left to be saved? i thought i believed in fire. turns out i’m down here offering water. full sky threatening both lightening and downpour: i open my hands.
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three pandemic summer haiku sky splintered morning something fighting to get free echoes my heart beat sound of rain falling mixed with fire trucks wailing past will we burn or drown? i am afraid to love you, but i do, i do sweet world erupting poem for my white transgender twelve year old son, thinking of twelve year old Tamir Rice shot by police while playing
so much topples around us: businesses schools the police state (maybe) this morning i’m noticing the birds sing (they still do!) i am celebrating quietly that you chose to live because honestly that is the most revolutionary thing i have seen in a long while: you breathing softly in your blankets as the sun inches up in a world that at best calls you names and at worst (maybe just average) steals that breath you are my revolutionary hope my prayer my promise that the police state WILL topple and all the sweet 12 year old boys will breathe easy in their beds that 12 year old Black boys will not be deemed threats and that you will always remember what it feels like to be treated as a menace and defend your brothers against your own skin privilege when necessary (because it will be necessary) i pray for the day all parents can stand over messy twin beds grateful their child sleeps safe and not have to qualify like i do: for the moment and not have to fear the birdsong and the glorious riot of morning gratitude poem for you on a day that didn’t go my way
i was hoping for a million dollar phone call sometime before five and maybe an ice cold soda and maybe a gilded acceptance letter and a screen printed thank you note and a kraft paper wrapped apology. i was ready to accept it all. but instead i received a long stretch of silence: just the cars rushing rhythmically by and no offers beyond the reaching shadow wisps on the wall. by the time i gave up on glory you were half asleep in our bed. i am grateful for the lack of registered letters and wire transfers and congratulatory messages: because here you are rolled up in the blue embroidered quilt reminding me even on the days nothing goes my way your love is gold foil filigree miraculous just waiting for me to cut the lights. for these days
these days we are improvising: there’s always an ingredient that’s missing from the shelf, something you needed but couldn’t get. each morning gratitude for all those who make do with less than they deserve, who are out here fighting for more. the world is on fire, my heart is burning. this poem was inspired by comments on the Love, Dare, Grow project. Quotes are in italics. insurrection
i am here for the day to day insurrection of your breath, the regime toppling power of your grin. you remind me that what i really have to do today has nothing to do with that millionth meeting that trillionth email: my real contribution is laughter in the bay wind, a hand in your hand, and this poem, this word. form
i am not on the list. again wandering the options and finding none fierce enough. fine. i’ll be other in a world where the choices are just between one form of death dealing and another. listen: there’s a whole field beyond the path. come find the joy out here where you’re not supposed to go. i have an outstretched hand and so much magic in my palm. love poem for the end
this is a love poem for the end. for the point at which everything breaks and it all comes tumbling down. this is a love poem for that moment when white people wake up from the nightmare we’re perpetuating and drop our weapons, guns and money bits of privilege skittering across the floor. this is a love poem for the end. before the new beginnings there has to be a breaking point. the children are yelling burn it down, and overheard a helicopter. i open my hand and let everything fall. I asked my interviewees to take some photos of the lives of their families in El Cerrito. These images are from Nancy Donovan. These images are from Maggie Gabriel. These images are from Megan and Eric. These images are from the Hofmanns.
Love, Dare, Grow: Follow Up
I checked in with our El Cerrito families about their experience with shelter in place… How is your family coping with the shelter in place order due to the coronovirus pandemic? Do you have a story you want to share? Megan and Eric: We’re using lots of opportunities to meet up via technology with members of our extended family outside of the house & neighborhood to remain connected to our global community, from livestream dance parties broadcast from the San Juan Islands and group meditation sits led from Oakland to a one-on-one round of drinks between here & Atlanta or singing songs to babies in Washington DC. Nancy Donovan: We are definitely cooking more together during this shelter in place time. It's a roller coaster. Some days feels like a vacation and some days I am fighting panic. Very surreal. Trying to stay healthy and positive. The Hofmanns: We don’t really have much to report. Obviously, life has changed substantially beyond our four walls. We don’t host our Thursday Night Dinners right now. They are on pause until we can safely resume. We are also just focusing on getting through every day, supporting each other in our household and supporting those we know (from a distance). Having just moved into our new place, we are getting used to a new normal, on top of all the other new normals out there… But we look forward in hope to the day when we can rebuild community and have people over for dinner. Maggie Gabriel: We take our dog for lots of walks. I’m painting a bird house. My brother is constantly FaceTiming his friends. |
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June 2020
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