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unwound
some people talk about how they grew up they learned things they got older they got a job got a house got married had children had an illness accomplished and failed how their lives progressed. my life has been a dizzy spiral things that fell and broke things that caught and ripped i got drinks at the bar got prescriptions and hospital beds and got the children and the love but forgot them in a haze chasing death on the tracks. if your life, too unwound knotted thread yanked off the spool and it was like falling through the decades your feet never touching the ground you’re sleeping on the concrete or one step away in the hospital bed on the tracks in that bottle or pill or syringe laced haze: there’s something at the bottom. when you get to the end of the thread there’s the deepest love left on the spool. you will find you have a revolutionary heart beating in a rhythm they can’t trace.
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Prayers of the People
(Based on Form IV from the Book of Common Prayer and partly inspired by the Gospel According to Shug Avery by Alice Walker) Let us pray for the Church and for the world. For the whole church, Michael our Presiding Bishop, Marc our Bishop, all Priests and Deacons, and all who minister to the needs of others in the name of Christ. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For the Nation and all in authority, that they may strive to give up their anger so that in any confrontation their first thoughts will never be of violence or war. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For God’s earth, and all who love the forest, the ocean, the mountains and the great deserts, that we may all be stewards of God’s unified creation. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For all who risk themselves for others sakes, that their vision of the world in which no one’s gift is either despised or lost inspires us. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For the people of our city, particularly the workers who serve us every day, that we all work and build community together. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For those who love the stranger in this life, reflecting the heart of the mother and the creator, may their example move us to greater openness and unity. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For those who are enemies of their own racism; that they shall lead us into harmony with the citizens of this world. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For those whose minds are clouded or who are in pain or trouble, may they be comforted. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. For the departed, those close to us and those we never knew, that they may all find rest in the Lord. Lord, in your mercy Hear our prayer. We thank you, Lord, for all the blessings of this life and the myriad ways we embody God’s grace and love in the world. tough
big boots do not protect you a leather jacket does not protect you massive attitude really won’t protect you even a nice buck knife likely will not protect you from a lapse on a dark street/ or in your dark living room definitely not from the car wreck/eviction/cancer/ natural disaster/republican party or judgement of your politics or judgement of your hair especially from one more drink/a few more pills/or fear there’s a prayer in here somewhere for steady hands and smooth speech for the courage to walk out that door this morning there’s a prayer in here in this poem for belief not in jesus but in the absolute insanity of joy/and the strength of my own voice i put on the leather jacket/the boots/but i leave the knife in the drawer i have something to say/today go ahead fight me I’m El Cerrito’s Poet Laureate! Thanks to the Arts and Culture Commission and Maw Shein Win.
ttps://www.facebook.com/cityofelcerrito/photos/a.128082037491/10156493442277492/?type=3 daughter
(for magdalene and june) it’s ok if they call you names. it’s fine to tell a boy no thank you and when his friends follow to ask your number four more times it’s ok to ignore them. you were not born to be nice. you were not born to flinch and hide, pulling your flannel tight around your torso and staring down the gymnasium wall. you were not born for other people’s choices, not for the desire of the boy who wants to go to the movies or the hope of your mother who wants you to go to college. you don’t even have to be a revolutionary if you don’t want to. you were born for the two a.m. cold and a walk alone, singing or silent, going somewhere or nowhere at all. you are at home in yourself. you are all the ways to get there, on your own time, and you owe no one a glance back. small truth
this is my one small truth: a hand reaching out for your hand. in the dark, traffic noise, and the trains. i am always stretching toward you, unstoppable rough weed in the gravel. emerge
my daughter tantrumed so bad outside lucky that a woman accused me of disturbing the peace and threatened to call the cops. life was one long screaming, him in the house, her on the concrete, the little one in the crib. my ears echoed all the time. there were bottles and bottles of pills to even out the chaos. i was the housewife knocked out on benzodiazepines, cabinet full of options when there were none. there were no poems only what the fuck is wrong with you and no and no and a running wondering about how stupid could someone be. here’s what i’m afraid to say: i own this morning. these hours are mine. and you can go ahead and call the cops or raise your voice or your hand or damage my reputation. everything has already been lost and yet here i am. this is mine this page each letter every alleluia. good morning. adult fiction
when i was in sixth grade i got dropped off at the library every day after school. my mom was at work and my dad long gone. there was a mini whiteboard at the desk for kids to write a note to their parents if they went to 7/11 for soda. monday through friday i roamed the stacks looking for books on esp and wilderness survival. the only section i never strayed into was romance. love was irrelevant, sex was something meant to hurt you, humiliation passed on behind the bathroom door. i was just trying to learn how to carve a canoe with your pocket knife and lash shelter together with vines. i had friends who hid trashy pink covered volumes under their beds. they traded them back and forth with whispers and wondering about first kisses and first times and what it would all be like. i was horrified. the flipped hair, the bicep curl, heavy breathing and thrust, sighing dialogue. someone’s lace on the carpet. and already the boys on the playground with rolled shirt sleeves and designs shaved at their temples, the girls with short acid wash skirts and aquanet bangs. not for me. desire was foreign, carved out of my body like a tumor, cancerous possibilities that will just kill you. i was hell bent on escape, honing my super powers and digging roots in the dark dirt. frame
and yes, i’ve been crying for months, and rightly, but tonight you’re playing music i hate in the kitchen, and looking lovely. i don’t remember dinner or dessert or anything you said, i just keep thinking of your silhouette in the window. shoulders tight, deep blue t shirt, jeans slung low. and sometimes love is like that. framed by the light obliterating everything else. the kingdom of god will not be realized
by those new blue shoes or that album or the glittery skirt i saw or the pills or the liquor or even my car with the racing stripes. it might be under her sleepy eyelids though, or his leg tossed over my lap. it might be in that tiny baby fist. it might. but you’re lost if you think it’s in 12 hour office days exhausted nights early mornings it’s not in your sadness or even your rage. the kingdom of god will not be realized by prolonging our own suffering. open your hand. find your own genius there in your palm. take a walk in the dim and notice the stars. then fight harder. |
Authordani gabriel Archives
December 2018
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