Poetry - 2020

Day in and day out
They told me I deserved the best
But the words slapped me in the face
Slid down my cheeks
And dripped unceremoniously onto my fragile self-worth
Until threads of that illusion
Scattered like so many butterflies migrating south to parts unknown.

Theirs were legacies heavy and expansive
Like a storm on the horizon
Threatening to blanket the landscape with rain.

Without malice, they intimidated, undermined, and mocked
Ha! You are not destined for greatness
You will not measure up
Why expect more when no amount of more will be enough?

You had no right to bring me into this world

Without first vanquishing your parents’ painful legacy

Of conditional love

Worthlessness

And petty rivalry

I was the perfect gift, full of beauty, curiosity, love, and kindness

I deserved your loving embrace without expectations

I deserved your support and encouragement regardless of my path

I deserved your attention and your time

Instead you bestowed upon me

A blindness borne of neglect

A constant need for self-adulation

An unhealthy skepticism that saps the love of family and friends

You threw my self-worth on a garbage heap and abdicated your role as my parent

I have buried your name in a forgotten plot

They were the deliverers
That caught my rage
And shaped it into a message

They cradled those who knew the pain
And rose in solidarity

They repelled those
Whose only language was that of violence

They pushed through the exhaustion
And fortified their brothers and sisters

When the voice grew weak
They were makeshift megaphones
And the percussion section
Encouraging the weary to marshal on

Slowly the physical connections to your time on earth are disappearing
Your black fur that used to roam the floors like tumbleweeds
Your expensive wet dog food designed to encourage your appetite, donated now to others
The blood stains on your bed during your last month of life
Your glorious smell

Yours was a spirit that brought us comfort and gave us hope
Yours was a smile that made us happy
Yours was a strength we cannot hope to match
Yours was an appreciation of the simple things that mean the most

Your ashes and paw prints will linger perhaps for another 50 years
But then they too will be gone

Only the joyful memories and legacy of your love will continue
But they are the most important things.

The unreal is part of my reality
It taunts me
It shames me
It throws water in my face
It instills fear and extinguishes motivation
Until sleep is my only solace.

Once I spent my summers in the pure joy
Of childhood trust
Flying a kite until it was but a dot in the sky
Running relays up and down the hillside
Playing Marco Polo in the neighbor’s pool
My reality matched her reality matched his reality
And imagination was recognizable as such.

I long for that world
But the entrance is blocked
And a “No Entry” sign bobs slightly in the wind
Yet there is that pearl of hope
It sparkles through a crack in the oyster's shell
And reminds me of the power of the present moment to heal and transform.

Stop right there
With those cryptic acronyms
That require no explanation
For the initiated
And are met with silence when questioned by the uninitiated
Because while knowledge is power,
So is no knowledge.

What led you to this house-of-cards world
That combines ignorance and fear
Under the guise of truth?
Why not be forthright and transparent if you believe yours represents the truth?
Instead you hide behind an alphabet soup that debases critical thinking, expertise, and learning.

Rather than answering direct questions that threaten your artifices
You say, “we are not conspiracy theorists“
Though the disclaimer begs the question.

Among the uninitiated there is much work to be done.

I imagined myself an enlightened one.
The daughter of liberal parents
Who bucked the status quo
Were quick to speak truth to power
And relinquished the easy path if it meant tossing their values.

Yet I lived in an invisible bubble
I was oblivious to.
It did not occur to me that my bright casual clothes stood in stark contrast to the formal dress shirts, dresses, and cardigans in subdued colors worn by the family of my best friend whose history was a world away from mine.
It was the summer of 1967, less than two years removed from the Watts riots.
But all I knew was I was looking forward to a much-anticipated day trip to Catalina with my best friend.

As time moved on, the weight of history leaned more heavily on my friend, although I did not see the larger context.
Was it not just sad misfortune that she lost both her parents by her early twenties?
Despite being a gifted musician, was it not her choice to skip college?
A child out of wedlock, the decision to work full time - were these not paths of her own choosing?

I don’t remember whether there were any African-Americans in my college course on the history of slavery. I do know that any discussion of systemic racism would come years later.

I imagined myself an enlightened one until I didn’t.

Do not speak to me of hardship, my great-grandmother said
I built a homestead from the vanquished wilderness.
Do not speak to me of hardship, my grandmother said
Yours was not the battleground of two world wars.
Do not speak to me of hardship, my mother said, because she knew true hardship was not hers to bear
Nor my great-grandmother’s or my grandmother’s.
Their hardships were not born of things they could not change but rather circumstances they chose to face.
Thanks to the accident of birth, they were the lucky ones.

Was there really ever a simpler time
Or only a time of not knowing?
Our instincts may draw us to a dark, warm spot beneath our sheets clasping our knees to our chests
Our mother’s womb long gone
But the bed sores of inaction
Only exacerbate the pain
Five minutes, just give me five minutes
Before I rise to action
I promise
Just a distraction, please, to fortify me
Burying my nose in the nape of my dog’s neck
Smelling the blooming jasmine on the front porch
Hearing the mockingbird serenade an unseen peer
Then I will rise to action
I promise. 

There is a lot I cannot explain
But that which I can explain

I am certain of
The wisdom in the cloudy eyes of my old dog
The beauty in a rainbow after the storm
The comfort in a neighbor’s hello
The hope in an opossum’s slow saunter across the lawn
The purpose in the crows’ daily migration to the ocean
The peace at dawn and dusk as night gives way to day and day to night
The joy in the squeals of young squirrels as they chase each other around a tree
The love in the voices of family and friends
There is a lot I cannot explain
But I hold tight to that of which I am certain

Your acts define you
You create and you are
Everything else is a trick of the trade
A holding pattern that keeps you
Washing dishes
Scrubbing floors
Paying bills
Cleaning out closets
Answering contest mailings you haven't a prayer of winning
Until you have time for the important stuff
The scary stuff that forces you into long moments of thought
That may or may not deliver something to show for doing nothing