Turn the page
Some fruit turns sour
if not picked when ripe
Some boats set sail
in the middle of the night
Some opportunities
disappear out of sight
We are bound by our decisions
whether wrong or right
...
But now,
After breaths deep have been exhaled
After hair pulled has been discarded
After options reviewed and fantasies shattered,
Only now can we turn the page.
Turn to the future, the reality of what can be...and as a result, will be.
Each day we move closer to who we are, sit more comfortably in our skin, walk upright with dedication to the pull of certainty.
reeling
I said goodbye, again
Again and again and again...so it has been
But what I wanted to tell you, the words that came out of my mouth, were truths, honest reflections of my growth. Maybe it wasn't enough.
Because, apparently, I just sit there while you do all the talking.
So maybe this time it was my turn to open up, to express. I'm sure I fell short,
Again.
I guess I always do, fall short that is. Fall short of making you happy, fall short of giving you what you want or what you need. Which is why I had to turn away.
Can't you see? I knew all the wrong I was doing. I recognized it. I hesitated leaving because I was selfish, because I wanted you all to myself...like squeezing a puppy till you hurt it knowing you might be hurting it, but being overcome with excitement and the urge to squeeze...I hurt you.
And now I think you'll resent me for everything. But that doesnt hurt as much as knowing that I hurt you.
If you must, please...resent me. If it makes you whole, if resentment or regret helps heal you, I accept it with all that I am.
And its enough already, I know that as well. Enough going back and forth. For both of us.
So, here is the big test. Not whether I can recognize that I'm hurting you and leave, not whether I can try to make anything up to you or prove that I actually have cared from the beginning, but the test is whether I can truly respect your wishes. Whether I can let you go. Let you be...dont call you, dont text you, dont think about you, somehow block you from my dreams, erase your face from my memory when I hear a song that reminds me of you, not run into you, and throughout, respecting your space and your growth.
That would make me feel better about myself because I'd finally be putting you first. That might, somehow, redeem the pain you've suffered at my hands.
Colorado Holorado
The trip began in a frenzy.
Court in the morning, rushing all day,
I was trying to beat the clock.
Little did I know that it was out of my hands
and the clock, it almost beat me.
Sitting in a cab, checking the time,
traffic at rush hour on the BQE.
Asking the cabby what he thought, then he laughed,
should have left early.
Rush through the door bag in hand, beg the lady at the counter to let me in,
she says "no worries love, you've got plenty of time, its those folks in denver that are on their grind".
Plenty of time was right, as she said, I sat and ate food while the plane was prepared.
Passed out cold upon take off, though I still had plenty to do.
Awoke sometime later, with more work on my mind
next thing I knew we were descending right on time.
Met up with the fam, quite a feet to get together,
Tara, Alex, Nate and Sam, the Perez fam kickin it cold like the weather.
2 hour shuttle, McDonalds and some smokes, back to the grind on the ride.
Arrive at the condo, Dino in sleep duds, convo's and beer, then back to the grind.
I was up till 4am, thats 6am NYC time.
Work work work work work work work. Passed out for a couple of hours.
Jumped on the lift scared at first, thought I'd fall and hit my face,
Landed it smooth felt a surge of confidence, i was ready for the day.
At first we stayed as a group and rode, slowing and waiting for the crew
then it soon became apparent that my 7 year absence had really not affected my flow.
The next day we rode, Alex me and Gabe and shredded the whole mountain wide
Not stopping for a break, think we did Christmas in 4 minutes, holy shit did we ride.
Dinner and drinks and memories for days...these trips mean so much more
so much more than a bougie condo and a fancy ski resort,
so much more than a few days away from work and the daily,
so much more than a get together with some family members you dont always see,
truly, really, these are the moments that make us, the moments that form our foundations, mold our beliefs and experiences, create the person we are at that moment.
These are the moments that matter.
sitting in the 'lac
another day another dolla
but it...makes me wanna holla
still i find a new way
open the shades to a sunglasses day
drinking beers with you
takes me back to memories i have few
its all about me tho
cuz i cant see through this tinted window
the unknown is deeply blinding
dont really wonder who's pulling the string
more social is as social does
more things get done without the was
tiptoe splashes puddles abound
slightly less scared when you're around
eager and anxious reappearing often
wiser and blatant my perception softens
to write is to heal and expand and advance
to think is to leave most everything to chance
sidways steps and backward alleys
kissing behind dumpsters and 7pm rallys
this is the year I turn 30.
choking
do you ever get emotional to the point where you choke back your tears in an effort to maintain calm because if you let it out you might just break into a billion little pieces?
how can a word, an image, a sound, bring forth such intensity and passion so as to stand every hair on the back of your neck straight up, or cause a tingle on the tip of your tongue, or create a warmth deep in your belly?
When was the last time you TRULY believed.
In anything?
Thank you Mr. President.
birth
as the day grows nearer
i wish to regress
back to the days i first fell in love so deep i drowned in it
when i was first excited about a graduate education and the possibilities of a future
when i was so careless my creativity sprung like leaks from a punctured hose
when i was free to move about the country and the world as if i had no anchor
when i dug deep and found out who i truly was amidst the confusion and growing up
when i experienced so many things for the first time
when i grew to make decisions on my own
when i was john
when i was nurtured and looked after
when i was the joy and happiness brought to a loving family
when i was in the womb, so warm and comforting
--
alas, these days move forward, often seemingly at the speed of light.
as i try to hold on, fingers tightly gripping the safety bars, i see only the things that truly matter.
I see that the fun times and the excitement and the "living" i once yearned for so bad, all these things are not what they seem. and all these things are nothing in light of the brightness that emanates from the true value of life and love.
family, compassion, generosity, love, comfort, trust.
as time seems to win the race against me, these are what i hold on to. these are what make me whole
without them, i am empty.
Drowning
What can i say
what can i do
is there any way
to get close to you
its cold outside
where you stay
but my heart
is not far away
i take a look
into your soul
as i walk around these streets of yours
im drowning.
day 1
its interesting that we, as a people who are controlled by our climate and surroundings, are triggered to feel certain things at different times of the year. Part of it is social - for example craving hot cocoa and turkey with cranberry when it starts to get cold. But some of it is our climate and weather change. so we're forced to recognize the end of summer after Labor Day and I hate it, officially.
Hate with a capital "H".
My life was supposed to get organized today. So here we go...day 1.
Blue
I'm blue
Da ba dee
Da ba doo
Da ba dee
Da ba doo
Da ba dee
Da ba doo.
Conveniently, the sky is grey....so we kinda match.
But I went camping this weekend and it was beautiful and sunny out. The sun was shining the whole way down the river while Butt Buddy and Bomber and I drank and smoked our way to the end of the river course...no rapids.
jackhammer
Why does work have to suck so bad?
Salsa dancing in Newport News Virginia.
Eating fresh coconut from a tree in Cockpit Country Jamaica.
Taking pictures on the beach in San Diego California.
Writing letters by the Charles river in Boston, Massachusetts.
Climbing cliffs in Riomaggiore - Cinque Terre, Italy.
Playing acoustic guitar in the woods at Michigan Womyns Festival, Michigan.
Climbing the stairs up the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France.
Sitting in my cubicle in New York, New York.
motion - e
today was gloomy.
I awoke to the sound of rain on my window and emptiness in my soul.
I knew there were tasks ahead of me and I wanted nothing to do with them.
and I rode my bike.
uphill.
and the uphill seemed to last for miles. much longer than I was prepared for. so much uphill that Im not sure I reached a top, if there were ever a top.
because, this is not about you, this is about me. and for me, its not about you, its about me.
so why can't I stop thinking of you. is there anything left in me?
supposedly the inspiration will come, the words will flow out of my mouth like vomit after too much Jameson's.
Until then I clean, and keep busy, and think of ways to be inspired.
What do I like to do? Where do I like to go?
Why do I feel so fucking privileged - whining when I truly have it all. So much more than so many others. Im so sick of feeling sorry for myself. But I feel so lost its all I can muster to feel.
Independence Day
Figures.
Im trying to decipher if this is independence from a life I've become accustomed to living, or if its regaining dependence on myself...because I've been independent from who I really am?
Or is that what they're trying to brainwash me to think?
Why do emotions have so much to say...and why do they have such a strong grip on our impressions of reality?
Its true though, nothing comes out clear anymore. The melodies don't seep from my brain onto paper or into a song. I sometimes feel as though I can glance down a long tube, or even a well, and deep in it is me. Far far from the body and daily tasks and "life" that keeps the other parts of me busy.
It was strange, and I could almost feel it coming on. Like a dark grey storm cloud, but you're inside watching a movie so you dont really care. But after its been raining for months, you start to wonder.
It began with those feelings like I was in quicksand. Like I'd try to get up and live, but it just wouldnt happen. At first I fought it as hard as I could. Then I grew accustomed to it, and felt quite satisfied being stuck.
Now someone has shaken me...like I've been in a daze and someone snapped their fingers in front of my eyes. I'm still in that initial shock phase, looking around trying to figure out where I am, who I am, what Im doing. And I'm still half in the daze...so Im sort of hesitant to come out of it, because its comfortable in there. Warm and fuzzy, cozy and familiar. And I dont know whats out there when I come out of the daze. Is it anything like where I just was? Will I ever fall back into the daze? Whats really so wrong with the daze anyways?
Ah yes, living. The thing I wasnt doing so well while in the daze. This is what is so wrong with my very recent previous state of mind.
So this is a good thing, right? Yes. She said, he said, I said, they said.
I think the next step is to wake up. Take a big breath, stretch, splash some water on my face.
I wonder if thats why I was having so much anxiety. Like my body trying to get me out of what ever parallel world I was in.
Life is a fucking trip. Everything changes constantly. But this can be a good thing.
This is a good thing.
Renaissance
Re-naissance.Re-birth.I have gone missing.
Lost in legal jargon and expectations.
Business suits and coffee.
Billable hours and highlighters.
Fuck that says a muted voice from deep within. Fuck that as I shave my hair and rock my hightops. Fuck that as I put the needle back on the record.
Bills you say?
Fuck that as I sell my shit reduce reuse and recycle.
Dont need no new Gucci glasses.
Just a Stella.
Los cucarachas de senior Edward...
An epic story of bravery, cowardice, and hysteria...
I'll begin my tale on a windy cloudy day at Mudville...oh yes, the famed Mudville,
(A Ballad of the Republic. Sung in the Year 1888)
And just like the Mudville nine, the outlook wasn't brilliant for Corporate Kerri and Shana Nasty that day.
Lunch wasnt swell, it was sweltering...
thats the heat of room and the sweat inducing meal
and precisely where we begin this gruesome tale...
While the wings were scorching and the beer hardly cooled,
The infamous duo soon realized they had just missed their school.
Alas another day without class and excuses,
but a perfect situation in which to introduce the ice pack on bruises.
For instead of coming to class late and dumb
the duo would prepare for the next week to come.
The irony hit when a text message sent
"we're at edwards, us two" and to edwards they went.
The message from Slopey and Brens at her side
How funny missing class the other duo in their tribe.
Notorious for missing classes and drinking as well
these four came together in their tendancies to rebel.
Into edwards they walked just in time to buy beer
without a clue about the little friend who would soon appear.
As Slopey and brens at soup with some corn
Corporate Kerri seemed to regard them with some scorn
"i've never like this place", she said with a look of contempt
but to chill and relax the tribe would attempt.
Unfortunatley for Brens, the little friend did appear
so creepy it was that it nearly braised her ear.
Alas corporate kerri so swift and so bold
Probably her haberdasher kept her so controlled.
She picked up a napkin and watched as he ran
and as she went to squish him he lept out of her hand.
Suddenlly, a loud shriek, heard right round the land
from little Slopey, who knew? her voice had such command.
The whole restaurant stopped, two angry men in the corner
while the waitress just smiled and continued to take our order.
If you can imagine, this was calm, while Nasty just stood,
amazed that her friend just screamed as loud as she could.
Moments later all were calm and they continued to converse
but of course conversation took a turn for the worse
Horror stories of spiders and roaches galore
Until all four of the tribe stood shook to the core.
And just as the conversation grew much more frightening
till all four sat feeling their skin bumpy and crawling
Suddenly, a gaze, more like a look of disgust
From Shana Nasty, something serious thought Slopey, serious a must
For she glared eyes wide open, mouth dropped to the floor
and the next thing you knew Shana sprinted for the door.
Hardly breathing just running the door handle in sight
Shana Nasty cared for nothing save escaping her fright.
Slopey P not so calm as some thought she could be
Instead she ran too, screaming and jumping wildly.
No one knew what had happened a simple glance and a stare
But the entire restaurant stopped to see what was there.
Entire, I lie, as Ker and Brens simply sat
thinking nothing of the madness they had just witnessed pass.
But the horror continued outside on the street
Shana Nasty running for life chased by Slopey P.
"Shaaayyyeeennnaa! WHERE IS IT WHERE ON EARTH COULD IT BE"
screamed Slopes as she undressed right there in the street
The little child and his mother stopped and just stared
as Shana ran wildly chased by Slopes deathly scared.
Finally Shana gave up and came to her aid
found nothing on Slopes who felt incredibly betrayed.
"Dont get it on me" screamed Shana just minutes before
Slopey simply didnt have it in her to forgive her friend anymore.
Embarrased and shy the two slumped back into edwards
Everyone staring loudly while the two just stared onwards.
"What was it?" grumbled Ker as she looked with distaste
And Brens had been shook you could see it in her face.
"i saw it I SWEAR, right there on her chest"
screamed Shana who at this point appeard quite a mess.
"You lie, its not true" said Ker with conviction
"It makes perfect sense, must have come out of the kitchen"
After apologies and hysterics the tribe simply laughed
How funny yet sad this predicament passed.
"Never again" said Corporate Ker and the tribe just agreed
"Never again" it is true, though the memory will succeed.
Thus the tale it must end, no cocroaches on her shirt
But forever this memory engrained and they laughed till it hurt.
5 years from the perspective of one week
Check out the live performance from Def Comedy JamFirst Writing Since
By Suheir Hammad. Suheir Hammad is a Palestinian-American poet and political
activist. She has published a book of poems, Born Palestinian, Born Black,
and a memoir, Drops of This Story. Reprinted on this web page with
permission of the author.
1. there have been no words.
i have not written one word.
no poetry in the ashes south of canal street.
no prose in the refrigerated trucks driving debris and dna.
not one word.
today is a week, and seven is of heavens, gods, science.
evident out my kitchen window is an abstract reality.
sky where once was steel.
smoke where once was flesh.
fire in the city air and i feared for my sister’s life in a way never
before. and then, and now, i fear for the rest of us.
first, please god, let it be a mistake, the pilot’s heart failed, the
plane’s engine died.
then please god, let it be a nightmare, wake me now.
please god, after the second plane, please, don’t let it be anyone
who looks like my brothers.
i do not know how bad a life has to break in order to kill.
i have never been so hungry that i willed hunger
i have never been so angry as to want to control a gun over a pen.
not really.
even as a woman, as a palestinian, as a broken human being.
never this broken.
more than ever, i believe there is no difference.
the most privileged nation, most americans do not know the difference
between indians, afghanis, syrians, muslims, sikhs, hindus.
more than ever, there is no difference.
2. thank you korea for kimchi and bibim bob, and corn tea and the
genteel smiles of the wait staff at wonjo – smiles never revealing
the heat of the food or how tired they must be working long midtown
shifts. thank you korea, for the belly craving that brought me into
the city late the night before and diverted my daily train ride into
the world trade center.
there are plenty of thank yous in ny right now. thank you for my
lazy procrastinating late ass. thank you to the germs that had me
call in sick. thank you, my attitude, you had me fired the week
before. thank you for the train that never came, the rude nyer who
stole my cab going downtown. thank you for the sense my mama gave me
to run. thank you for my legs, my eyes, my life.
3. the dead are called lost and their families hold up shaky
printouts in front of us through screens smoked up.
we are looking for iris, mother of three. please call with any
information. we are searching for priti, last seen on the 103rd
floor. she was talking to her husband on the phone and the line
went. please help us find george, also known as adel. his family is
waiting for him with his favorite meal. i am looking for my son, who
was delivering coffee. i am looking for my sister girl, she started
her job on monday.
i am looking for peace. i am looking for mercy. i am looking for
evidence of compassion. any evidence of life. i am looking for
life.
4. ricardo on the radio said in his accent thick as yuca, “i will
feel so much better when the first bombs drop over there. and my
friends feel the same way.”
on my block, a woman was crying in a car parked and stranded in hurt.
i offered comfort, extended a hand she did not see before she said,
“we’re gonna burn them so bad, i swear, so bad.” my hand went to my
head and my head went to the numbers within it of the dead iraqi
children, the dead in nicaragua. the dead in rwanda who had to vie
with fake sport wrestling for america’s attention.
yet when people sent emails saying, this was bound to happen, lets
not forget u.s. transgressions, for half a second i felt resentful.
hold up with that, cause i live here, these are my friends and fam,
and it could have been me in those buildings, and we’re not bad
people, do not support america’s bullying. can i just have a half
second to feel bad?
if i can find through this exhaust people who were left behind to
mourn and to resist mass murder, i might be alright.
thank you to the woman who saw me brinking my cool and blinking back
tears. she opened her arms before she asked “do you want a hug?” a
big white woman, and her embrace was the kind only people with the
warmth of flesh can offer. i wasn’t about to say no to any comfort.
“my brother’s in the navy,” i said. “and we’re arabs”. “wow, you
got double trouble.” word.
5. one more person ask me if i knew the hijackers.
one more motherfucker ask me what navy my brother is in.
one more person assume no arabs or muslims were killed.
one more person assume they know me, or that i represent a people.
or that a people represent an evil. or that evil is as simple as a
flag and words on a page.
we did not vilify all white men when mcveigh bombed oklahoma.
america did not give out his family’s addresses or where he went to
church. or blame the bible or pat robertson.
and when the networks air footage of palestinians dancing in the
street, there is no apology that hungry children are bribed with
sweets that turn their teeth brown. that correspondents edit images.
that archives are there to facilitate lazy and inaccurate
journalism.
and when we talk about holy books and hooded men and death, why do we
never mention the kkk?
if there are any people on earth who understand how new york is
feeling right now, they are in the west bank and the gaza strip.
6. today it is ten days. last night bush waged war on a man once
openly funded by the
cia. i do not know who is responsible. read too many books, know
too many people to believe what i am told. i don’t give a fuck about
bin laden. his vision of the world does not include me or those i
love. and petittions have been going around for years trying to get
the u.s. sponsored taliban out of power. shit is complicated, and i
don’t know what to think.
but i know for sure who will pay.
in the world, it will be women, mostly colored and poor. women will
have to bury children, and support themselves through grief. “either
you are with us, or with the terrorists” - meaning keep your people
under control and your resistance censored. meaning we got the loot
and the nukes.
in america, it will be those amongst us who refuse blanket attacks on
the shivering. those of us who work toward social justice, in
support of civil liberties, in opposition to hateful foreign
policies.
i have never felt less american and more new yorker – particularly
brooklyn, than these past days. the stars and stripes on all these
cars and apartment windows represent the dead as citizens first – not
family members, not lovers.
i feel like my skin is real thin, and that my eyes are only going to
get darker. the future holds little light.
my baby brother is a man now, and on alert, and praying five times a
day that the orders he will take in a few days time are righteous and
will not weigh his soul down from the afterlife he deserves.
both my brothers - my heart stops when i try to pray - not a beat to
disturb my fear. one a rock god, the other a sergeant, and both
palestinian, practicing muslim, gentle men. both born in brooklyn
and their faces are of the archetypal arab man, all eyelashes and
nose and beautiful color and stubborn hair.
what will their lives be like now?
over there is over here.
7. all day, across the river, the smell of burning rubber and limbs
floats through. the sirens have stopped now. the advertisers are
back on the air. the rescue workers are traumatized. the skyline is
brought back to human size. no longer taunting the gods with its
height.
i have not cried at all while writing this. i cried when i saw those
buildings collapse on themselves like a broken heart. i have never
owned pain that needs to spread like that. and i cry daily that my
brothers return to our mother safe and whole.
there is no poetry in this. there are causes and effects. there are
symbols and ideologies. mad conspiracy here, and information we will
never know. there is death here, and there are promises of more.
there is life here. anyone reading this is breathing, maybe hurting,
but breathing for sure. and if there is any light to come, it will
shine from the eyes of those who look for peace and justice after the
rubble and rhetoric are cleared and the phoenix has risen.
affirm life.
affirm life.
we got to carry each other now.
you are either with life, or against it.
affirm life.
suheir hammad
I think I've missed more flights than most people fly in their entire lifetime. i generally fly quite often, and I tend to miss about 1/3 of my flights. So if you figure that I fly maybe 3 times a month, and miss one of those three flights, the missed flights would equal a frequent flyer on their own.
damn. lemme think about flights ive missed to and from:
ft lauderdale from new york
new york from paris
oakland from new york
san jose from new york
wisconsin from new york
etcetera n shit.
its been a bit ridiculous. but as ive grown, ive learned to take things in stride. this hasnt cost me money, only time. this time has allowed me to decompress after the exam week from hell.
and off to M.I.A. cuz them bitches is sexy
