My skin is something I never thought about
until they thought about it for me.
"What are you?" they'd ask
as if I was a stranger in a strange land,
as if I had three hands
as if I played accordion in a hard-rock band
My skin taught me my place,
which is not to say out of place
because I still pretty much check "white" on forms asking for race
but that I was obviously a different kind of white.
It's not like this sort of thing keeps me up at night,
but it does seem to be a popular way to break the ice.
My skin started to become stranger to me
every time someone would, again,
ask me as one of their first topics of conversation
what nations my ancestors hailed from,
like I was a border-crossing gypsy bum.
Oh, it'd be innocent like, "Um,
if you don't mind me asking, what's your heritage?"
And they'd ask it so often that I'd get embarrassed
because I knew they weren't asking cause they knew Dad or Mom
or they were doing research on ancestry.com
or they were doing a country scavenger hunt and needed my mark.
They ask because they want to know what makes me dark.
To me, I'm not even all that tan
Not compared to my mom, who passes for Mexican
But I've noticed that my skin isn't pink and pale
like 90 percent of the motherfuckers who desire to know,
in the first 30 seconds of meeting me, my great-grandparents'
Ellis Island tale.
But it's not just the Norwegians, Swedes and Irish,
It's all of y'all, too. Red, black and blue
Who desire to categorize me through and through.
Hey, I can't blame you. I'd love to be an easy statistic.
That would keep my sanity at times from going ballistic
But so far, I know of no clubs or groups looming,
no stations tuning
No organizations for my heritage are blooming
No German-Bulgarian-French-Swiss-Dutch-and-Welsh Student Union
So I am assuming I gotta handle this alone.
Keep explaining my winter tan to whomever wants to know.
My skin tells the story of how my ancestors go
across cities, countries, regions and continents
to America, the land where no one's really a native
So the color of your skin is the only way to hate it.
My skin, instead, traces the path of love.
Each people, each country, coursing through my blood
I see their faces in my tears, hear words of wisdom in my laugh
Every time I sign my name, it's each of their autographs.
The path I now take reflects all of the sacrifices they once did make
My skin is the last remaining tangible ancestral deference
To prevent their total obsolescence
So it pains me to think people take it the wrong way
Like, I don't have blue, green or even hazel eyes
I must be different.
I don't have straight, light-colored hair
I must not be like you
My skin lacks the pink undertones that categorize
the majority of the white people of the Midwest
so you and I cannot be sisters.
You and I cannot be removed a century ago from the same place
You and I do not have a shared ancestral history
so, it is implied, we now know where I stand
and it is in that vaguely-defined category of "Other."
Too miscellaneous to be identified.
To extraneous to be categorized.
Westminster wouldn't put me in their purebred show
so I'll never get that top prize.
My skin has taught me the best way to get to know someone
is to close your eyes
For when you're not worried about the superficial
you can find other things to love, or to despise.
My skin is the product of generations preceding me
coming to the exact same conclusion.
So don't make my skin the question
for which you must immediately find a solution.
2/19/10
1/19/10
The ABC's
I aim and aspire to act like an acrobatic Aristotle
Alliteration on full throttle
Navigating a metaphor on a sea so smooth
I might as well be the captain of a ship in a bottle.
Believing bogus benedictions begets backwards bias
I reject Bible-beaters who claim to be pious
But continue to belittle, berate and harbor bitterness
If your god rewards that, I'll have no part of this.
Carefully crafted calligraphy changes the city's consciousness
Crude phrases without meaning lack emphasis and simple phonics
I don't mind demeaning if my cause you're mistreating
Because something as important as community deserves a second reading.
And don't demean our daughters' dreams
Cause doing so is detrimental
Don't think their actions or thoughts have no potential.
Explaining excitement, even emotion, is an easy education
Words flow constantly from our minds like limitless proclamations
These poetic ABCs are more than tongue-twisting declarations
They're literal libations
And this verbal bartender serves them up free to all nations.
I aim and aspire to liberate these frustrations
In verse.
Alliteration on full throttle
Navigating a metaphor on a sea so smooth
I might as well be the captain of a ship in a bottle.
Believing bogus benedictions begets backwards bias
I reject Bible-beaters who claim to be pious
But continue to belittle, berate and harbor bitterness
If your god rewards that, I'll have no part of this.
Carefully crafted calligraphy changes the city's consciousness
Crude phrases without meaning lack emphasis and simple phonics
I don't mind demeaning if my cause you're mistreating
Because something as important as community deserves a second reading.
And don't demean our daughters' dreams
Cause doing so is detrimental
Don't think their actions or thoughts have no potential.
Explaining excitement, even emotion, is an easy education
Words flow constantly from our minds like limitless proclamations
These poetic ABCs are more than tongue-twisting declarations
They're literal libations
And this verbal bartender serves them up free to all nations.
I aim and aspire to liberate these frustrations
In verse.
1/17/10
Touchdown (VIP boot camp exercise)
Touchdown.
The team in the dark-colored jerseys
bump into each other gleefully, in that masculine, angry way
as the ball is picked up by the guys in black and white
and the team in the light-colored jerseys
glumly unstraps their helmets and slinks off to the side.
They've lost this round. But they'll come back.
I watch the dark-colored jerseys load up the football on the
little football-holder thingy, ready to kickoff,
and out of the corner of my eye I see
you, in the dark-colored shirt, load up a bowl in the
little colorful holder thingy, ready to light.
The kick comes, and the light-colored jerseys get the ball,
hustling down the field, until they get taken down,
and then they line up, facing their opponents, hut hut, hike!
And you pass the piece to me, in my light-colored shirt,
and I breathe in, and release
and the ball is intercepted by the dark-colored jerseys
as I pass to the dark-colored shirt next to me,
and you breathe in, too,
and then the dark-colored jerseys feel the power,
and they go for
the Hail Mary
And the ball goes up, and we go up, so high above it all,
up and up, and we think for a second maybe we'll all be
in the sky forever
and we'll never, ever
touch down.
The team in the dark-colored jerseys
bump into each other gleefully, in that masculine, angry way
as the ball is picked up by the guys in black and white
and the team in the light-colored jerseys
glumly unstraps their helmets and slinks off to the side.
They've lost this round. But they'll come back.
I watch the dark-colored jerseys load up the football on the
little football-holder thingy, ready to kickoff,
and out of the corner of my eye I see
you, in the dark-colored shirt, load up a bowl in the
little colorful holder thingy, ready to light.
The kick comes, and the light-colored jerseys get the ball,
hustling down the field, until they get taken down,
and then they line up, facing their opponents, hut hut, hike!
And you pass the piece to me, in my light-colored shirt,
and I breathe in, and release
and the ball is intercepted by the dark-colored jerseys
as I pass to the dark-colored shirt next to me,
and you breathe in, too,
and then the dark-colored jerseys feel the power,
and they go for
the Hail Mary
And the ball goes up, and we go up, so high above it all,
up and up, and we think for a second maybe we'll all be
in the sky forever
and we'll never, ever
touch down.
Radicals (VIP boot camp exercise)
The first woman who ever said an unkind word to a man
was a radical.
The first woman to take the job of a man
was a radical.
The first woman to wear pants instead of a skirt or a dress
was a radical.
The first woman who thought she could be the best
was a radical.
The first woman who wrote, the ones who wanted to vote
The ones who, without remorse, sowed their wild oats
were radicals.
The first to not take a sabbatical
The first to dialog bilateral
The first to be named infallible
The first to go into sports, to serve on the courts
"Radical" is no longer a retort
It is a mission of progressive persistence
Those interested in the status quo need not apply
Only those insistent on not only toeing the line
But crossing over
Being radical is like playing "Red Rover"
And knowing if you, and you alone, can't break through the chain
Then you become a part of it.
Radicals didn't invent the dream
But they were the ones who started it.
was a radical.
The first woman to take the job of a man
was a radical.
The first woman to wear pants instead of a skirt or a dress
was a radical.
The first woman who thought she could be the best
was a radical.
The first woman who wrote, the ones who wanted to vote
The ones who, without remorse, sowed their wild oats
were radicals.
The first to not take a sabbatical
The first to dialog bilateral
The first to be named infallible
The first to go into sports, to serve on the courts
"Radical" is no longer a retort
It is a mission of progressive persistence
Those interested in the status quo need not apply
Only those insistent on not only toeing the line
But crossing over
Being radical is like playing "Red Rover"
And knowing if you, and you alone, can't break through the chain
Then you become a part of it.
Radicals didn't invent the dream
But they were the ones who started it.
Emotional crime (VIP boot camp exercise)
It was late, I was tired, and we both were perspired
So I felt inspired to take what conspired
And re-imagine it as a higher emotion
I said, "I love you." Wondering if I'm a liar
Or a petty thief hired to take hearts, break hearts
Fake something that started out on fire and slow-burned on desire
And suddenly catapult it without warning
Fake love is only fake in the morning.
So I felt inspired to take what conspired
And re-imagine it as a higher emotion
I said, "I love you." Wondering if I'm a liar
Or a petty thief hired to take hearts, break hearts
Fake something that started out on fire and slow-burned on desire
And suddenly catapult it without warning
Fake love is only fake in the morning.
News from a different point of view (VIP boot camp exercise)
They didn't name her, and that's how I knew.
Her brand-new 2-door was pale blue
Just like the car in the picture
Only this one was crumpled, flipped over in the ditch
Well, ain't that a bitch,
The news always waits to name the deceased
Until all the family members have been reached
But nobody's called me.
So I gotta read
About a girl, just like you, crashing her car, just your blue
Who she is no one knew.
But I know cause I called you
Went to voicemail
Wanted answers to no avail
And the newspaper only gave me just enough
To have me thinking this day was about to get tough.
Her brand-new 2-door was pale blue
Just like the car in the picture
Only this one was crumpled, flipped over in the ditch
Well, ain't that a bitch,
The news always waits to name the deceased
Until all the family members have been reached
But nobody's called me.
So I gotta read
About a girl, just like you, crashing her car, just your blue
Who she is no one knew.
But I know cause I called you
Went to voicemail
Wanted answers to no avail
And the newspaper only gave me just enough
To have me thinking this day was about to get tough.
Sounds Erotic! (VIP boot camp exercise)
Soft. He brushes up against me.
He wants it, I can tell.
His green eyes lock my brown ones, pleading.
If I don't answer him right away he continues to rub,
slowly circling me, softer, slower.
Finally, I feel myself beginning to cave,
finding him less of a bothersome nuisance
and more of a loving, caring nuisance,
and I start to want it too.
I bend over, and he comes near,
and my fingers lock in his hairy back
and I pet the cat just the way he likes it.
He wants it, I can tell.
His green eyes lock my brown ones, pleading.
If I don't answer him right away he continues to rub,
slowly circling me, softer, slower.
Finally, I feel myself beginning to cave,
finding him less of a bothersome nuisance
and more of a loving, caring nuisance,
and I start to want it too.
I bend over, and he comes near,
and my fingers lock in his hairy back
and I pet the cat just the way he likes it.
12/1/09
AIDS (2nd revision) (Written for UNI's World AIDS Day event)
Six thousand people died yesterday
Six thousand people died today
I dreamed I tattooed their names
on my body; I committed their life stories
to memory; I learned all their favorite songs
and made a playlist and played it back for you.
I dreamed that I dove into a salty pool
of the tears their relatives had shed
and 6,000 pairs of eyeballs stared back at me
as if to say,
"What can the living do for the dead?"
What can I do
as 6,000 people die today
and 6,000 more will die tomorrow of AIDS?
Six thousand? I cannot even fathom that number.
I don't even have 6,000 Facebook friends.
Six thousand people did not go to my high school
and I do not have, nor will I ever have,
$6,000 in my bank account.
So what the hell is 6,000?
Six thousand is a mother who can
no longer breastfeed her child.
Six thousand is a father who quit his job
because he grows weaker and weaker.
Six thousand is a child who watches
her mother and father slowly die
and realizes she is next.
I am not a scientist
and I can't research a cure
I am not a doctor
and I can't provide treatment
I am not a philanthropist
and I cannot donate millions of dollars
to help fund treatment
But I have a voice.
And I can either use that voice
and remind people that 6,000 people
die every day of AIDS in this world,
or I can stay silent
as I try to fall asleep
because this epidemic is like taking a sedative
Millions are dying, have died, repetitive
We are the critics, the blowhards, the cynics
Ignoring the carnage until we're the victims
We wait, count backwards 100 to 1
Till the drug takes effect, then sleep will come
Dreams aren't for everyone, not if you're poor
Or black, or gay, or your country's at war
The nations of Africa fighting for life
Just like our neighbors next door
While we lie awake at night
Bribing sleep for one hour more
That's what intentions are for
Never you mind all the killing and dying
Never you mind all the orphaned kids crying
Never you mind the people you meet
Growing thinner and older and weaker each week
Just sweep it under the rug and pretend
It's not really happening, it will all end
We can't know the cost and we can't comprehend
So we take a pill, no time to spend
For once in our lives we should take a stand
For once, be humble and lend a hand
Don't say, "I can't; it's too much to do."
What if the crisis mattered to you?
Six thousand people died today
I dreamed I tattooed their names
on my body; I committed their life stories
to memory; I learned all their favorite songs
and made a playlist and played it back for you.
I dreamed that I dove into a salty pool
of the tears their relatives had shed
and 6,000 pairs of eyeballs stared back at me
as if to say,
"What can the living do for the dead?"
What can I do
as 6,000 people die today
and 6,000 more will die tomorrow of AIDS?
Six thousand? I cannot even fathom that number.
I don't even have 6,000 Facebook friends.
Six thousand people did not go to my high school
and I do not have, nor will I ever have,
$6,000 in my bank account.
So what the hell is 6,000?
Six thousand is a mother who can
no longer breastfeed her child.
Six thousand is a father who quit his job
because he grows weaker and weaker.
Six thousand is a child who watches
her mother and father slowly die
and realizes she is next.
I am not a scientist
and I can't research a cure
I am not a doctor
and I can't provide treatment
I am not a philanthropist
and I cannot donate millions of dollars
to help fund treatment
But I have a voice.
And I can either use that voice
and remind people that 6,000 people
die every day of AIDS in this world,
or I can stay silent
as I try to fall asleep
because this epidemic is like taking a sedative
Millions are dying, have died, repetitive
We are the critics, the blowhards, the cynics
Ignoring the carnage until we're the victims
We wait, count backwards 100 to 1
Till the drug takes effect, then sleep will come
Dreams aren't for everyone, not if you're poor
Or black, or gay, or your country's at war
The nations of Africa fighting for life
Just like our neighbors next door
While we lie awake at night
Bribing sleep for one hour more
That's what intentions are for
Never you mind all the killing and dying
Never you mind all the orphaned kids crying
Never you mind the people you meet
Growing thinner and older and weaker each week
Just sweep it under the rug and pretend
It's not really happening, it will all end
We can't know the cost and we can't comprehend
So we take a pill, no time to spend
For once in our lives we should take a stand
For once, be humble and lend a hand
Don't say, "I can't; it's too much to do."
What if the crisis mattered to you?
11/19/09
Woman Seeking Baby Daddy: A Craigslist Ad
Well, I've never used this service before,
but for something as sensitive and personal as this,
I knew there was only one thing to do:
put this on Craigslist.
Woman seeking baby daddy.
But not just any baby daddy, oh no.
This baby daddy has to ride slow
in his mama's dark green Toyota Corolla
and see me walking on the street and roll up
and honk his horn two times until I turn around annoyed
and then he'll hand-crank the window down
and say, "Wuz up, beautiful? You're so beautiful. Come here, girl."
This baby daddy must hit me with as many creepy compliments
as he does uncomfortable personal questions.
For example: "Girl, your skin is so smooth, and your eyes are
so dark and soulful. ... Are you Mexican?"
Must be freaky.
Suggest, about halfway through dinner, and by dinner I mean
after I bought us two beers at AJ's
That we should get my sexy ass back to your mama's house,
cuz she's at work right now,
and when I hesitate, you protest, "What? I didn't mean it like that!"
I would prefer it
if you at least tell me something like
"Ooh, let's not use a condom. I'll pull out before, don't worry."
But it's OK
if you just feed me some line, like you're allergic,
or you've had a vasectomy when you really haven't,
and I'll even settle for you pretending to put on a condom
and never actually having any condoms at all.
I'm looking for a baby daddy
who has it all:
he lets me take a shower at his place and use his old, damp towel;
he drives me to Burger Kind on Tuesdays and Thursdays before his shift;
he occasionally waves to me when I see him at the mall with someone
he will later tell me was his cousin.
I want you
to slowly let it filter into your conversations
that you have other children, possibly as old as 12 years old,
but it would be better if you don't tell me at all,
and I wake up at your mama's house one day
to some crazy woman yelling at you with a baby in one hand
and a knife in the other
and you're telling her to shush so she doesn't wake your mother
Ooh, baby daddy, you'd be the greatest
if you leave the room immediately when I tell you I'm the latest
and you never come back.
So baby daddy, if you're out there,
please respond ASAP.
but for something as sensitive and personal as this,
I knew there was only one thing to do:
put this on Craigslist.
Woman seeking baby daddy.
But not just any baby daddy, oh no.
This baby daddy has to ride slow
in his mama's dark green Toyota Corolla
and see me walking on the street and roll up
and honk his horn two times until I turn around annoyed
and then he'll hand-crank the window down
and say, "Wuz up, beautiful? You're so beautiful. Come here, girl."
This baby daddy must hit me with as many creepy compliments
as he does uncomfortable personal questions.
For example: "Girl, your skin is so smooth, and your eyes are
so dark and soulful. ... Are you Mexican?"
Must be freaky.
Suggest, about halfway through dinner, and by dinner I mean
after I bought us two beers at AJ's
That we should get my sexy ass back to your mama's house,
cuz she's at work right now,
and when I hesitate, you protest, "What? I didn't mean it like that!"
I would prefer it
if you at least tell me something like
"Ooh, let's not use a condom. I'll pull out before, don't worry."
But it's OK
if you just feed me some line, like you're allergic,
or you've had a vasectomy when you really haven't,
and I'll even settle for you pretending to put on a condom
and never actually having any condoms at all.
I'm looking for a baby daddy
who has it all:
he lets me take a shower at his place and use his old, damp towel;
he drives me to Burger Kind on Tuesdays and Thursdays before his shift;
he occasionally waves to me when I see him at the mall with someone
he will later tell me was his cousin.
I want you
to slowly let it filter into your conversations
that you have other children, possibly as old as 12 years old,
but it would be better if you don't tell me at all,
and I wake up at your mama's house one day
to some crazy woman yelling at you with a baby in one hand
and a knife in the other
and you're telling her to shush so she doesn't wake your mother
Ooh, baby daddy, you'd be the greatest
if you leave the room immediately when I tell you I'm the latest
and you never come back.
So baby daddy, if you're out there,
please respond ASAP.
11/8/09
Voices
My voice
is like a sponge
soaking up the spilled milk
to stop you from crying.
My voice
is a detective
asking probing questions
to prevent you from lying.
My voice
is a shield
deflecting others' bullets
to stop you from dying
and I'm trying all the while to collect these voices
My voice
is a Trojan horse
wrapped up in this harmless package
you wouldn't think inside held a warrior
My voice
is a Trojan condom
letting myself relax and have fun
but still putting up a barrier
My voice
is a live virus
infecting you so deeply that you'll be the carrier
and I'm warier all the while of these voices
My voice
is the day you were born
learning with each new step
that you are incredibly capable
My voice
is the day you died
relinquishing family secrets
and putting everything on the table
My voice
is life itself
messy, unpredictable
often crude and mentally unstable
and I'm able all the while to collect these voices
I hear her voice, and his voice
and my voice grows stronger
I hear their voice, and your voice
and my speech gets longer
and that he-said, she-said
becomes the you-said, we-said
and I said someone should collect these voices
even if they're actually all in my head....
is like a sponge
soaking up the spilled milk
to stop you from crying.
My voice
is a detective
asking probing questions
to prevent you from lying.
My voice
is a shield
deflecting others' bullets
to stop you from dying
and I'm trying all the while to collect these voices
My voice
is a Trojan horse
wrapped up in this harmless package
you wouldn't think inside held a warrior
My voice
is a Trojan condom
letting myself relax and have fun
but still putting up a barrier
My voice
is a live virus
infecting you so deeply that you'll be the carrier
and I'm warier all the while of these voices
My voice
is the day you were born
learning with each new step
that you are incredibly capable
My voice
is the day you died
relinquishing family secrets
and putting everything on the table
My voice
is life itself
messy, unpredictable
often crude and mentally unstable
and I'm able all the while to collect these voices
I hear her voice, and his voice
and my voice grows stronger
I hear their voice, and your voice
and my speech gets longer
and that he-said, she-said
becomes the you-said, we-said
and I said someone should collect these voices
even if they're actually all in my head....
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