|
What Does Not Kill You
It’s an afraid new world
in Covid Town.
Sitting in the digital waiting room
sipping a cup of Green Tea.
Queued up for a virtual callback
on Zoom.
Just like the military
hurry up
and
wait.
Twenty minutes in, my screen comes alive.
Casting director introduces himself,
We would like for you to talk to us.
Tell us something bad that
happened to you.
You guys want it real, right?
Yes, we know it’s Monday…
Just another day of the week that
ends in ‘why’.
Whenever you’re ready.
My head spins. Out pops a short order classic
from the stepfather files: The Monster
Behind the Charming Mask.
The abuse was never a matter
of if,
but when,
and it was always,
when.
And after so many beatings,
over so many years,
you really don’t feel the blows or the whip
just the pain inside glowing
like a hot red sun.
And as this story goes
I was dressing down for P.E.
Just me and this other guy in the locker room
who stabs the stainless air with a tortured scream,
WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU??!!
I have no idea what he’s talking about.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror and turn
to see a latticework of black and blue welts
covering my back.
In that viral moment
I made a silent promise to myself
that this would never
happen
again.
It wasn’t too long after that
the Monster came at me
barking orders.
I told him to shut up.
What did you say?
I told you to shut up.
How he glared at me
that one last time
looking at the young mad dog
looking back.
The game is on.
I’m in the zone.
No spit on the ball,
pitching the story right over the plate
as real tears come falling.
Quietly, like timid pearls
from an ancient
sea.
I choke out a
few
last
words… and he never
touched me
again.
Silence.
The director pops up in a corner of my computer screen.
Thank you, he says, that was great.
Just another tale
from the dark side, I say,
plenty more where that
came from.
You available for the shoot?
Yeah, I’m here.
Thanks, and
goodbye.
Click / leave.
Over, and
out.
A few minutes later
an unexpected trembling rolls thru me
with a quickening jolt. Tears erupt.
Big tears, as childhood and old age
push up against one another
into a range of jagged memory.
What does not
kill you.
The red sun burns.
Sangre River
for Bibiana Padilla Maltos
the world is a river
a dance
the thin blue sky dances above the river
and together the sky and the river
are another dance
time is the song beating in our hearts
as we build bridges to the stars
can we hear ourselves?
can we hear one another?
our body hears the wind in the trees
the flight of time that speaks to us all
in our bones
the whiteness that inhabits progress
is the madness imprisoned in our stories
that destroys nature
that writes and rewrites
the deep river
we inhabit
question the narratives
sickened by the virus of progress
escape the affliction inside
that destroys our dance
our world weeps
can you hear the edges of our world
crying out to us?
listen to the voices from the ends of our world
where the common struggle
can be found
a never ending
wound of
love
They Say
they say
that life
begins
at 30
or that 50
is the new 40
or any number of
confusing combinations
to throw you off your mark
life can't help itself
it just keeps beginning
even tho according to most
it never began
because they are
so damn busy
waiting for 30
or 40
or 50
for life
to begin
never stop beginning
it ain't over 'til
it's over
that's what
they say
and they
ought to
know
|
