Happenstance

I used to write a lot. Word formed inside my mind appeared on pages – hard copy or otherwise. Then menopause happened. My mind stops speaking in a way I could capture on paper, real or imaginary. Today I came upon my own blog by chance, and started reading what I had written years ago, day after day diligently.

I am a stranger to my younger self now, grieving the loss of a mind so filled with creativity, confusion and craving. The younger me of 2012-2018 tried to find herself and made sense of her world in words. She didn’t find what she was looking for, but she produced a body of work that today-me may never reproduce.

• June 2023
• December 2018
• November 2018
• October 2018
• September 2018
• August 2018
• July 2018
• May 2018
• April 2018
• March 2018
• February 2018
• January 2018
• November 2017
• October 2017
• June 2017
• May 2017
• April 2017
• March 2017
• February 2017
• January 2017
• November 2016
• October 2016
• September 2016
• August 2016
• June 2016
• May 2016
• April 2016
• March 2016
• February 2016
• January 2016
• December 2015
• November 2015
• October 2015
• September 2015
• August 2015
• July 2015
• June 2015
• May 2015
• January 2015
• August 2014
• July 2014
• May 2014
• February 2014
• January 2014
• December 2013
• November 2013
• October 2013
• September 2013
• August 2013
• July 2013
• June 2013
• May 2013
• April 2013
• March 2013
• January 2013
• December 2012
• November 2012
• October 2012
• July 2012
• June 2012
• April 2012
• March 2012
• February 2012

DO NOT ACCEPT COOKIES HERE

If you are here, and a pop-up banner asking if you would like to accept cookies, please DO NOT ACCEPT. Do nothing.  This code is not inserted by me. I DO NOT track any cookies or your browsing history. I am contacting  Word Press people to see why this is in my site. Thanks for you reading as always. I just want you to be aware not to accept any cookies.  This is not from me.

“Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.”

Subtle Intrusions

Question to the ladies here (and gentlemen too). Have you ever experienced a situation where you were made to feel uncomfortable either because your personal space was encroached on or you were put in situations that somewhat seemed inappropriate but not outrightly inappropriate so you weren’t totally sure if you should say something (i.e report the behavior to some authority – whoever is in charge of school, work, public setting etc)? We all know to say”No, this must stop”, if the behavior is outright aggressive. But what if the behavior is subtle, and yet you still feel unsafe or uncomfortable being subjected to it. Have you experienced what I am describing here? If so, what is your course of action? A, B, C, or D?
(A)Ignore and hope it will go away.
(B) go straight to the authority and report.
(C) stay silent in case everyone thinks you are a crybaby (D) If you take other actions, then what was it?

What is the best advice you can give to someone in this situation?

What of this life
filled with sorrows
things spiraling out of control

 

To all the girls

To all the girls
who smiled and waved politely
asking in the softest voice
May I please.. may I please

To all the girls who
folded their arms
shrinking their shells
blending in the shadows

To all the girls who follow
even as they lead –
Following the rules of how to be
a woman to get somewhere
acceptable May you please
may you please
stop pleasing.

To all of the girls saying

No no no
in to the deafened air

we must have
each other’s back even as
we see ourselves compare

even as they made us compare.
To all the girls we must stand

on top of the mountains
and touch the clouds even if
thunder screams so loudly
that we cannot hear our voices.
To all the girls who held babies
while making the bed, cooking
for four, working to feed
the men who tell us to sit down
and be quiet. To all the girls
may we please

may we please

may we please

keep each other safe. Start
by holding each other up;
sewing our courage on our hearts
when the tearing starts.

Memories

I love you more than
words running
across the road
moments I could not
have stopped even if
I knew how to
I love you more than
what I, my, me, mine
combined to make a whole
world of all of me
I love you when I see

your face, not in front or
behind me but inside my mind’s
eye, sky, walls, the corner
of my memory cells
I love you even before
I knew you — cliche as it sounds
I love you when I left you
I love you when I met you

I love you when you wailed
in my arms      I love you
when you drive me mad
with worries and fears
I love you when you left me
I love you when you met me
in the hallway

I love you when you smile
like this — just like this

In this picture, staring up into
the camera lens, grin spreading
across your face
your chocolate birthday cake
I baked and iced that day gleaming
under the kitchen light – and the joy twinkling
on your face.

 

Sophomore Year Begins

sweet air heavy with bees’ farewells
moths dropping on the kitchen floor
wings crumbled under the curious paws of the cat
children who are no longer children
filling their suitcases with clothes and linens
books in bookbags, trunk full of pillows and blankets
dryer tumbling  last minute grumbling
House readies itself (is it ever ready?)

for the quiet threshold
soon to take over the mornings and evenings
and the nights and the daybreaks
even as school buses full of other people’s children
hiss and groan by the stop signs
where other children’s parents stand waving or cradling
forgotten homework and lunch bags; even as the sky
opens up as it always does the world stays happily ignorant
of all the comings and goings.

Write. Find a way to keep alive and write. There is nothing else to say. If you are going to be a writer there is nothing I can say to stop you; if you’re not going to be a writer nothing I can say will help you. What you really need at the beginning is somebody to let you know that the effort is real.

James Baldwin in a 1984 interview with The Paris Review

More gems here: https://lithub.com/write-a-sentence-as-clean-as-a-bone-and-other-advice-from-james-baldwin/

whispers

Everyone said to

hand out the HELP line number one eight hundred
who shall speak the unspeakable
who contemplates the wastefulness of
what was given By God how could you even
let me call the police

the fire
Men in uniforms rushing
except the people you need to speak
urgently or not so urgently depending on your view
on life when you’re considering the end of.
it’s not that you do not fear the fingers reaching
for your sleeves, tugging not so gently.
The truth is they — the people you need to talk to —
who you would like to say, with scarlet shame rising
in your body, that oh, maybe, you know– it’s not that bad
and you only got one life– for fuck sake – go save a kitten
you don’t get second chance.. oh, why oh why not
think about others mourning your absence
            Such selfish thing to do!.. but is it really necessary?
And you want to say, be here now; not after,
be here, hear me now. Maybe they don’t know
what it’s like to feel the walls moving closer,
and shame pulling you under the water
and you say, I know.. I counted all the blessings

1,2,3,4, one eight hundred numbers
but hey, listen, you don’t know why
you cannot fight this whirl of water
you are being pushed under

and hey, listen, it’s an affliction, okay?  listen?
you know you’re the lucky one, okay  the lucky one
who doesn’t know
her way out of the water.
Don’t judge, don’t yell, yet they run
closing ears hearing you speak
the unspeakable thunder. I know
your grief is as close as my wrist.
Be here, hear you cry into the sheets.
be here, see a heart empties into the stream
the whirlpool circles your name and
you are tired of feeling this

Before you jump
tell me what you find.

• The Killers