Penultimate

April 30th. The day before May Day.  The penultimate day of English Class.
A day of spring.  A day of laughs.  A day of spreading smiles.
I ate lasagna for breakfast, and now I'm here.  Maybe it was the lasagna that changed me.
Maybe it was laced.
Laced with a pure idea of what should be and a motivation to accomplish that.
If I could talk to flowers I would tell them, I feel it too.

I feel the sun stretching itself back into shape after a long winters nap.
I feel the winds changing,
I feel my smile spreading across my face every time I step outside into the beautiful world.
I feel my heart growing back into its idea of what is right,
I feel my mind expanding, breathing in the fresh air.
I feel something,
Something good.
Something I'm going to have to call hope.
Something new, something old, something nearly forgotten.
Spring.
Thank you for coming back.
I missed you terribly.

Unnamed

This upcoming writing is a little slam poetry that I wrote during a theme week my school held about racism.  Throughout the week we had various discussions, lectures and classes and we also produced a radio show, some theatre, visual art, and a short film.  This piece coming up is a piece I wrote and performed on the radio show we produced, which will be airing in a couple of weeks.  It would be better to receive if you could hear it, but I haven't quite figured out the video portion of this blog yet so you'll have to soak it in through your eyes instead of your ears.  I hope you like it, and if any thoughts or questions arise after reading it, please feel free to email me at withglitteringwings@gmail.com  I always love to hear the thoughts of others.  Here it is folks.  A piece of slam poetry entitled....

 "Unnamed"
        As humans we are entitled to two things.  Our opinions, and giving and receiving love.  We are born into the world with something to take and something to leave behind.  We are not here to take lives and we are not here to leave sadness.  We are here to make something beautiful, to leave something worth time.
        We are not here to impose our realities onto others.  We are not here to discriminate and we are not here to judge.  Prejudice and bigotry do exist in the world but they don't have to.  We can change that, we can make them go away.  I've heard the jokes.  I've heard the pop songs.  I've heard my share of slurs and derogatory terms.  Each time I hear one based in hate I cringe, and then I wonder.
        Where is this hate born?
        Where does it come from?
        We are system of oppression founded in hate.  We are an institution of bigotry mixed with power and that's what makes us racist.  With the way things are, you'd think that after Columbine and Sandy Hook we'd have police stationed outside every school frisking every middle aged white man for guns.
        But that's not how it is.  Because somehow we've managed to set it up just right so that every black teen strikes fear into the hearts of shopkeepers, but somehow white kids manage to steal everyday.  Somehow we have managed to set it up so that every black man gets stopped on the highway but white people go speeding by everyday.
        This is a problem we're all facing.  This is a problem we're all making.  The problem is not out there.  The problem is not far away.  It is right here in all of our minds.
        How can you justify Ferguson? How can you look into the eyes of Tony Robinson's mother and tell her it's OK that her son died?
        We say that the problem is society, but we are all society, so how do you justify that? We all have to take a hint from the king of pop and start with the man in the mirror to make that change.

Five Senses: Guatemala Style

I See
The bright lights
The sun reflecting off
Of every possible surface.
Taco carts
Bundles of wood
Eyes,
Looking up.
I see lakes of bright blue
Rivers the same.
Dogs, abandoned.
Women, adorned.
Purple, yellow, silver, blue, green,
Rainbows woven into clothes
Dreams, holding it all together.

I Smell
Corn.
Always corn,
And wood smoke.
I smell tradition worked into every tortilla.
I smell bathrooms, as I walk by.
I smell blacktop in the cities, I smell tires rubbed in.
I smell rain as it drips through the fresh leaves
They smell of summer.
The air smells
And I smell it.

I Taste
Hard work.
Dedication.
I ate a meal flavored with smiles, spiced with laughter.
The main course was a giggle and dessert was hilarity.
I never knew I could taste those things,
but I can.
Laughter is sweet,
Giggles are like meringues,
fluffy and light.
I asked for seconds,
And they obliged. 

I Touch
Feelings, hearts.
They touch me,
right in the corazon.
I touch rocks that tell stories
I feel grass that grows from sadness over a village that no longer exists.
I feel sun on my face in a way only the equator can provide.
I touch ropes—nay, vines—vines that feel like ropes.
Mud in-between my toes coolly reminds me that I am alive,
And I inhale,
Fresh jungle air.

I Hear
Sounds.
Many.
All of them?
Cars beeping,
Animals laughing,
People yelling.
Tone is everything in a language that is not your own.
Do their words curve up
Or down?
Does their voice smile,
Or frown?
You tell me,
When you listen. 

A Cross Cultural Analysis of Guatemala and the U.S (unfinished)

What’s the Difference?
A Cross Cultural Analysis of Guatemala and the U.S.A

Guatemala and the USA are two very different places.  However, they also both have similarities.  Both places have beautiful lands and lovely places.  Both places have a government, both places have people suffering.  Both Guatemala and the U.S both have rich people and poor people, both have teenagers just trying to make it and kids just trying to have a good time.

It’s the way that both countries individually handle their similarities that shows the difference between them.  What makes them different is that people of the U.S ignore me on the streets, while everyone in Guatemala says good morning.  What shows me the difference is when looking down on the city of Xela, I see many colored garments in place of the dark coats of Chicago. What highlights the difference is the fact that as a young woman in the U.S I have more options for my life than just a place in the kitchen and the role of a caregiver.

I see the difference between the two cultures when I look at the strength of the people in Guatemala.  They had to build everything they have.  They fought for it and worked for it and it’s theirs, and they plan to keep it that way.  In the U.S, I don’t see that same strength.  I see strength in most eyes, but it is a different kind.  It is the kind of strength that grows in a healthy way, over time.  The kind of strength that develops in a girl when she is told a million times by her parents, “You can do anything.”  It is the kind of strength that was allowed, accepted, grown.    

I see the difference between the cultures when I look at the sacred way tradition is held in Guatemala.  They hold onto their roots and are proud of them.  They want to be the culture who they have been for years, and with that comes a sacredness for what has already been done.  In America I see progress.  I see an upward pushing motion towards an unclear goal.  We keep moving upwards but the gap between here and the end is not closing, so where is it that we are going, exactly? In the way of America I see constant progress, and I wonder if maybe for a while we should go the Guatemalan way and just not worry about time. 

    

Home Again

        Here I am again back in the U.S.
        After being in Guatemala for almost a month it is a lot.
        It is a lot to think about the fact that I've been gone for almost a month.
It feels like more and less both at the same time and my sense of time has been changed.
        I spent a week in San Lucas staying in a hotel full of succulents and working in communities.  We built stoves and friendships, we spread cement and smiles.
       The weekend was spent in Xela (Shay-La) the second biggest city in Guatemala.  There we went Salsa dancing and sight-seeing and stayed with host families that welcomed us into their homes even though it was only for three days.  Xela was the place of hot springs and we rode in the back of a pick-up truck up the side of a mountain until we reached pools of relaxation and rejuvenation at the top.  We left there shriveled like prunes and smelling of the sun.
        The next week we spent up in the mountains, learning the language we were surrounded by.  We had class in grass huts that were built by a medicinal tea brewer named Jorge. I ate meals with an old lady covered in wrinkles and full of stories.  We bonded over pancakes with pineapple marmalade and she taught me how to make tortillas.  The week ended with graduation from the Escuela de las Montanas and a long bus ride back to Huehuetenango and then off to Chacula.
        Chacula is charming, beautiful, homey, pleasant.  It is a small village and there we stayed with host families for the week.  my family was the two parents and then three kids, a fourteen year old girl and a thirteen year old girl, and then an eight year old boy.  They were all happy children that cried when we said good bye.  The mother, Catalina, had a booming laugh and a wide smile, and she made me a hand woven bracelet that smells of woodsmoke and memories.
Did you know that memories have a smell?
         Our week in Chacula was full of adventure and laughs and beautiful places.  We hiked to a waterfall which turned out to be a moss covered wall with ice cold salvation running down it's face.  We hiked to ruins that were surrounded by green and gray and white and for two hours I drowned in stories.  We played volleyball with the locals and my team, Los Ganadores, emerged victorious from the tournament.  Our goodbye was tearful and then we drove twelve hours back to Guatemala City and slept for three or four or five hours, getting up for our first plane at 3:30 am.  We flew home through the skies and then there we were, back on American soil, my eyes happily reading all the signs that were suddenly in English again.
        The trip was so much more than just this and my stories will never be enough to do everything that happened justice, but I hope that you vicariously through me for a little while, a little while that may inspire you to one day go and see it for yourself.

This Particular Now

This,

Right now,

Is what I want.

Always.

I want the smell of theatre mingling with sunset,

I want the infinite days and the starry nights.

I want the pain that comes with laughing this hard,
with feeling this much.

I want all of it.  

I want the nostalgia and the euphoria and the pain and the loss and the love.

I want the memories that drown me, I want the experiences and adventures
 that show and shape and change me.

I want to meet people that I deserve to live within walking distance of.  

I want it to be more of a blessing than a curse to feel this much.

I want to always have this golden iridescent lense that I see through,
 I want everything to be singed with light.

I want to learn to embrace the night and encircle the stars.

I want my everything to always feel like the thud of the bass
 through my chest,

the feeling that I know can't last forever, the one that is best felt
 with a heavy dose of starlight.

This,

This particular now,

Is all I want,

All I need.

sWiM aT yOuR oWn RiSk

Swim at your own risk, they told us.
No lifeguard present, the sign read.

A brisk disclaimer, a bullshit excuse for something they called safety.

What did they expect of us?
They threw us in and we didn’t even know how to swim.
They threw us in and spoke the words.

They never warned us. They never showed us the way.

Tools, a few.
Dreams, a handful.
Wishes, several
Thoughts, too many .

Through the shadow of what is and what isn’t they reached through with a gloved hand.
The hand was there and then gone.

A split second of relief
A fake net

We thought that help was there. Just when we felt that it was all for something,
Something not for nothing.
But no. Something from the deep grabbed me, pulling me down until the light faded to a sparkle far above and the cool silent darkness surrounded.

We thought, maybe, that good would come.
Maybe, like sunsets we'd seen for years,
The sun would set and our time would arrive.

The place where the time is ours.
When the light goes down and the feelings rise up, we could run free in a space all our own.

Safety? Not really
Luck? Not so much

It was not what it seemed.
It was not what we'd hoped.

Give me a chance. Give me some hearts that are compatible with the one in me.
Some thoughts that match up, someone whose hope reflects the color of mine.

Someone who will run out into the eye of the storm with me and dance in it.
Someone who will see a burning fire where I see dying coals and give me the energy to carry on.

Then, maybe, we will learn how to swim.