Take that, Goldieblox!

Read this article at Shakespeare's Sister if you want a respectful, comprehensive read about why Goldieblox is more of the same old in new pinkified packaging. The comments are wonderful too!

And in that spirit, here's something the kids 6 (F) and 14 (M) made this morning.

At (L); Nu (R)

_

Trying to get this done

with a mouse and many, many elephants...

_

Briefly

Skipping from fire to fear
the colors beyond mathematics

From innocence to indifference
telluric, ludic, dead like this


_

A Kind of Rhythm

Highrise
Skyscrapers thrust through my heart
hope rising floor
by floor


Freefall
Then an ocean, breaking every day
retreat, put myself
back together

_

Mixed Media/Metaphor

Life is a juggling act / Life is a blur

A Man's Job...

At work, hanging out with the kids.

(They're off from school because it's

the beginning of hunting season--seriously.)

Does Nu look like 

a(n) (in)famous historical character 

from Germany--or is that just me, Godwin-ing?

_

Après-Laundry

Hide from your siblings.

Knowing What to Say

Do you choke on the cold
let it cut you open

Do you use love
as a lasso

Romance experience
Experience romance

I build it
by taking it apart

smothered bruised
and seething like music

_

Prayer in the Storm

Today is
an avalanche

The night is
upset desert

packed light
snack light

Bring
morning

Sing
morning

by light
or not night

_

Improvising

My heart operates on battery.
Yes, you can read it two ways;
neither of them will make sense.

Somedays, you are my soul and
it's your ear I want to hug most.
(A testament--not much better.)

Although, your hands--do save me.
Sometimes their higher purpose is
to idly hold my tired, dripping face.

Many thousand feet above us, perhaps
stars dance ever slowly, unconcerned
their void filled with winking emoticons.


_

Lest I Forget

I don't speak to our dead everyday
even today, I'm just... just listening.
Listening for the way they whistle.

Mostly the dead never disappear
I can sweep up the dust and papers
and know they never appear either

Still the weight of their stare lingers
on my eyes, in smiles, the limit where
my breath slices my lungs like apples

And my freedom, this pulse I carry.
I close my eyes, every time the last
Holding in glances, instead of arms

_

I've been working like a dog...

and 

I'm beginning

 to pant like one 

too.

_

Mornings

Puppy and me at 4 a.m.

he yells at me if I move.

So I just sit here and work.

Cutest + toughest boss ever.

_

Location

Turning the stars with spatula arms
skies spill stars and mosquitoes

thunder like sprays of flowers
like dead deer, typewriters

hinting like a children's book
foretelling surprises, defeats.

Darkness is the little treat
lying in the womb

I wonder what it means
to share: I'm here

Yet know it means
something to you

in the slow interior
of your mood

Devout Puppies

_

Happy Deepavali!

May there be light, warmth, and love

while we try to get through 

to the bright side!

_

Home truths

Have been binge-watching Homeland over the past two days--but only because of a cold that ironically relieved me from having to obsess about writing and grading that needs to be done.

Four home truths of importance to no one but me:

1. Binge-watching is the only way A and I have ever watched the show. 
2. And almost as frequently we're falling asleep or talking and losing track. But we've never rewound any episode. Invariably, we're like "Eh--we'll figure it out in the recap of the next episode." 
3. Carrie's bipolarity almost makes it difficult to watch because it feels so intrusive--kinda of meta considering she's CIA and the stuff about the NSA and our private lives and all of that.
4. But if I'm being completely honest, the main reason I like the show is because it gives me a chance to hear A's moniker for the Brody character--"Ginger Bin Laden." It's not particularly clever, but to hear the ginger-haired A say it in his scoffingly supercilious tone makes me giggle like I'm in middle school every single time.

_

Boo! (Or, My Boos)

Posing (in order of height):

A little vampire, 

Louis from Left for Dead, 

and a guest--Glitterstim from Star Wars.

Not Posing:

all of the above + 

Scout as a medieval jouster's trusty steed.

(That puppy just loves his big brother.)

_

Safekeeping

Our paired vows
are ever air, unclear
          folded in English
          prickling with desire
shouting loud of love
candidates for fights
          we know no one wins
          entranced--not thinking at all.

But all day gather every thing
and thought, even ones tiny as almonds
          and bittersweet, for the hell of it
          to share after you've brushed
your teeth to shining at 3 a.m.
and our wishes surge huge
          flapping around us, fly us
          frail, beautiful with sleep.


_

On Nu's Lady Liberty

A asks me, 

"How can you still not want 

to be a U.S. citizen 

after seeing that picture?"

He says, 

"I want to be a poor, 

disheveled immigrant 

just so I can run to her."

_

Fear

Because of my insistence on
making monsters in the dark
they grow strong enough

to come for me in daylight

Their laughter running
bloody around the room
as I run around

chewing through ropes

that are all mine, mine.
Even light is useless
and the small blessings

bearing cacti like cake

I must survive
in wasting life
in the after life

_

Repentance

today's possibilities halve
carved by rain

cities are divided by winter
wondering, stoic

the grass hardens to ice
without answers

the crash--it is coming
ornate and faithless

won't stop until it explodes,
blooming like day


_

I wonder what he's thinking about

When he clambers up the sofa

to stand on his hind legs

with his front legs folded--

kinda leaning on his elbows--

with his "lovey" carefully
tucked under his arm

looking out of the window
across the water

watching the water rat 

 birds and the other dogs 

Happy Birthday Dad!

From the production titled,

"Visiting Dad at work to wish him a Happy Birthday:"

(Working Title: "Midnight Adventure")

Featuring: Nu on flowers,

At on baked goods, and

Scout with Balloon

_

In which I discover that I am a good Hindu girl after all...

I'm absent-mindedly humming along to the new mumbly masterpiece by Kings of Leon in the car.

And also: smiling.

At looks slightly horrified and asks me, "You know it's about suicide, right?"

What? Wait; you mean they're not talking about taking one in the temple... Oh.

_

As we recovered, there were some ... complications

_

Six is Magical...

Thanks to Grandma S for 

the bunny-popping-out-a-hat cake!

_

Helping me get... Helpy

Not sure what's going on, 

but yesterday, after making dinner

I just didn't have any more energy 

So the kids put me to bed.

And then Scout sat on my feet

--To make sure I don't get up? 

To fart on my feet for warmth? 

So no one would wake me up?

And that reminded me 

when Little A was little 

and would say "Helpy" 

when he meant "healthy."

_

Of Commutes

Our trees will soon be bones
snow-bleached death

their camouflage ripens
place, time

in the trenches of autumn
stars rent the sky

the monotony of brilliance
of looking away


_

Monday/Vijaya Dashami

sleeping, dreaming of sleep
I'm a tidy lady of the rain

humming like a flower 

to the bees

in the hive of my eyes,

bloodshot as rubies

a vision belabors

free of gravity

-

Rainbow-Toes and Butterflies

When I'm done...

I can get started...

I can hardly wait.

In Other Are You F*&^%ing Effing With Me News

I know you must feel terrible. I know I do every single day I drop my kids off at school. But Newtown people, it doesn't make any sense to raze your elementary school so another elementary school can be built on the same site. 

Over and over again at the link, the rhetoric is so that "we can bring our children home." I'm sorry. I'm sorry about it every day, but those children cannot come home.

Can you not use your resources on public health and education services instead and show the rest of us how to deal with and prevent those tragedies from happening?

_

What's so important, anyway?

no one understands...

Obviously this is a circumzenithal arc

Or at least that's what showed up 

when I assiduously googled 

"upside-down rainbow."

Taken on our evening walk by Nu.

It's caused by ice-crystals

in the atmosphere. Ulp.

_

It's Gotten Dark

It's nearing the end of September and I should have expected it. But I'm surprised by how dark it's gotten.

Also, it's Monday.

But I'm going to blame everything on how dark it's gotten.

It's why I needed to leave the door open to get dressed this morning and it shone on A's face in bed and he yelled at me and I yelled back and said his sleeping schedule was dysfunctional.

And the kids were still eating breakfast after I'd unloaded the dishwasher, made beds, made lunches, made eggs, tidied, got dressed (and yelled at) and I was mad.

And when I got to work, my Chair was in early and wanted to have a conversation with me. And the thing she wanted to talk about was awkward at first and then painful (for me).

And I worked obsessively in my windowless office for eight hours. About four hours in, I realized I was wearing blue paisley and gray, which is alright in theory, but was awful in the light.

Things got better once I got to the gas station: (a) made it just before the needle turned to empty (b) a red car pulled up beside me (c) the driver waved at me (d) after one too many seconds, I realized it was Big A (e) ended up smiling back at him (f) he pumped my gas (g) gave me a hug (h) I told him about my horrible work conversation (i) got hugged again (j) He took the grocery list off me.

And I got to go home and wheedle I-had-a-bad-day hugs from kids.

And they ate grilled cheese their dad made.

And I was excused from the "Poo-lympics" (picking up all the doggie poop in the grass).

I still have to work every waking minute on the thing my Chair talked about for the foreseeable future.

Unless there's an apocalypse.
_

Nuts

The oldest one is playing 

(saxophone) at an away game.

the littler ones spend the day 

jabbering, "joking," 

jabbering some more, 

making up crazy games, 

(one of which requires us 

to draw someone she's thinking of).

When I tell him, At smirks and asks,

"Do you appreciate me now?"

Always do; always have.

Always will.

_

Gathering

In some evolved vegan way

these plants might be animal;

the undersides of their leaves--

pale and vulnerable underbellies,

the amused puckering of the spines

then the bright stare of their stamen.

I search for the taut bright, 

the ovoid shapes that nest  

amongst roots, soil, leaves. 

Each tomato's jewel-red slope

finds the curve of my warm palm,

believes that it wants to come home.

Manifesto

We'll have to tell all our small, silly jokes
to save us one final time and well.

And fight the sour syllables of silence
friends at the bottom of the well.

Smile--like thoughts gods had briefly
fall on our knees, count seasons.

The road spreads fluorescent
of course, we repeat in patient panic

reasons fistful by fistful;
thoughts dazzling out of our heads.

Re-Homing Children

How incredibly dangerous it is to be a child.

This Reuters investigative report about "re-homing" adopted children with no oversight via law enforcement or child welfare agencies is frightening, bleak, and fucking... breaks... my... heart.

_

Tic-Tac-Toe

I mistake the day for nothing

Moments are like prayer,

Memory still muttering.

All words shimmer earnest, 

fall underfoot where children 

rush and stomp, play, find fun.

Daylight peels itself slowly

from windows and eyes

someone I know says, "hug," 

someone else says "love"

I breathe as though 

for someone far; CPR

I am a daughter of dread

my self-conscious prayers rise

like the breath of those dead.

_

NuNu Love

7:30. After I packed everyone's lunches, 

I rushed to get changed for school.

In the time it took me to change, 

she slipped her smiley "I heart you" 

into my lunchbox.

When I got home at 4:30, she grabbed me

asking, "Did you find it? Did you see it?"

She said she kept giggling at school 

thinking about that note to me. 

Me too.

_

I'm with the Band

In too much of a hurry 

to smile for me/the camera 

before he sets off to saxophone it in.

(And I watch over his shoulder.)

Give us this day our daily produce

Smiling at all the fruit and veg in my office today. 

I didn't accept the tomatoes 

'cos we have lots of them fruiting at home.

The apple is my favorite

it makes me feel like a real teacher.

_

Amanda, Michelle, Gina

They're saying the man who kept the three girls imprisoned in Cleveland committed suicide. I wonder if after being imprisoned himself, he realized what a horrible thing he'd done and offed himself out of remorse.

Far away from everything related, even I have nightmares about the whole thing. In one, I was crouched on the floor at the grocery store for something on a low shelf and overheard someone calculating aloud how big a cage to contain me would have to be.

If the nightmares ever subside, I'll get to smile at my friend J Castro's disgusted FB update when the news broke: "After years of being asked if I was related to Fidel, now this."

Yes; I was in Cleveland over the weekend. No; I had nothing to do with it.

God.

_

Dancing the Night Away

Kavitha-Neil's Wedding/

Last party of the summer vacation

Weekend with Grandparents Portrait (2)

With Maama-Thatha

Horseshoe Park, Cleveland

Weekend with Grandparents Portrait (1)

 Martinez Family Picnic
Salt River Park, Shepherd

Perspective

These two--together all day

playing, arguing in whispers, 

feeding, walking the puppy,

assembling their own lunches, 

making time for me to work 

in my corner of the room.

Sometimes, I take pictures on my phone.

(But they all face the same way.)

SO Big!

The "Babies" are getting taller...

Kid's got flair...

Contrast my timid wave to her flourish :)

Gone Fishing...

_

Almost Home (Heathrow)

Was able to get this photo for the kids 

and so I guess one could say 

it wasn't a complete waste of a trip.

_

Tag

It's been ages since I actually lived here. 

Yet although I'm here on a visit myself,

I walk past people on Broad Street and

catch myself thinking--"Those tourists!"

Hot and Cold

I could title this picture, "Oh, England!"

Or: "Old Advisor, New Advisor"

Can I ask for some moderation?

I'd forgo the mixer.

_

(I need a) Smile

At blogged about this a long time ago.

He titled it Paul Simon Enjoys Subs:

(In case you can't read it, it says:

"The words of the prophets are written on the Subway (sic) walls."

So meta.)

Self Doubt

This city is old, has high expectations. 

It all feels just as overwhelming and 

impossible as it did ten years ago. 

Still... I can bump into more people 

I (used to) know here 

than in the city where 

I actually live now.

_

Anyone's Son

Anyone's Son
by Tara Skurtu

--for the family of Trayvon Martin

This poem wants to write itself backwards.
Wishes it were born memory instead, skipping

time like a record needle stuck on the line
of your last second. You sit up. Brush not blood,

but dirt from your chest. You sit up. You're in bed.
Bad dream. Back to sleep. You sit up. Rise and shine.

Good morning. This is the poem of a people united
in the uniform of your last day. Pockets full

of candy, hooded sweatshirt, sweet tea. This poem
wants to stand its ground, silence force

with simple words, pray you alive, anyone's
son—tall boy, eye-smile, walk on home.

_

Train

He's just a little taller and faster than I am. 

It's kind of perfect for interval training.

I walk fast and then have to run to catch up...

Repeat for six miles through the fields.

About Justice

From Angry Black Bitch, a poetic, impassioned, and Homi Bhabha-like meditation on "rage face" and privilege.

Which brings me back to Rage Face with that shotgun…and his outrage over the very thought of someone taking his gun…and the thousands upon thousands of folks who think he did a great thing because they share his outrage.
His outrage that someone may take his gun.
May take someone’s son.
Could take his gun.
Could take someone’s son.
Are thinking about taking his gun.
Are thinking about taking someone’s son.
In a country where some can load a shotgun two blocks from the Capitol without comment while others get shot for the crime of walking home after buying snacks.

_

O.K. Camp

A couple of weeks ago, the kids were finally at the eco-camps they'd been talking about for about two months. It was kind of a big deal/special year since it was going to be the last year At (14) could go before he aged out and the first time Nu (5) would be old enough to go.

They had a nice beginning to the week, bumping into each other in the cafe, being assigned as buddies (completely randomly, per Nu ;), and then midweek this happened.

On Thursday, deputies, law enforcement officers and a K-9 unit from several area agencies searched the park, the Glen Helen Education Center on State Route 343 and neighboring areas, sheriff’s Maj. Eric Spicer said. The 1,000-acre nature preserve is an entity of the college, located adjacent to the campus.The gunman was spotted near the Outdoor Education Center at Glen Helen at about 11:30 a.m. According to a witness there, the man approached a dorm and when a counselor asked him to leave, the man displayed a gun.“He more or less implied and made a menacing statement to them,” Spicer said. 

It turns out now that the college-aged counsellor had made the whole thing up. And everyone's angry because it was horrifying and also what a waste of tax-payer resource$, etc, etc.

I'm mostly okay with it. Because unlike the nightmares I've had since Newtown, this one case--this one very special case involving my very own children--seemed to have ended well: there was a gunman around the kids; no one got hurt. If we can't prevent men with guns showing up at kids' schools and camps, this should be the way it always ends.

Or the gunmen can be totally imaginary--I'm okay with that too; I could sleep through that.

_

Individual

Oftentimes,
there are four of us
each one abandoned
in this small, hot town

And usually,
the night is so thick
I automatically begin
waving words in the air

Shuffling them
sorting, pantomiming
their sad, wandering odds
until they fall away, decay...

-

Sunrise

The twentieth goose is lucky
lit against the velvet moss
that cushions under-river
from summer's rain of light

*

The meticulous discipline
of my rising heartbeat
nuzzles bright and attentive,
guides dust and goslings

*

To a paraphrase of the sun
one day, ruined, diurnal--
winging an elegy for those
who die without signature


_

Ain't Nothing but a Bee Sting

Have you ever filled a rubber glove with liquid until it distended to a point where it kinda looked like a cow's udder?

Like this:

Okay, then. 

That's how my right hand looks now, only patchier and purpley-er. I've been stung by bees before, so I don't know why my body's over reacting this time. I started taking ibuprofen this morning after being assured by Big A that no one would think I was being a wuss about pain and that it would actually help with the inflammation.

And then, in the middle of conversation that encompassed my puffy hand and the corn puffs I was eating in bed, he called me "Puffy" instead of "Puppy." Oi.

_

Déjà vu / Rétrospective

I remember sitting in an undergraduate poetry class, not really paying attention, wondering if my acceptance and scholarship letters would come that day, watching the treetops rearing and bucking into the wind and thinking my happiness would be as elemental as theirs.

Of course, there's this:

Coloniality continues, in fact, whenever bright young men and women from all over the world decide to cap off their educations by going on pilgrimage to pinnacles of Western civilization; when they dedicate themselves to the Western canon and walk in the shadows of gothic cathedrals and imperial facades, and learn that this is the good life. 

It continues whenever anyone anywhere in the world walks down a street and sees a billboard on the modern cathedral that is a shopping mall, and sees in that conjunction of power, wealth, and beauty an image of desire. In other words, it happens these days not by the strength of arms or the power of states, but by the captivation of the eyes, the training of the taste, by unwritten rules of thumb – that we all learn everywhere, without even knowing it. Coloniality is far from over: it is all over. It is perhaps the most powerful set of forces in the modern world.

-- 

Skeevy

the personal pronoun
as product name
my, I, you


_

One month ago...

Tongues out!

Old Mess

At hasn't stopped laughing at me yet. 

He said I could stop the computer from taking pictures if I taped something to the camera lens. 

I used clear tape.

_

Snapshots

A wheeling wave
the kids are drenched
swallowing hot, sweaty prayers

Rick teaches them trees
Son of a...? (beech)
We chuckle and shake our heads

At night amidst snores
we count as silence,
diagnose the radiating bloom of calm

__

Scout 1

this puppy is a god

kind and calm

only love

waits for our return

then happy riots

__

Points of the Day

My arms reach across the city
the season of flying
the body travels

Water is a ghost, is everywhere
says the cloud always distant
or dying tragically

The puppy's sighs in the dark
like restless, sweaty prayers
hypnotized and alive

_

The fitness bandwagon...

_

When you're a star, the wars never end (something like that)

Three light sabers...

Attention: V A C A T I O N!

99 Problems... but

Big A is a great feminist partner. He understands my compulsion to make terms as neutral as possible, especially around the children.

One of my early conversations with him (with most people, probably--I'm annoying like that) is the use of terms like "wife" and "husband" and the gendered expectations they set up. How to be a good wife engenders very different responses (usually) from how to be a good husband.  I prefer the idea of being a good partner, a good spouse.

I think it says so much about Big A that he took the irritating (because somewhat infantilizing, dismissive) slogan "Happy wife; happy life" and fixed it. We say, "Happy spouse; happy house."

All this is to establish that Big A was not going to use the word "bitch" in front of the kids at dinner (or ever) when he started off riffing on the Ice-T/Jay-Z line. I wonder what he was going to say. Because this is what happened:

Big A: I got 99 problems, but...
Nu: (Interjecting) That's a lot!
Stares at her family as they collapse in laughter.
Fin.

__

Bob Fletcher Dies at 101; Helped Japanese-Americans (NYT Obit)

How can I not assume that you lived a great life if you die when your numbers need to be counted in three digits and the word "helped" is used to describe you.

Love and gratitude, Mr. Fletcher.


_

Disentanglement

Pompeii, Bombay

It doesn’t matter.

Words once chosen

are places --

I have to go

I can hear all the days coming

and kindnesses to make me cry:

certainties, pinpricks

leprous as promises,

as remembering why

Life is short, redundant, an antidote

From every place: unfold borders,

escape. I know. I know that

loss slows, quickens,

and goes

_

Fanfare

The mouth’s empty cave

Platonic, muscled with truth

Where worry about tickets,

arguments, agreements, tokens

the children are singing anyway

the birds are singing anyway

worlds and words twist just so

the pollen drops careless as scabs

the calm hugs from everyone

their pity spectacular and partial as

discontent dished up at supermarkets

common as sunshine now--and weeping

_

Tales

I've been gone.
Sorry.
These days turn
churn and hurry.

Mornings burn
through fog
stumbling out to pee
(Scout, not me)

Breakfast is just
Cheerios, eggs, vitamin pills
and still takes two kids a total of 80+ minutes to eat
the puppy hoovers everything that's dropped
but eats nothing from his untouched bowl
I give him treats so he can keep growing

I know I'm an irresponsible "dog caregiver."
(It doesn't help anything that I've taken to referring to myself as "mama.")

I steal glimpses of the city as I drop the kids off
I wear my work clothes as a harness
so I'll get to work
(and leave the puppy in his little gated room for at least a few hours)

all alone :/.
And it's not really a room,
just the entryway,
but it's bright and airy,
and nicer than a crate.

And every time I get home he's quiet and fast asleep
but skooched as close
as he can to the gate
and the latch where my hand lingered last* (pictorial footnote below)

He doesn't like his leash and is constantly trying to bite through it
so he mostly runs around without one
so when we're outside I'm doing a lot of puppy carrying
--away from the mellow (bigger) dogs across the street
(who are the enemy--at least according to our young whippersnapper)
and also, he likes to run into the river.
We need a fence to keep him safe
and more cash to make that happen.

I thought Scout was going to sleep by himself at night
so I could get some time when I wasn't being constantly adored me time
yet he ends up in our bedroom every night
because he just sleeps better that way
(otherwise, he feels abandoned?
or may be he's afraid of the dark?)

TL; DR: The puppy's kind of taking over my life

_


* pictorial footnote

I took this picture through the front door

--and perhaps that explains the beautifully surreal reflection on the closet door.