the love for a mother is a tough, tough love

– michelle tea (from the beautiful)

i talked to my mother today,

her voice was thick with sleep

and cigarettes. i could

almost smell that house

and the smoke that soaked

my clothes, the television glow

spilling over worn plaid white trash

couch and coffee table stained

with waxy rings from sweating glasses

of coke, the stale stink of homemade

knitted afghans wrapped around

sweaty feet, the shoes, the soft white

nurses’ shoes, dirty with hospital germs,

but wait, wrong house, she is

lifting my voice to her ear in a new house

without holes in walls, without daughters

without even a room for daughter

should they repent and return,

should the patriarch die.

she wants to know if i’m happy

but she does not want to know

what is making me happy

dark bars where i get drunk on words

i am writing, i say, i have a new book

and the line becomes this void filled with her fear,

what fucked up thing has happened now

to pull words from my pen, she doesnt want

to know and the line is this void filled

with anger i will never express

thinking about the woman i loved for a year,

we crisscrossed the country three times together.

i’ve without her for four months

and my mother, she doesnt ask

she has never even asked.

and i’m in love, i tell her,

that’s why i am happy.

im in love every day

every day with someone new

i’m in love with this whole city,

like the love was there first

and these women just make me

want to share it, and women,

yes, women, and sometimes it feels

like they could be in love too

they offer me their tongues

tucked in the red velvet boxes of

their mouths and i am in love,

i tell ehr (leaving out the details).

that’s nice, dear. 

nights spent in a love

that yields her no grandchildren

making as much sense

as a job that yields no pay.

but i’m an activist. ma,

it’s volunteer work, it feeds my soul.

work is drudgery

and she works, she works 703

she works 3-11

she works 11-7

till her nose becomes blind to the smell

of shit and living too long, she goes home

to her home, the home she owns, she

is a homeowner, with brand new furniture

cheap green velver, they are for show

they are guests who can sit

with their assess tightly clenched,

and all those thick-haired dolls with careful

porcelain faces tucked curely into curios

and her animals, the cat she tore

the claws from, the dog barking

from its fenced pantry pen.

living things are such a responsibility,

they are so hard to control, but she tries.

and i love her, i love her

i love her like a mother loves a daughter

who is moving in the wrong direction,

hanging out with the wrong crowd,

going with a guy you know is just no good.

i love her with a love big enough to hold every hurt

every time she did me wrong,

and the betrayal,

the big one like the atom bob, the one

that worked us into ground zero like

we’re living in nevada now, out in the desert

and every time i get too close i fear contamination

and i love her, so i weld words into instruments

trying to pry the crack in her heart

but they’re too big, clumsy to make her angry

or too small, sliding from my fingers into that place

where she keeps everything she never wants to see

(her life). and i love her, she is dying a slow,

slow death that will have taken her whole life to reach

in that house, with her cigarettes, her television.

her hamburger helper and her husband.

and i love her.

 

 

 

 

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honor anger. resist oppression. be present.

“3. “Keeping Your Vibration High:” Encouraging Numbness

Emphasizing “positive vibrations” versus “negative emotions” is another way of perpetuating oppression through distancing yourself.
Beware of giving advice that stems from fear. Telling others to “be the light” when they are experiencing intense emotional reactions is destabilizing and promotes falsehood and confusion. Manipulating the feelings of others is psychologically and emotionally damaging.
This type of advice robs us of personal inner sovereignty. It removes us from an authentic relationship with our inborn navigation system and prevents healing. It also renders us ineffective to deal with reality and contribute to healthy change.
How to Do Better:

Tell the truth. Encourage the expression of emotion, and embrace it. Be present with what arises, without attempting to control or change it.
Honor anger. Anger is clarifying. Anger fuels necessary action. Anger burns like the fires of illumination. Honor sadness. Sadness is cleansing. Sadness cultivates empathy. Sadness heals our hearts and brings us together.
Trust the intelligence of human emotion. Emotions contain valuable information. We need to feel it to heal it. Hold yourself and others, and be with exactly what is. This is keeping your vibration high. This is developing compassion and strength. Expressing true feelings and standing up for justiceis spreading light and positivity.”

Más aquí:  http://www.decolonizingyoga.com/spirituality-reinforce-oppression-and-racism/

 

qué grande se ha puesto

[de angelamaría dávila, animal fiero y tierno, 1977]

Sabemos que de cualquier rincón

Salimos cualquier día,
Hace miles de años
Centenares de vigilias atroces
Hace mucho camino construído
Con la fuerza del sol que nos consume
Con la luna chiquita que tragamos
El día que nacimos
(y que grande se ha puesto
Parece que fue ayer que estaba nueva)
Yo se que nos soñamos
Con la fiereza del que enloquece solo
Desdoblando horizontes de bolsillo
Con esa incomprensible nostalgia del futuro
Que nos denuncia.
Ahora nos miramos
Con el asombro más natural del mundo,
Con susto de misterios claros como amapolas
Con la candela fresca
De todos los encuentros amorosos
Ahora resulta
Que no estábamos solos
Que somos muchos
Ahora nos vestimos con el cansancio diario
Brincando de alegría
Con un montón de estrellas por un ojo
Y un lagrimón eterno por el otro
Con esa misma angustia
Mil años compartida
Sin saberlo
Sabemos que hace tiempo
Tuvimos la confusa certeza de este día
En que dejando atrás la soledad aquella
Podríamos decirnos
Me siento sola
Y sé que tú lo sabes
Y sonreirnos juntas
Detestarnos a veces con ternura
Hablar a borbotones
Con las palabras nuevas ya sabidas
Para estrenar un sueño con la fiera alegría

De enloquecernos juntos