“She’s great, though.”
“I mean, all relationships have their thing, you know.”
“Yeah, but. She’s criticizing you.”
“Look, I had a really abusive mother.”
“Like, really abusive and I’ve made sure to stay clear the hell away from people like that.”
“Sure, of course –”
“We went to my Reiki girl and she said I’m an open vessel, you know.”
“Well you are –”
“But get this. She says to my gal that she needs a lot of inner work. That there’s huge blockages.” She chuckles.
Continue reading “blockages”
My name is Curious.
We’ve met a few times but you tend to forget my name, lol.
It’s so lovely to see you!
You look great.
I hear such wonderful things about your comings and goings.
A little about me.
I love discovering, attempting, dancing, laughing, rain, food.
I love the way the sun falls on everything, how light dances before our very eyes every minute of the day.
I can spend hours on that.
I love naps, quiet, Sunday afternoons, stillness, the sound of the waves crashing.
I love 6am wake-ups when the place is for yourself and to yourself.
Continue reading “dear liza, from curious”
One of my fondest high school memories was staring at this poem being reflecting from one of those early 90s overhead projectors in English class. Staring at it, and then absorbing it.
It struck me, it hit me.
It was a blow to the head.
It was cutting, raw, horrific and filled with such blunt honesty.
It is overlapping and fragmented, much like my then angst-filled, teenage mind. Check out 1st stanza here:
THE HOLLOW MEN
(A penny for the Old Guy)
By T. S. Eliot
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broke glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without color,
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all – not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
A conversation with my mom about growing up in Chile (from a while ago):
“Don’t promise me you’ll be there. Just do it. You know how many times we asked America to help us? We read they would. We saw pictures that they would. No one helped us.
I worked at a telephone company, you know the old plugs in? You plug this one to that one and it connects you? Your father would wait for me each evening to walk me home because there’d been some not-so-good stories about a couple of other girls. One I hadn’t seen in a while; the other, Carmen, well, it had been days since her attack. She wouldn’t take our calls or visits.
Continue reading “promise me”
I am shy.
I try really hard to speak louder yet I still get the “Excuse me” or “What was that?”
I am a big mind-and-body geek — I wanna find true balance and it’s a daily challenge.
I prefer snacks.
I find it scary to pick up the phone and speak to a human being so just before I do, I say out loud, “Come on Liza, just do it.”
He’s quite the badass.
He’s a rebel and he’s the too cool for school.
He’s behind the crowd, he’s the slow walker, he’s the leader of the pack without trying to be.
He’s the sage and the delinquent in one.
He’s the joker, the enigma, the shadow, and then also the ray that seeps in slowly, ever so slowly, before blasting up the room.
Oh, the ever present, Sun. The Son.
He walks into a space and, “All Hail Caesar!”
But he doesn’t like that.
Maybe he doesn’t hear it?
Could be that he tries to ignore it.
I mean, come on, it’s only natural.
Stupid me, should’ve known.
Continue reading “boom poem for lover [circa 2010]”
Two girls before play:
“I think I’m going to call her Magna.” Girl 1 says playing with her mask.
“Great name!” Girl 2 exclaims.
“Yeah, cuz that sounds Fierce.”
“Ok, go on.”
“She has superhero powers. She’s gonna speak loud and when she walks into a room everyone looks at her.”
“And be frozen scared!” Girl 2 makes a fearful face.
“Scared and respectful,” Girl 1 corrects.
“What superpowers?”, leaning in.
Continue reading “Magna”