Love After Love

Feast on your life Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

– Derek Walcott

sometimes it’s a saturday night

sometimes it's a saturday night

Sometimes it’s Saturday night.

To take that long hot shower.
To shave those legs.
To soak the hair in some strength-inducing formula.
To put that face mask on.

Sometimes it’s a Saturday night.

To drink chaga mushroom tea.
To take a luxurious walk with the dog with no destination or clock ticking.
To have soft 90s music soothing in the background.
To steam up some bone broth.

Sometimes it’s a Saturday night.

To give yourself the luxury of space…
To think, to reflect, to process, to dream.
Oh, what’s to be next!
Wait, savor this moment.

Sometimes it’s a Saturday night.

And suddenly, 10:30pm feels like 1am.
Where does the time go?!
The overwhelm of being alone
Swiftly turns to holding on to this me-time for dear life.

’til you’re ready

'til you're ready

I thought I was over it.
It’s been years.
But, it’s not like it’s been years and I didn’t do shit about it.
No, I processed.
I grieved, lost my way, found the map and got back on the path.
(like a machine?)

I don’t want to cry, I tell her.
Like she’s expecting me to.
“That’s ok! You don’t have to. It’ll find its way up.”
(my jaw tightens)

No, but that’s the thing.
This ain’t my first time at the rodeo.
I’ve balled, girl.
Slobbered, face distorted and all kinds of ugly.
(I’m getting tired)

Continue reading “’til you’re ready”

singing bowl of rage

singing bowl of rage  roman games

I’m furious
I feel like I can run 10 miles
And then eat a cake, straight out of the singing bowl of Rage
Blood pulsing
Mind spouting obscenities

How did it come to this?
Why am I shooting off the mouth like a loose canon
spiraling through the atmosphere?
Where’s grace, goddamnit?

It’s about not being listened to
It’s about not being taken into account
It’s about blame
Doing it wrong
You’re bad,
Back off.

Get off –
No
No
No.

Continue reading “singing bowl of rage”

the great unknown

Mohammed Ali

FADE IN: woman and man.

She: I was in a Uber car, well, really Lyft but you get what I mean. Jamal, my driver, asked me what I do. I said nothing. No really, I said, “Nothing,” all nonchalant and shit. He took a second to understand, much like me, really, I mean who says that?
I said nothing. Ugh. What kind of despicable human, am I?

A week later, I’m at this yoga retreat and someone asked me again. I was just about to answer Nothing, when I stopped myself and took a gulp of my piping hot apple cider, burning my mouth. And I pretended I didn’t hear him, or maybe I pretended to react like I was still thinking about what we just talked about. I looked stupid, is all. Well, if I’m not sure what your intentions are, I’m going to blow you off.

[beat]

I know damn well who I am. Why is it hard to say it, “Who me? Oh, sure, I’m an artist.” Or, “What do I do? I do greatness. I am greatness.”

Mohammed Ali would say “I’m the greatest,” so why can’t I?

[she laughs]

Continue reading “the great unknown”

An Open Letter From an Apathetic Customer

Mona Lisa

So you have an idea? A new product you’re launching? Something you want to sell me?

That’s wonderful! Tell me all about it…

No, just kidding. I don’t actually care.

You see, I have this thing called a life. I woke up this morning with my own set of dreams and responsibilities.

I didn’t wake up and start looking for you.

You’re an interruption. A distraction, at best, from my momentary boredom.

In fact, at this point the only reason we’re still having this conversation is because I shifted it from you back to me.

I do that a lot.

I like me.

I’m literally my favorite person.

Which is kinda funny when you consider all the mean things I say about myself. I’m complicated, but that’s a longer discussion.

Would you like to have that discussion?

I guess not because you’re still talking.

Wait, what’s that you say?

Your idea could change my life? Your product is the best in its class and you started it in your garage?

Wow, you’re just like me!

I have ideas, too, you know?

And I’m going to get to them one of these days. I’m just soooooooo busy. And bored.

I like that we’re similar. I like that we want the same things. But you seem to have what I don’t, and that makes me sad.

Continue reading “An Open Letter From an Apathetic Customer”

good will

good will life changes

FADE IN:

Good Will Donations Center:

“It’s getting really bad out there now. I was on the 405 the other day, this truck was right up my ass. And, you know, I can get heated sometimes, my emotions can get the better of me. So he’s pushing at me. I ease the break a little and it shocks him, it causes him to hit his brakes even harder and step back a little. He looked furious. But you know, who knows what kind of guy he is. He can have a gun on him, you know. These days, you don’t know who’s behind a wheel and what they’re thinking, what their story is.

Two Thanksgivings ago, we lost our cousin to a shooting. He went with my other cousin to get a special ingredient for my mother’s turkey — it’s gotta be a specific brand, you know, the best of the best that truly saves the dish. So he goes to a supermarket that has a line of people waiting out front. And some guy runs right up and shoves himself in line before an older woman. This guy just pushes his way in, no acknowledgment of his behavior, nothing. My cousin tells the guy, in a gentle way ’cause he was always gentle like that, “Hey man, don’t do that. She’s an older lady and has been waiting in line for a while. Come on, man.” Now this guy goes into the supermarket, gets what he needs to, goes back to a car full of other sketchy guys. They drive around the supermarket maybe a couple of times until they see my cousin walking to his car. They drive up to him, wind down the window, bang-bang!, shoot him two times.

How can someone get over that, you know? It haunts me. But it also stops me from firing up as much these days, you know. My mother always told me, ‘Mijo, be patient. Let them do what they gotta do but don’t let them get to you.’ She was right. And I’m trying you know. I really am.”