Monday, November 29, 2010

ode to love

the density of your eyes lingering
like traces of sugar on a child's fingertips 
the smell of dirt, or motor oil, or clotted blood - still sleeping on your skin
you're like a weight i'll never get tired of carrying
you found my voice in the midst ofd a corn field
in the crackle of a telephone line laid bare on the ocean floor
you will cover her uneven beautiful face
in coins and stretch your arms outward
and try to forgive the bastard who left you on your own again
you will yell into tunnels or empty cups
and the echo will become my dream in a night of no sleep

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Old friends

My friend David and I went to watch this action movie with "The Rock" but instead had to see one about a runaway train (really stupid plot but pretty good acting) because I didn't have a proper ID. So much beurocracy now days. Anyway, we played video games and shot hoops in the Metreon waiting for the movie to start. We were laughing like crazy remembering good old Mission High times and the people in the theater who were sitting next to our seats kept turning around to flash us their annoyed faces. Then we walked to the Saint-Francis hotel and rode the elevator up and down like crazy. Then we had another heart to heart conversation, over Panda Express chineese food. He walked me to the bus, but forgot his phone charger in my back pack so he was chasing after it. Ha-ha. "until next time" we said and he hugged me like he's not going to see me ever again :D What a fantastic day! I hope everyone is blessed with at least one good friend, somebody to make you laugh until you cry, somebody who just gets you, somebody you can share your darkest secrets with and know he/she won't ever judge you, somebody in front of whom you never have to pretend... It can happen in a matter of seconds, but friendship lasts for life.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Learning pronouns

I scalded my throat on the heat of the ocean
Swallowed my childhood up in a second
And wanted to keep it
Like a selfish lion-tamer
Sleeping at the foot of the animal’s cage
Feeding it star light/galaxy light
With a spoon
You’re like the ink spreading inside a pen
Waiting to gush out, to become distorted,
Waiting to touch all sides of the world
You’re like a dictionary of words
Everyone wants to own
He is playing chess with the rain
The roof of a car is an audience
He might have been made to invent names for colors
But he will never know
He might be let loose and lost
She fell in love with a box of charcoal
WIth her fingers dipped in ash – she planted
Headaches in her garden,
Her broken ankle healed as she looked to the top
Of the mountain through her basement window
It is a world of walnut shells and
spider nests, lost keys and found smoke
it spins faster than a laundromat
Nobody knows what to call it
So it falls to the ground with a thud
Nobody keeps it entertained so it falls asleep
And stays asleep like a stainWe burry our eyes in sand
We make forts out of blankets and heavy
Ancient books and hide from our flesh
And blood to hold hands in the warm dark
And to kiss awkwardly
You were only you
Now you are what everyone wants you to be
They punctured pomegranate seeds
And taught each other how to let go of fish
without hurting their mouths
they held each other clasped
tight like particles of blood

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

In his younger days, my grandfather was a merchant ship mariner. He sailed half way across the globe and found ivory pipes, whose tips had once been touched by the lips of African kings; he found wood statuettes [which are now frail and wobbly] of women carrying children on their backs; he drank pulled tea with his newly found Arabian friends. My grandfather discovered the true nature of the hawk, whose claws he cut off after its death. The bird flew with the ship for weeks across the Atlantic, never straying too far from the enormous masts; entertaining the crew.
At nights, some times, enthralled by the light of the fish net, my grandfather would surrender his body to sleep. [I am reminded of this years later, when my little brother is falling asleep on my lap, gently pulling at the sleeve of my jacket (unconsciously), his body uncontrollably shaking to the rhythm of his dream]
About two years ago I received a call from my grandmother, instructing me, her voice lagging behind her words, pleading me to give my phone to my parents so they could talk. A few days later my dad told me that his father had died. Surprisingly, I found little change in his voice. Based on the symptoms I’ve been told, I figure bone marrow cancer.
I wish I knew him better than the stories he told, or the box of post cards he’d sent home. But when I did get to spend time with him, my grandfather and I rarely spoke. We walked the dog, he pushed me on the swings, thought me how to fish. Every morning when he was shaving I would ask to watch, knowing he would pick up the bottle of cream and smear it all over his face then all over mine for no reason, just laughing and laughing. My grandfather would take his jacket off his back to cover me up when I was shivering like a soaking dog, while we watched the cars pass by on the balcony and drank coffee from small cups. I miss not having to talk, not having to pretend all the time.
When I moved here to the U.S, I would call him over the phone, interrupting his mechanical speech he had to repeat over and over because it was part of his job [he was then a parking lot attendant] and picture him breathing a sigh of relief to hear my voice again. I would say: “it’s me grandpa, it’s indi, I miss you very much, and I love you every day”. he would always say: “I love you more, my girl” and make a kissing sound which almost always blasted my ears and filled me with an overwhelming ache because I wasn’t there; but at the same a vibrant joy.
He did not die alone, but I think he was lonely. I think he longed for the past and yearned to see his comrades once again. I think he was afraid, like most people are, not knowing about this place we go to when our breath is long gone. I wish I was there, by his side, reading to him like he read to me when I was little.
My grandfather used to pour liquor on the floor, telling me it’s for all his dead and dying friends. I would do it with him… now I do it for him, just the taste he’d be thirsty for.