soldier song

I set forth to write a song for you
Something that would see you through; keep faith afoot and perseverance in your lungs
…and when you’d exhale during the difficult part of your journey
Your labored breath would sound like hope
And song.


I dug deep … to the natural rhythm of my feet, and the sway in my hip
I looked for song in the nod of my head and the purse of my lips
Lyrics licked / like envelopes
I had hoped
To recount my own downward slopes and find the fuel
And tools
Necessary to compose your song …


but I’ve been singing too long.
hymnals … spirituals … and heart break anthems;
A triathlon of songs - pantin’
“I will survive” and “lord I’m coming ” –
the repetitive humming Creates a familiar buzz
no more noticeable than the whiiiiirrrrrrr of our computers. Whereas; once
A song
Could inspire nations to part seas, virgins to part knees, and the suffocated to breathe
But if you have been singing for survival every mile of the way
The melody starts to lose its taste


The over chewed cud – of we shall over come … begins to wear away at the tongue
I’ve sung
So many songs of survival
That my recant would nothing more than minimize your trial
My off key out of tune / is no redemption song for your doom
And soon
I started to feel that singing you lovely lullabies
Was a far cry / from what you needed.

Composer defeated …
I whispered “retreat” … and
somehow found no shame in it.


Once upon a time we were soldiers
And we were sold this
Idea that retreat was delayed defeat – and that rest was for the wicked – and a moment to cease…
And peace
Was only afforded to the weak.
Speak nothing wars and worlds of warriors and “rest” … in the same breath


Slave masters and over lords spun such webs … and we
We tricked our souls with songs of salvation
In order to fulfill unreal expectations.

There are no symphonies here.
No chorus that would trick the ear … or harmony to harp the heart.
Notes as sharp as spears, fallacy of falsetto
Tenor of thy tears, allow your vibrato to settle


And silence your song.
Retreat
and I will sing along in your silence to the chorus of only breathing the notes…

And somehow

The exhale will still

Sound like hope.

2012: A Resolution

2012: A Resolution

It’s quiet here.
The weather is forecasting another foot of snow in an already overwhelming winter.
As the mounds of snow encroach on the roads, 2 lanes turn into one.
I feel that this is not unlike my life.
I’ve decided to be quiet.
It’s time to be still.

I can hardly believe this is Nino’s last year before he leaves for college. With graduation 11 short months away, I find myself feverishly eliminating excess from my life.

Despite my drive and “always” ambition, something is calling to me.
I’ve chose to listen.
I’m changing, and I can feel it.
As a woman does when she feels the call to motherhood, I feel myself shutting down. Shedding layers, and frankly … it makes me sad.

The muse has escaped me. My inspiration is fading. Determination is dissipating.
The need to save the world with blind benevolence is replaced with ambivalence.
I qualm more in my own mind over financial issues than I do with pondering the fate of the world. I am shedding the girl who once shamelessly shouted “REVOLUTION!” into a political convention. I feel like something brittle trying to bend and …
I hear who I think I am … cracking.

I’m snapping beneath the fated weight of constantly trying to BE the change I want to see in the world; I am losing the girl. This old woman is all that is left.

I’ve departed from myself.
I feel less.

. . .

I was standing in my kitchen reading letters from my father. In them he forecast Nino helping him walk when he becomes an old man. I feverishly put them away, not wanting to feel.

I implore “happy” music, and begin an art form I haven’t lost love for; cooking.
‘Over the Rainbow’ by Iz comes on and I find myself racing to turn it off.
My bend breaks, and I race to the bathroom to put my hands over my face and weep.

Yet I don’t pray for peace, or even that the sorrow subsides. Rather, I cry … and try to fully experience this pain … hoping that it makes me feel human again.

. . .

As I withdraw from the world, and minimize its access to me, I am hoping my self inflicted solitude will accomplish a few things.

In the coming year –

I hope to redeem myself to son.
For the times I gave myself to the world when I should have given myself to him, I will be available and ready.

I will strip away the pageantry and posing that I’ve been imposing upon myself for so many years.

I am willfully letting broadcast go.

I have been held captive by the fear that I am not enough without it. I have doubted and demeaned myself in the name of something I am good at for the sake of saving my ego.

Where do we go wrong? We build our own likeness in the form of our highest selves, in the hopes that our insecurity fades when we begin believe in the way we are SEEN.

Hoping other people’s belief in the dream … makes it real.

We become slaves to our reflection.
I am burning this perception, and starting over.

I plan to sit in my silence and listen closer.
Will I still write, create? Will I still paint?
Will I begin to care again?
Who am I without these things?

And moreover … is that still who I want to be?
I have been screaming so long that it’s hard to hear that voice.

Good thing it’s quiet here.

Happy New Year.

American Sign Language Poetry