So some archeologist in Nevada find some “black” artifacts in a “black”owned
saloon, way out west
which leads them to believe that
“blacks” were more than just maids and slaves
and I have to be amused
‘cause it’s just now entering their consciousness
that the brown-shade “animals” taken from a foreign
land are actually intelligent
and isn’t that ironic
since the nation of these states
were built upon the production of the backs
of blacks who were made to do nothing but produce
so why wouldn’t we be capable of making something of ourselves?
…but I’m not talking about that right now
‘cause the mic is censored tonight…
so maybe I shouldn’t even get started on this war
and how it has nothing to
do with my freedom or
your freedom
but the Bush’s freedom
to make that paper
that none of us
of color are ever really
supposed to have – think forty acres and a mule…
and I guess they’re supposin’ that
we all won’t be intelligent to scope
what you really don’t need a third eye to see
that this fightin’ just ain’t right…
since the majority of people out there fightin’
on the front line are any other shade besides white…
and I’m not gonna talk about that right now
‘cause the mic is censored tonight…
but I was talkin’ to this friend of mine
about how any great leader
we’ve ever had
hasn’t managed to make it very far beyond go
and how any agitation of resistance
has been met with indifference
until it threatens to upset
the living rooms
and class rooms
and neighborhoods
that we’ve only been allowed to clean and mow and nanny in
–can someone get me a glass of water ?
‘cause I’m dyin’ of thirst from all this hypocrisy
of equality
when there’s nothing equal about earning less for three times
the work Jane does at one-forth her pay.
Hey and they say we don’t need affirmative action…
but don’t get me going about that
‘cause the mic is censored tonight…
and when taught behavior
becomes learned behavior
becomes classified as the way
“those” people are
don’t be offended
when we break out the shackles
and become who it is that you be
‘cause accusations are only
projections of all the things
that your mind manifests into being…
but I’ll stop right there
and I’ll go no further‘cause the mic is censored tonight…
© 2003 Sandra JP
Sunday, February 06, 2005
No More
It was like it always is: seething agony touched with desire. The faces changed or the perfume was familiar, besides that, it was the same. Except this time, this time there was no giving in, not really. Not until it was the right time or the right place, if ever the right person. Ashes fell in swirls, covering her eyelashes in gray soot and I kissed them, transferring darkish splotches on my lips. She only laughs like she does and I am taken. The soot is gritty between my teeth but I am slow to grind it further into dust, now mud as it mixes with my saliva.
" Carolyn... Carolyn..."
" Yes, I am sorry. "
And I give her my far away look; the one that always makes her ask me where have I been and all I can tell her is no where. But all she ever manages to do is come closer and kiss my lips, like kissing me is going to make it all go away.
I stir the beans on the side range and turn the ribs over on the grill. I wait until she goes to see about the desert before I squeeze half a lime into the mariade sauce. There are still some things that she doesn't understand. I am stirring and hearing the metal spoon scrape against the bottom of the metal pot and I am mesmerized. I barely notice she has placed her open palm in the middle of my back and she still doesn't understand why I hate when she does it and I can't understand her compulsion to make me uncomfortable.
" Please STOP! " My voice sounds shrill as I resist my urge to turn and fight back.
" You never listen when I tell you." Tears mix with the smoke and I have to get away.
Even as I wash my face in the kithcen sink to clear my mind and give me space all I can remember is a similar hand against my back, my face against a roughed wall and no air to breathe, no strength to run no choice in crying.
She is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, with her hand on her hip, waiting for an answer. I screw up my face because there is no answer I am ready to give, much less admit. Blood rises in the back of my throat and I want to heave it all in the sink, I bite my lip instead and head back to my barbeque.
She never asks me anything when she has to pin me to the bed in the middle of the night. Maybe I just don't give her the space to say anything. I've caught myself before, screaming:
" Ke tem! Ke tem!! KE TEM!!!!"Language she has not heard me speak, that she doesn't even know that I know." KE TEMMMM!!!!!" And I go limp, surprised that I am in our bed, in our house. I stare at her paniced face for recognition and she kisses my forehead, hugging me close.
"I am fine... go back to sleep."
Now she is looking for answers and there are still none that I want to give her. My justification is that I am not of her and she is not of my people so she will not understand. Her white America, middle-class, lesbian supporting family would not understand me. Not my reddish brown skin, not my un-permed hair not my fragmented pieces. So if I remain a mysetry, we will all be protected. But I am beginning to wonder from what.
"Your mother called... she said she wanted you to call back." No, not really, I think. She just wants to badger me about not being close to home and that I never make an effort to visit and that I am not really lesbian and that if I don't stop I am going to go to hell and she won't be able to say enough prayers to have God pardon me. She doesn't understand that I am not going back and that Milo is the one who needs her prayers because I have been wishing him to hell in gasoline draws since the day he beat me till I thought I didn't have any blood left to bleed.
" I'll call her... later." I know I won't, I will just tell Lana that we have another phone number and not to give this one out. Especially not to my mother.
Milo was my mother's answer to late nights at Christie's and sleepover's that lasted for weeks before she would think I was no longer her daughter. She hated that relaxed look I had when I would come home: like nothing could be finer than life how I had it. I would give her that look that would make her ask me where I had been, only this time I would smile and leave her unanswered. I knew I had been lost in folds of warm flesh. Tight pink openings and desires hot enough to make me cum with my clothes still on.
Then there was Milo. Arrogant, self assured Milo. Kiss my mother's ass and wish he could have been good enough for me Milo.
" You don't have to love him now Carolyn... that can come later." And she would smile her worst saccharin smile making me sick to my stomach. She fed me lies about how good he was and how much we would have in common. Just like she fed him snakes to make him mean, to make him know that he had to change me, to make him grow to hate in me what he didn't even know.
And it began with a date. It began with my parents out of the house that night. It began with me only being seventeen. It began with his insistence, my refusal and blood... every where. Blood in my hair and on my jeans and in his nostrils, smeared on his lips kissing me... blood.
" KE TEM!!! KE TEM!!! Leave me!!! Leave me!!"
My mother noticed the bruises. Not particularly how quiet I was or how clean, clean the living room had been.
" Where did those come from?!"
"We were roller skating and she fell over herself. Pretty clumsy thing to do huh Mrs. Maxil?! I'll make sure she is more careful tonight." Appearing out of no where he seemed to be everywhere.
" You better not have told your mother anything!! I swear you won't breathe another breath if you told her!"
And his palm rested in the middle of my back, shoving me against the alley wall, taking more of what was never his.
"Stay still!!" My breasts pressed the cool brick and all I longed for was Christie and her tenderness, her gently coaking me to climax, her beautiful words of encouragement. But all I had now was Milo. Devil incarnate Milo.
" What's going on over there?!"
I collapse wanting to give up and die but I find myself laying in some hospital bed getting the morning after shot, giving police statements, wondering if Christie knew I still loved her.
" What did you do to make that boy mad?! You better not press charges... just tell them it was a misunderstanding. You and your lesbian shit! You think that girl would want you now?"
Scowling eyes barking me orders, my mother.
Two weeks of recovery, six months of therapy and I was gone. No looking back or small town rumors, I was gone. Sleeping in box cars, hitching rides across the desert, I was gone. Five years in some obscure town that I never bothered to learn the name of, two more moving to keep myself up-rooted and finally I find Lana. Wonderful Lana, sweet beautiful Lana and all I want to do is keep it all behind.
" You were gone again." She stares at me annoyed.
I know we may not be together much longer and I look her in the eyes. I look her in the face and I feel it's time to get moving again.
© 2003 Sandra JP
" Carolyn... Carolyn..."
" Yes, I am sorry. "
And I give her my far away look; the one that always makes her ask me where have I been and all I can tell her is no where. But all she ever manages to do is come closer and kiss my lips, like kissing me is going to make it all go away.
I stir the beans on the side range and turn the ribs over on the grill. I wait until she goes to see about the desert before I squeeze half a lime into the mariade sauce. There are still some things that she doesn't understand. I am stirring and hearing the metal spoon scrape against the bottom of the metal pot and I am mesmerized. I barely notice she has placed her open palm in the middle of my back and she still doesn't understand why I hate when she does it and I can't understand her compulsion to make me uncomfortable.
" Please STOP! " My voice sounds shrill as I resist my urge to turn and fight back.
" You never listen when I tell you." Tears mix with the smoke and I have to get away.
Even as I wash my face in the kithcen sink to clear my mind and give me space all I can remember is a similar hand against my back, my face against a roughed wall and no air to breathe, no strength to run no choice in crying.
She is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, with her hand on her hip, waiting for an answer. I screw up my face because there is no answer I am ready to give, much less admit. Blood rises in the back of my throat and I want to heave it all in the sink, I bite my lip instead and head back to my barbeque.
She never asks me anything when she has to pin me to the bed in the middle of the night. Maybe I just don't give her the space to say anything. I've caught myself before, screaming:
" Ke tem! Ke tem!! KE TEM!!!!"Language she has not heard me speak, that she doesn't even know that I know." KE TEMMMM!!!!!" And I go limp, surprised that I am in our bed, in our house. I stare at her paniced face for recognition and she kisses my forehead, hugging me close.
"I am fine... go back to sleep."
Now she is looking for answers and there are still none that I want to give her. My justification is that I am not of her and she is not of my people so she will not understand. Her white America, middle-class, lesbian supporting family would not understand me. Not my reddish brown skin, not my un-permed hair not my fragmented pieces. So if I remain a mysetry, we will all be protected. But I am beginning to wonder from what.
"Your mother called... she said she wanted you to call back." No, not really, I think. She just wants to badger me about not being close to home and that I never make an effort to visit and that I am not really lesbian and that if I don't stop I am going to go to hell and she won't be able to say enough prayers to have God pardon me. She doesn't understand that I am not going back and that Milo is the one who needs her prayers because I have been wishing him to hell in gasoline draws since the day he beat me till I thought I didn't have any blood left to bleed.
" I'll call her... later." I know I won't, I will just tell Lana that we have another phone number and not to give this one out. Especially not to my mother.
Milo was my mother's answer to late nights at Christie's and sleepover's that lasted for weeks before she would think I was no longer her daughter. She hated that relaxed look I had when I would come home: like nothing could be finer than life how I had it. I would give her that look that would make her ask me where I had been, only this time I would smile and leave her unanswered. I knew I had been lost in folds of warm flesh. Tight pink openings and desires hot enough to make me cum with my clothes still on.
Then there was Milo. Arrogant, self assured Milo. Kiss my mother's ass and wish he could have been good enough for me Milo.
" You don't have to love him now Carolyn... that can come later." And she would smile her worst saccharin smile making me sick to my stomach. She fed me lies about how good he was and how much we would have in common. Just like she fed him snakes to make him mean, to make him know that he had to change me, to make him grow to hate in me what he didn't even know.
And it began with a date. It began with my parents out of the house that night. It began with me only being seventeen. It began with his insistence, my refusal and blood... every where. Blood in my hair and on my jeans and in his nostrils, smeared on his lips kissing me... blood.
" KE TEM!!! KE TEM!!! Leave me!!! Leave me!!"
My mother noticed the bruises. Not particularly how quiet I was or how clean, clean the living room had been.
" Where did those come from?!"
"We were roller skating and she fell over herself. Pretty clumsy thing to do huh Mrs. Maxil?! I'll make sure she is more careful tonight." Appearing out of no where he seemed to be everywhere.
" You better not have told your mother anything!! I swear you won't breathe another breath if you told her!"
And his palm rested in the middle of my back, shoving me against the alley wall, taking more of what was never his.
"Stay still!!" My breasts pressed the cool brick and all I longed for was Christie and her tenderness, her gently coaking me to climax, her beautiful words of encouragement. But all I had now was Milo. Devil incarnate Milo.
" What's going on over there?!"
I collapse wanting to give up and die but I find myself laying in some hospital bed getting the morning after shot, giving police statements, wondering if Christie knew I still loved her.
" What did you do to make that boy mad?! You better not press charges... just tell them it was a misunderstanding. You and your lesbian shit! You think that girl would want you now?"
Scowling eyes barking me orders, my mother.
Two weeks of recovery, six months of therapy and I was gone. No looking back or small town rumors, I was gone. Sleeping in box cars, hitching rides across the desert, I was gone. Five years in some obscure town that I never bothered to learn the name of, two more moving to keep myself up-rooted and finally I find Lana. Wonderful Lana, sweet beautiful Lana and all I want to do is keep it all behind.
" You were gone again." She stares at me annoyed.
I know we may not be together much longer and I look her in the eyes. I look her in the face and I feel it's time to get moving again.
© 2003 Sandra JP
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