Momma

I want it to be plain--
plainer than that
pink sleeveless dress you insisted on
wearing every day last week
even though that boy in your class said it
made you look fat.

What does he know of fat?

I want it to be so simple
that when you bite into it like that
ordinary vanilla ice cream cone
we bought last Thursday at the Thrifty's down the road--
that the taste of it on your mouth sends shivers down your tiny little spine
exploding into a dance of sugar-induced happiness.

I want it to be like that.

So lets state it as fact.
There are not words to describe your place in my life
but you're so smart-you don't even try to explain.
Instead, you draw me pictures. Our dresses echoing the colors of the rainbow
our bright yellow umbrella hairs standing straight out like chinaman hats
we saw that one time in that cartoon,
your tiny hands wrapped in mine like little sausages
I could just bite off and eat
if they weren't constantly wrapped around my neck--
lopsided imperfect hearts falling all around us like rain.

One day you'll understand how
looking at you makes me want to buy a white van
and spray LOST KITTEN on the side
driving through your neighborhood with my windows rolled down
and a "free candy" melody blasting from my loudspeakers

How holding you makes me want to go back to school and be an engineer
who can design new ways to create beds that are shaped like my arms
when you finally fall asleep after insisting we read
'The Hungry Caterpillar'
three times in a row, even after we've read 'The Lorax'
four times over because evens make better sense
in my CDO world.

One day you'll understand how
loving you makes everything else so clear
--like a telescope focusing in on the reasons why
dying doesn't seem so scary anymore.
why living no longer feels pointless,
how earning a wage moves from paying the rent
to paying whatever gods may be
each day they let you run into my arms once more
when I walk through those doors at your afterschool day care.

I hope that one day you'll remember
even through all the "i hate you's"
through all the "you ruin my life's"
even when you write poems about
how deeply troubled your childhood was.
I want you to know that I tried,
that there were a lot of things you may have never gotten
but if there was anyone who ever wanted to 'get you' more it was me--
and you were never in want of love.

I need you to know that.

And I never meant to live my life as an 'I told you so'
but I pray that the day you finally look into the mirror that is your
true self and see your little girl
running through the grass so wild and free
you will know what salvation means
and it will open up a place in your heart called home
where I have always been.

The Things I Couldn't Tell You

I didn't want you to cringe
when I reached for the sixth straight time in a row at that dinner party
to push your hair back once more to
prove to others that the lighthouse in your eyes
was real. That the beacon of light that spoke to me
across the tides of my own insecurity came back
solid and sure, grounding me to a shore
called home I had never quite come to reach yet.
İ didn't mean to make you inkeeper.

It didn't come to me then, forgive me
If I had known, I could have whispered to you the way
your body felt against mine in those last few moments before the alarm woke me up
from the dream i felt against your back, holding in every bit of utensil
we had become in the night--to fight
those heavy lids once more in the hopes of being the one to slip away first.
What words are there for this?

You tell me that
no one told us how to enjoy the laughter of strangers,
yet I find myself caught in a perpetual smile--doubled over, hands clutched desperately to my stomach
as if it held the secrets to why my throat fills with stones every time I smell your perfume
on my pillow at night, as if holding on to the tightrope of my life
could help restore some internal balance I feel as I fall
further and further into your magicians spell,
hands first--reaching into the dark for the parts of me
I am reminded are missing by the way you come in to fill them.

Lets not speak of this in the future, to hear those words
might make it less true--might act as a thief in the night whose light footsteps
make heavy pain for morning waking. I'd rather
drown in the way your sweat falls like honey
after we make love--heavy breathing creating a symphony of poems
for which there is no dictionary. For which there is no land.
To which there is no microphone, just the small sweet reassurance that
when I close my eyes
and tilt back my head expectantly
to feel the autumn rain
a small part of me
will be reminded of the things I couldn't tell you
because I didn't have to.

And it will be enough.

Yo, Iran. It's America. Let Me Holla at You...

"How does world peace by Christmas sound?"

So there's been a lot of buzz in the news lately about Iran and the US finally sitting down to talk and settle some deep seated animosity and cynicism. If you haven't gone and watched the UN General Assembly talks directly you can watch them here and here and get a feel for yourself exactly why people are freaking out (though my boyfriend insists the Persian translation doesn't quite do his words justice...plus the interpreter is completely monotone robotic which doesn't help). Anyways, it's kind of a big deal. We're kind of on speaking terms now, bro.

That's right--Obama called Rouhani, and plans are now being made to try and settle the nuclear weapons issue that's gutting Iran by heavy sanctions and polarizing the two countries in the next 3-6 months. And while I kind of agree with a lot of people that 6 months is a rather short time frame to reconcile years of hatred and injustice on both sides, I would say that with an open mind and willing disposition it at least hopefully won't take another 40 years to reverse. The groundwork is being laid--and despite Israel's skepticism, I remain optimistic.

As Hamid and I sat side by side last week watching as our Presidents' gave their speeches to the General Assembly, it was a weird mix of emotions--shame, pride, hope. I was desperately trying to reflect on all that I had been taught both explicit and implicitly about Iran and gage it against the reactions I saw in his face as he watched his people being framed through the lens of the red, white, and blue. And I could feel his eagerness when Rouhani stood up and talked about the way my countrymen had been treating his homeland through the past several decades and how much he wanted to prove his people's desire for lasting peace. We were anxiously nervous and stubbornly positive that the timing was right to start moving forward as cooperative nations. Though despite these mixed feelings at coming from enemy countries, the first thing we both said when we sat back after watching the speeches was "well...if we can do it, they can do it."

Anyone else get warm fuzzies at this smile?

Yes, I'm biased. Dating an Iranian has completely opened up my eyes to this hostile relationship and the desire for change a lot of Iranians have in putting an end to a repressive government that doesn't reflect their views and desires to interact with the West--especially America. And every day Hamid is helping me to realize that there are actually a lot of progressive and level headed Iranians sitting on the sidelines with clenched teeth and crossed fingers hoping these peaceful talks come to fruition--that it's not the "us" and "them" game our government's like to sometimes frame it as.  That there are are actually a huge amount of Iranian supporters who far drown out the angry protesters at Rouhani opening up a line of dialogue with the US ,an avenue which has been closed for 34 years. Not to mention the many people who sit on the fence between these two cultures as Iranian-Americans who feel particularly invested in reconciling these two politically warring parts of their identity. And then you have Americans who don't want to be international bullies anymore in the Middle East and are pushing our government to mend those relationships and are trying to create new narratives about this strange political "other". And I guess being with Hamid has helped to elevate that level of optimism and awareness about just how many people are wishing this peace-process well on both sides.Which is kind of cool.

So here's to hoping for the best and trying the bottom-up approach.

'murica, out.

First Sight That Took My Breath Away

So I promised I would do a "first" post on the first of each month from now on, which of course means I would be late the first time. Go figure.

On facebook I asked you what you wanted to know, and while I applaud your suggestions of "first time you realized JGL was your soulmate" and "first time you had to poop in public without a bathroom"--I decided since it was a 3-way tie to go with Ingrid's suggestion of "the first time I saw a sight that literally took my breath away."

As I sit here thinking about different experiences I've had, ones that have awed and humbled me to my core, I can't help but think there is a huge "site" and "sight" difference in which story to tell. While there are many I could chose from as far as "sites" in my travels--I think I'd rather talk about the first time, or one of the most memorable times in my life, that I remember actually seeing something for the first time that really solidified a concept for me. I hope this is what you were talking about with your suggestion, Ingrid.

It was my senior year in high school and I was busy trying to shape myself into the perfect university candidate--community college classes, two jobs, early morning church school, sports, violin, some type of social life--essentially a very busy person who, despite a loving heart sometimes got a little self centered (as most teenagers do). I remember it was the day after Christmas and I was supposed to work at Sylvan Learning Center, a shift I was hardly looking forward to with my lazy two-week break searing itself into my work ethic. Lucky for me, God must have loved me (early morning seminary...he should have) because it turns out Sylvan was closed and my shift was cancelled. Thrilled that I could go home and spend another day lazing about admiring my new gifts in a warm and loving home, I was driving back down Martin Way when I saw a man standing on the corner of the intersection begging for money.

Now I'm not a cynical person, as many are when it comes to giving strangers money. I believe there really are a lot of systemic and personal issues that affect a persons morale and physical capability of working and providing for themselves rather than it being lazy people just looking for a handout. I believe this is even more true when you see people out in the extreme heat/rain/snow as I don't know any decent wage earning person who is dedicated enough to put up with the elements. Since it was boxing day and thus freezing, it was one of those days and seasons where I was feeling especially generous (especially in light of my cancelled shift) so I turned into Safeway and got him a hot chocolate and a muffin. Giving homeless people tangible stuff like this always makes me feel better as well--the argument that they could use it for crack or whatnot becomes immediately invalid. Plus I love to feed people.

So I pull into the gas station this guy is standing in front of and I get out of the car to go to give him his hot chocolate and muffin. I'm not expecting a long exchange, just a "thank you" or a "merry Christmas" or in the worst case scenario a crazy-person look that sends me running back to my car in which case I now have hot chocolate and a muffin to console me. I hand the man his hot chocolate and muffin and wish him a merry Christmas, throwing in a smile for good measure--- and this man just starts sobbing. He's absolutely lost it, starts telling me about how he lost his job and the family he has to provide for and how hard it is making it feel like christmas with no money. Not expecting this flood of emotion, I'm not quite sure how to react except to move in closer so he can feel my humanity/awkward attempt at trying to console him. He ends up balling on my shoulder for like 5 minutes, not really saying much just letting it all out--all of his stress, all of his disappointments, but also all of his gratitude. And I'm standing there feeling like I just got the best Christmas present you could have asked for. Part of me wishes I could have gone back and done more for that man--helped his family in some way, but I know that at least for a moment I helped him to feel some small release from the pressure of his life and he helped me to get outside of myself and realize just how blessed I was.

That memory sticks out to me whenever I see a homeless person nowadays and I think about the circumstances which brought them there. Granted there are going to be people who go on corners and pull off great scams faking to be more poor than they actually are--but honestly at the end of the day that's not for me to decide. I'm not going to sit there and say I'm justified in not helping another fellow human being who is literally begging for a friend, in saying that they don't deserve basic human rights because they aren't "working hard enough." Whether or not you are religious there is a call to serve and help others when we can.

So I guess that was a moment that really took my breath away. Seeing that man completely break down and show me his vulnerability as a result of me trusting in his personhood and being willing to see him as a fellow person with needs and wants and failures. I don't share this particular story to be self aggrandizing--since then I've sadly passed up my fair share of homeless people by looking the other way and speeding past those street corners. But I'm trying, and I'd like to think that the moment his story came flooding out onto my shoulder was a sight that really took my breath away and made me sit back and want to help people. Made me realize that even small acts make a difference--and that strangers aren't so strange when you choose to see and treat them as friends.