Cancer runs in my family (Published in Mental Realness magazine rage edition)
What happens when you swallow rage?
for an hour?
a year?
a decade?
Where does it go?
After you said no, and they said yes, and you said no again,
but they win.
What do you say to yourself at night, as you lie in bed?
"I shoulda said this or I coulda said that.
I wish I was smarter, wiser, quicker.”
What happens to that spoonful of rage when it's in your stomach now?
your small intestine?
Being absorbed by every cell?
Spreading its venom through your bloodstream?
Exhaling tiny molecules of mad everywhere you go until...
Or maybe it stays inside forever.
Globing together with the next time, and the next, metastasizing
to build a new person on the inside - that you don’t recognize anymore.
That’s what happened to me.
My childhood anger from being the only black girl at school. My adolescent rage from being betrayed by a body I lost control of. The adult fury that bubbled over into every subsequent thought after being pinned down on that beach by a man who refused to let me go.
I took all that poison and I turned it into meals.
Bitter fork fulls washed down with gulps of self loathing because -
I shoulda
and I coulda
and I
and I
and I
As if I could control everything.
As if all the faults were mine.
As if I had been taught from first breath
To be strong is to ingest.
To be strong is to move on.
To be strong is what you inherited
So you will be strong alone
and the rage
The rage is all your own.
Broken and Stitched (Exhibited in Locus IX at the Martin Gallery, Chicago IL)
Before you broke me.
Now wrapped in fabric, delicate
Stitched closed and cushioned.
Protected from the next blow.
The next you won’t dismantle me.
I’m broken and stitched
Old parts made new.
I’m fragile and unbreakable
rebuilt Frankenstein.
I’m broken and strong
Consoling myself in parts.
You get this piece.
I’ll take that one.
I'll keep you safe
From the whole of me.
Insides are outside, joined as
One but never together again.
Beach Day (Featured on Gray Area Stories Podcast ep. 14)
I Love the beach,
but I hate the sand.
As a kid I lived inland; in the piedmont, so the sand of a sandy beach was a novelty to me
Something to prepare for
Something that demanded your whole day.
The swimsuit
The towels
The flip flops
The goggles
The family
The joy
The hassle but still,
The joy.
The most joyous beach time came years later at twenty one. My hostel was next to the perfect mediterranean beach. With warm water and happy toned Isreali bodies! (chef’s kiss)
The beach during the day is one thing but at night it’s magic. You and the moon get to commune.
Me: a broken record with my friends every time “what are we gonna do??” was uttered by anyone “Night beach!” I would say, always a little too quickly.
“sounds great”
turned to “ok”
turned to “if you want?”
turned to “….again” with a groan.
Except with T; with her it was always a “YES!”
So after a night of dancing and drinks and flirting and fun
T said “it’s late we should (dramatic pause) night beach! And let’s bring them”
Them equaled the two men who were under our spell that night.
I answered with an enthusiastic “YES!”
The loud night club bass melted into soothing gentle waves waddling onto moon soaked sand.
Hand holding
turned to kissing
turned to passion filled petting
turned to wait
I’m not..
Panic while panties move aside
Wait
Stop!
How do I say it?
Lo
Lo
Lo tov
My broken Hebrew forces its way out like a crowning baby.
Lo, Lo Lo Lo
PUSH!
Hands on broad shoulders
push push push
Keep pushing
Lo
Is this going to happen to me? How will I go on?
Then
A pause
A stop
A change of heart
A thank you to GOD for words that weren’t to me
I hate the sand
BUT
I refuse to lose my love of the beach.