Sunday, January 27, 2013

Crossroads

She is blinded by the light, the sword of truth, how it cuts her heart into pieces. The sea bellows a song of twilight, the moon above her as simple as a cut fingernail. Decision curves around rocks of despair. The fight is over. The winner is triumphant, the swords clattered to the ground. Of course it is blinding to realize what she must do to bring this quarrel to a conclusion. Like the second of a joust already fought, she must step away quietly. Let go of the need to make a point, make him see she is right.

You can choose happiness or drama. This dicho echoes in her head. How she loves telenovelas, the women weeping while in the background, the heroes dash off to another fight for justice. The odd characters on the periphery, comic relief. The tables set with spicy, delicious foods with bowls of chilis and limes, just like their own table, the maids flinging their aprons over their heads to wail, the mothers cursing fiercely when their children are threatened, the dashing boyfriends. But for her, it is time to let go of the drama and reach for sanity. Put down the sword. Walk away. Pay the check and say good-bye. You don't even have to explain why you're not coming back.

She curls her fist around the sodden napkin. She knows the truth is freeing her and the pain can not get any worse. But still she hesitates. Still she hopes for a reprieve. Still she wants the solution to be completely different.

She lifts the glass, afraid to meet his eyes, afraid she will no longer see a reflection of her own desire, that she will see his cynical appraisal instead of tenderness. She feels broken and betrayed. She doesn't know how they have come to this. How the sweet blossoming that made her body into a  garden has withered into a  winter of contempt. But she hasn't let go. Neither has he and she holds onto that. Whispers it to herself, trying to convince herself that it means something more than habit of need. And yet, she has reached a juncture, a turning point. Imagines Hecate, goddess of crossroads, sitting before her with a glint in her eye of warning.

She lifts the glass and he lifts his and they clink together while she intones that simple toast he taught her: Paz y amor. Dinero y tiempo para disfrutarlas. Peace and love, money and time to enjoy them. He has told her that if you don't meet the eyes of the person you are toasting, you will be celibate for seven years. Such a silly superstition, but at the last minute, she meets his eyes. Their eyes lock, the words echoing like a curse, like a blessing. Which, she could no longer say.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Elegy for Newtown

Elegy for Newtown
  —-Wendy Brown-Bรกez
I
this is the moment
before it
begins.
this is the moment
before.
this is the moment.
this is—
 
breathe
 
II
children. elementary school.
classroom. dead children.
these words puncture the air
when my room-mate tells me
to turn on the TV. children,
shooter, these words shriek
and pound bloody fists
 
on my heart.
 
III
cannot be, unimaginable.
assault weapon, carnage
horror, lockdown,
escape, dead dead dead
 
light a candle
 
IV
survivors at the firehouse.
parents converge, breathless, and then the
brutal wait. crime scene.
the unimaginable has happened
in the safest town of all
the safest place
 
ruined
 
V
instant news—we are glued
to the screen, CNN,
all day the unbearable
flashed in our living rooms
heart break
 
and horror
 
VI
the coverage comes to a halt as they announce there will be a
special report, a message from the president of the
United States. President Obama steps up to microphones to
 tell us what has happened.
the president, a man and a father, wipes back his tears.
I am drowning in
 
rivers of tears.
 
VII
photos scroll across the screen
parents collapsing in
anguish and I scream:
What have you done, my fellow
Americans?
allowing guns
allowing violence
allowing this nightmare
 
Wake up!
 
VIII
the names of the dead
are posted. their bodies cannot be moved,
cannot be claimed until the investigation
is completed: crime scene.
the voices of the Angels, God Himself
 
silent.
 
VIX
out-pouring of grief, memorials
spontaneously bloom,
flowers—candles—teddies—angels—
26 Christmas trees decorated with
pieces of our broken
 
hearts. We know how many
now.
X
the parents who did not lose
a child are shattered by what
could have
been.
 
 
XI
the teacher who hid her children,
protected them,  kept them calm,
weeps as she tells Diane Sawyer
“I said I love you…I wanted
my voice to be the last thing
they heard…”
 
her class survived
 
XII
sobbing through the gathering
of prayers, candlelit vigils, messages
from NYC to Oregon,
from Brazil to Germany,
united in
 
bereavement.
 
XIII
prayer vigil:
Jewish & Muslim &
Lutheran & Catholic &
Bahai & then President Obama:
Hebrew prayers, Arabic prayers:
a mournful wail, the 23rd Psalm,
the way he says
We will not tolerate it—
 
and how we still have faith.
 
XIV
even the newscasters
seem shaken, even they
admit it is time
to go home and let
Newtown  bind up
its wounds
 
find strength to go on.
 
XV
a father speaks to the press,
says what an honor it is
to be her dad.
they said I love you before she left
for school that day,
lucky to have at
least that
 
XVI
her sisters wear her clothes,
angels pinned on green ribbons,
speaks of her dedication
to children. A life of teaching
 
gone. 
 
XVII
they arrived to school in anticipation of gingerbread house making:
      wearing cowgirl boots or
           a brand new pink dress:
                   playing an angel in the nativity:
in three minutes destroyed
by bullets ricocheting from a madman’s fury.
stunned in front of our tv sets,
we are not able to 
 
turn away.
 
 
XVIII
life is a leaf
floating
down a stream
to the sea.
 
XIX
can you hear the crackling
of my heart
into shards?
 
 
 
XX
dance of Kali, rattling skulls
around her neck as She
reminds us that life is birth
is death is destruction
is life.  we ask her
 
forgiveness.
 
XXI
because we forgot, ignored,
turned our backs
to the shadow.
the culture of violence—blowing up—video games—
fascination with death
yet denial
that it is real and leaves a
 
permanent mark.
 
XXII
this is not a country
I believe in: a run on
buying guns, a fear of
losing control
 
an addiction to fear.
 
XXIII
Awaken, arise, bury your
dead, open your eyes. the time is now
to make
 
peace.
 
XXIV
I can not imagine
Christmas in Newtown.
I can not imagine
the empty seat
at the table, the unopened gifts.
Newtown called them to her.
It was safe haven,
model school, then
chosen to be sacrificed
so we can
 
wake up.
 
XXV
Charlotte Bacon
Daniel Barden
Olivia Engel
Josephine Gay
Ana Marquez-Greene
Dylan Hockley
Madeleine  Hsu
Catherine Hubbard
Chase Kowalski
Jesse Lewis
James Mattioli  
Grace McDonnell
Emilie Parker
Jack Pinto
Noah Pozner
Caroline Previdi
Jessica Rekos
Avielle Richman
Benjamin Wheeler
Allison Wyatt
Rachel Davino
Dawn Hochsprung
Anne Marie Murphy
Lauren Rousseau
Mary Sherlach
Victoria Soto
 
XXVI
this is the moment
when it
begins.
every possibility.
wreathe of mourning
woven into
ribbons of hope.
angelic guidance while
 
the candles continue to burn.