Heart Song

She was not afraid of Death

Talked about it like the weather

I want to die quickly and in my sleep,

She made her request

And she did

It was her heart that

killed her

generous

passionate

active

angry

dramatic

talented

heart

Her generosity touched so many

Watched the news

With her checkbook in hand

Ready to help the family

In need
She was generous
With her time
Brother, dad and I
Were never told she was
Too busy –
to help with school projects
to take a class with us
to travel all over the world
to attend a game

She was passionate
about her music
Her piano was her dearest friend
She would visit her daily
Sometimes to cry
Sometimes to sing
Always with heart

She was passionate about family
Not even the Devil himself could get
between her and her family, she would say.
Her loyalty showcased
Her truth

Anger ran deep
Like a hidden tumor
She wanted to keep secret,
But couldn’t
Angry at a mother who was selfish
Angry at herself for eating through it
Angry at her children for taking her for granted
Anger was the Pac-Man that ate her
Magnificent heart

Drama was her middle name
Willing to perform
Ham-it-up
Sing
At any time or place
She dressed in colors
Played with her hair
Bought BIG toys
And laughed
Real loud

She’ll do anything
We thought
She’d ask the embarrassing question
Try new styles
Skinny dip with friends
Secretly go to the amusement park
while everyone was working

Her talent was vast
Numerous instruments
Were lured by her hands
Many sports her calling
She called herself a Jack of all trades
And she was

Laying carpet
hanging wallpaper
building shelves
Home was a museum
To her talents and constant activity
Quirky furniture with dioramas of western scenes
Clock that cracked a whip on the hour
And treasures given to her by famous and
Not so famous friends

She communicated her heart through
Her voice
Anytime in the brightest of day
In the darkest of night
I can hear her voice
Call me Sweetheart

With Love and Gratitude to my mother, Josie Gonzales, 1940 - 1988

Push - a book review

Push, by Sapphire

Made into the movie, Precious

"I big, I talk, I eats, I cooks, I laugh, watch TV, do what my muver say. But I can see when the picture comes back I don't exist."  This is the voice of Precious, a 16 year old girl from Harlem, who's illiterate, sexually and physically abused by both of her parents and a mother of two.  Both children were fathered by her own father.

Her statement goes on to say she feels invisible to society - just like when you take a photo of a vampire.  They are there, but when the picture is developed, the truth is, they don't actually exist.

Precious longs to learn.  To be heard. "I wanna say I am somebody.  I wanna say it on the subway, TV, movie, LOUD."   And through her pen and paper - she does.

During Precious' second pregnancy, at 16 (first one at 12 years old), She is sent to an alternative school where it is discovered she is illiterate.  She finds comfort and strength through her teacher, Ms. Rain, and through the small class of only girls - all with horrific life stories and all illiterate.

They start from scratch - learning their ABC's, and doing their best to write in their journals.  The pen gives Precious the strength to remove herself from her mother's home and get herself and her infant to a half-way house.

Some may say that Precious' story is depressing, but I found it inspiring.  If you can remove the layers of pain and unjust from her and see HER, I think that you will also see Somebody special.

Here's a piece of Precious to take with you today:

everi mornin

by Precious j.

everi mornin

i write

a poem

before i go to

school

marY Had a little lamb

but I got a kid

an HIV

that folow me

to school

one day.

A Peace of Tata

Asking our Tata to describe himself would result in humble words
"I am a simple man, " he would say
"Who is blind in one eye and can't see out of the other."
The he would flash his little boy grin for being so clever

Underground for over 40 years he toiled
Intense was the heat
The camaraderie of men
The depths of the earth
... his daily reality
When he ascended to earth's surface at the end of his shift
He entered the heart of his domain

In his heart, he was a gypsy
Lover of adventure
Taker of journeys
Fearless of an endless road
Knowing every back road in Southern Arizona
And the treasures they beheld
Usually taking his journeys solo
To explore or to ponder
If invited we would jump at the chance to go along
Not knowing what there was at the end of the road
But knowing there would be a story to tell

In his mind, he was a philosopher
A lover of words
Written or spoken
He used and loved them all like friends
His philosophies of love, acceptance and kindness he shared with us
Anytime we were willing to watch or listen

In his hands, was his power
Immense size they conveyed an obvious strength
Strong enough to crush earth
Bring grown men to their knees
Strong enough to intimidate by balancing his whole body onto
But that was only a disguise
The true power of his hands resided in their grace
Graceful enough to be the first cradle for a newborn addition to the family
Graceful enough to scoop ice cream for you until you burst
Graceful enough to wipe your tear or stroke your hair
Until you felt like everything was going to be all right

In his spirit, he was a volume of contradictions
He was a lover and a fighter
A loner and a family man
A disciplinarian and a teddy bear
He was both the cowboy and the Indian
He analyzed, debated, appreciated and understood both sides
Creating the environment to do the same

Tata is in his brand of heaven now
His Lazyboy chair
Western novel sitting on the arm
Boxing match on the television
A lap generous enough for us all
Finally getting that long awaited hug from his oldest daughter
Able to share an arm wrestle with his son
And nearby, a path beckoning his gypsy heart to go for a stroll

____

Tata's favorite Western book by Louis Lamour:

The Realness of You

The realness of you
Not the recurring fairy tale chronicled to your friends
Not the buoyant depiction a mother paints
Not the lights – the soaring details of your life
Not the potential of who you could be

The realness of you
Pain you orbit your life about
Baby that exhibits itself in your cravings
Science project that you call home
Puppies who are frantic for your lap

The realness of you
Person you can’t face in the reflection
Woman who acts like a girl
Depression you wear like a shroud
Sweatshirt you wear until it is limp

The realness of you
Stifled cry for comfort
Know-it-all  armor over your heart
Cagey friends you just met
Ignoring the hands reaching out

 

The realness of you
Dread of growing up
Permitting the little girl to stomp on your life
Looking for the quick fix
Surrounded by family who loves you still