Poem: Things to Remember

Things to Remember

the smell of hot rain…
the buzz of old love songs
bumpy CTA rides and
Temptation wanna bes
singing for change at the train
station.

my youth; no matter how
old;
my brown skin against white
hotel towels,
and sweating windows, looking
out to other dimensions i dream…
then write…

writing impersonal and myriad
to the core, brilliant Second Sight to
guide me, like my
sisters silent steps in the hall on the way
to the bathroom;
like coming home dual-colored child-
dream of my mother’s
mother’s
mother’s child.

I know only three generations,
but I wait; ready for more, just call
me, dream me waking, landscape me,
close to your heart,
sculpted tight like your hills,
ridges, rivers, crests;
the india blood, diluted by disease
in my heart where u cannot see;
like the negra/africana blood,
i cannot help but to show…
pondering briefly–
is it fair to be proud I
my mother
mi abuela
escaped rape just that many  times?

9/7/04

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