Saturday, July 13, 2013

Red or Green

I was raised on pinto beans and shredded cheese.
Our treat was getting pinon nuts from a van on 550,
And that little stand out by the pueblo?
That’s some of the best food you’ll find for miles.
Our compass is the Sandias where you can see the sparks of Albuquerque being sprinkled on desert darkness.
Leaving shadows on the mesa,
Like the shadows cast from the cottonwoods,
The Bosque is always afraid to be set ablaze.
And the river will just disappear into mud stained footprints when we walk on its banks.
From sunrise to sunset,
Clouds speckle the sky,
The sky that, to me, has always made it look like we were inside a snow globe.
Casinos line up like children at an ice cream truck in the middle of the summer,
My favorite one is the SpongeBob with cross-eyed gumballs
And when we went to the dollar theatre: It was because our swamp cooler was out.
Riding your bike was like holding out a magnet to all the goat heads on the ground,
Walking home with two flats and a shoe full of sand was something I got used to.
Where the sunsets are something you don’t want to get used to, they are beautiful.
Like the tortillas from the Frontier, they are so beautiful,
Especially with some carne adavada,
Which brings up the question of color.
In a place filled with so many different people, I don’t like to segregate, But I have to ask.
This is important now,
Are you Red or Green?
Because if you want to go in-between I’ll allow Christmas to be a valid answer as well,
We just needed to get that out of the way.
So I can say this.
I am New Mexican,
It might not show it in my skin,
But I was born here,
Raised here,
And so was my family,
I’m done being the outsider in a society I was raised in,
Give me one reason why blood decides who you have to be.
It only shows you who you were before.
 All that matters now is who I want to be.
I grew up thinking fresh fruit was something you only found in fancy restaurants.
I thought a tall building was three stories high,
And that freeways only has three lanes,
I thought that all mash potatoes were the instant kind,
And soup consisted of just chicken broth.
The only thing better than a bowl of red chili and beans in the winter was eating it after playing in the snow.
It was magical if it managed to stick to the ground for at least an afternoon.
I thought snowmen were supposed to be 2 feet high.
And that the mesa was something every neighborhood was surrounded by.
We are all surrounded by division signs,
By times where we build brick walls on playgrounds,
And differences stand in the way of friendships.
Despite our disagreements,

 Lets agree that skin color doesn't define anything about home. 

Thursday, July 11, 2013

7 Things I never told my Dads family in reverse chronological order

1. I miss the way  your names would roll off my lips when I would read them in a letter you would end up never responding to. 

2. In a class, amidst the hundreds of assignments, we were told to plant a tree. A tree to bloom of grandparents and mothers, and children. It was my family tree,  and I remember my decision to make it lopsided.

3. You weren't at his funeral, a mere five years have passed, and you are standing in a kitchen. Alone. Even your presence was not felt in the sand that swirled around his tombstone. 

4. I didn't understand what had happened. My father cried for the first time I’d ever seen, and I was still so young. We sat on Papa’s front steps, by his garden full of life, flowers of every color imaginable in bloom as if this was the last time they’d ever touch the sun. A honey bee landed on a purple one, and you reached for it. I told you not to, that it would hurt you. Your hand never hesitated though. It crawled up on your finger, and time seemed to slow down. A creature I had always been wary of stood inches away from me, and it was so graceful. Its brilliant yellow on a black that seemed to have gone through one too many washing machine trips. It was soft. And when I ran my small fingers across it, you said “Don’t be afraid”.  I am no longer afraid.

5. Your surprise on Thanksgiving Day was wonderful. We made pecan pie from scratch, and I’m not sure what why, but it tasted so much… sweeter.

6. That Christmas morning I felt myself grow a few inches taller. Beside a Christmas tree and a pile of ripped wrapping paper, he stood there. Old cowboy hat, button up shirt, faded jeans, and cowboy boots, he just stood there. Smiling. And beside him, we all felt a little bit taller.

7.  I don’t know you too well yet. You’re old. But reading with you is always fun. I have just begun to learn what reading is truly about. I love dinosaurs, and this book is completely right; we should totally have dinosaurs as pets.  Could you read the part with the firemen, using that tall one Papa? Read it again. Maybe I’ll read it with you next time. But we have to start saving our money, and then we’ll find a pet store that sells dinosaurs. But for now, sitting on your lap, I couldn't be any happier. 

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

"How it Ends" by Andrea Gibson


Andrea Gibson is an amazing performer. She sure knows how to have troubles, fix them, and still perform an amazing poem. I love this one :D




"Monster Man" By Zachary Kluckman

This man truly inspires me. He was at one of the first local slams I went to and continues to surprise me with the amount of emotion he can pull out of an audience. His name is Zachary Kluckman, and he is an amazing poet. I have the highest respect for him as a performer and a person.





I'm Tired



This has some lines of earlier poems, but they all needed to be brought together like this.





 I’m tired of crossing finish lines, 
The checkered stripes don’t have the same vibrato they had before,
Just like the floor we danced on,
 The grooves of the spinning vinyl don’t hold the keys that unlock our chests anymore,
They must be lost amongst the melodies of our voices.
And I would sing to you every night if only I had the chance.
Can I have this first dance,
Because I dream of our hips swaying slowly,
 and the music fading slowly,
Our eyes drifting slowly.
I’m tired of being a wallflower,
Leaning against a brick wall,
 in hopes I’ll just fall through it,
 just so I don’t have to see us miss another slow song together.
Searching the crowd just to see you is getting old,
 I wish I could just fold up this memory and throw it away,
It’s the note you never want the teacher to read aloud,
 the words you want to never make a sound,
When you whisper in my ear,
I get chills across my mind just trying to find some way to ignore you,
Because every syllable you let fall from your lips rips me apart,
I can’t begin to start an explanation for this mystery.
Look for clues everywhere but under my shoes,
Because I know I never stepped on anything besides myself,
And I have no answers to give you,
I’ll try my best on any short answer test.
 But I've got the rest of the time to ask questions.
Because there are so many of them.
Like, 
Why do I keep building bridges out of stones, 
Just to see my bones break in a river that’s all dried up.
I’m tired of wasting my time on a turntable that doesn't seem to come back around, 
I wish you would come back around,
Like a flat tire on a car heading towards the edge of a cliff,
You can’t deny the inevitability of falling,
And the few seconds we have during free fall will leave me dangling on the idea that maybe,
 we could have turned around a little earlier,
Made different choices,
Gotten a tire change
This idea can change
Along with the beats our hearts sing to,
And I've always been a little sharp,
But I’m sure you’ll find a way to tune me
 when you leave my strings to settle in the reverberations of a slammed door,
Just like the floor where we danced,
Let’s not miss this chance to get it right,
Because I’m tired of being tired at night.

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Done

I'm done crossing finishing lines to find you had left,
Done building bridges over rivers that have dried up,
My tears that have dried up,
and they left nothing but dust.
There is something I must say to you, 
Because if there is one lesson you've taught me,
It's to never trust a text message.
It's like a busted tire on the freeway heading towards the edge of a cliff,
You can't deny the inevitability of falling.
The few seconds we have during free fall will leave me dangling on the idea that maybe, we could have turned a little earlier. 
Made a few different choices,
Gotten a tire change,
This idea can change.
Along with the beats our hearts sing to,
And I've always been a little sharp,
But I'm sure you'll find a way to tune me,
When you leave my strings to settle in the reverberations of a door slam. 

Joshua Ballard "SFB"



I had the pleasure of getting to see Joshua Ballard perform live. He is a really cool person, and a great performer. Here is one of my favorite poems by him!