08.20.08/09.07.08

08.20.08

I am hungry for home
For walking outside the front door
And seeing a familiar face
Hearing church bells toll the hours,
Announcing the solidity of time

I am hungry for my knees to see daylight
For wandering through market foods
And knowing how to pay for lettuce
And being unafraid to eat it

I am hungry for grass
For Ella rolling around int it, wild
Seeing dogs on leashes
Walking on actual sidewalks

I am hungry for sunny-side-up eggs
For cream in my Square One coffee,
A horse clip-clopping by as I sip it
The gentle scent of wind blowing through the windows

09.07.08

It is so strange to be living here. Nothing feels real. Or maybe everything is so real I don't recognize it. It is hard to swallow, hard to believe I see these things outside my window, that I step over these things with my American feet.

I feel so incredibly white.

How do I get used to being a minority? How do I behave, when I'm encroaching on someone else's very ancient territory? I feel so invasive, so rude, just by being here. What right do I have to take up space, create waste here?

There is no such thing as hiding here, no such thing as going by unnoticed.

Men bare voices, authority. Women bare their souls, their nursing breasts. Goats and chickens bare their guts. Children bare their naked bottoms. And everyone bares their spirituality. So much to see, hear, feel, sense. It bombards, surrounds, flies into my eyes like the dust from the unpaved roads. It is so present, so intense, and so real that I find it unreal.

Nevertheless, here it is, unapologetic, asking to be noticed.

08.09.08/08.16.09

08.09.08

We are in London,
having said our final good-byes,
feeling very small, tired, minor

We are in slow motion,
taking in the spinning, colorful world
ready (?) to dive into the sky again

Days blur, are loosely defined by
gate numbers, snacks
prunes, pretzels, candy, almonds
and public restroom visits

Are we dreaming?
Is it actually Wednesday?
Have we really come this far?

08.16.09

The sun rises, illuminates the Himalayas
Bells and birds and Hindus sing
Dogs speak their own language
Roosters make themselves known
Women beat rugs, sweep porches
Horns blow in the distance, like music

I wait for water to boil for my tea
I make quiet tip-toes across the marble floor
Dishes clang softly together as
I put them back in the cupboard

Masked men ride away on motorcycles
Gates slam shut behind them
Neighbors greet each other, namaste
Men and women go to market

From the rooftop, green gardens grow
Gentle monsoons feed their roots
I breathe in their oxygen
I breathe in this Kathmandu air
Wild, dirty, beautiful air

Birthday #24 (2008)/Lisa

Birthday #24

Today, I celebrate myself
I find beauty in the swing of my hips
And in the mysteries of my heart
I celebrate the years that have shaped
And reshaped me many times
And I take this day with careful hands
Holding its weight
Learning its textures
Imagining how it will look
Years from now
Imagining how I will celebrate myself
In the years that await me.

Lisa

You spill laughter and it is music
Your feet barely touch the earth
You salvage brokenness

Your beauty doesn't fit into boxes
You redefine, you recreate
You are fluid, uncontainable

You part seas with your eyes
Your colors shake earth
You resonate for miles

I need that.

And so does the rest of
this city, this state
this world that we navigate

Keep on
Earth-shaking
Peace-making
Resonating, recreating

Being.

Market Haiku (edited)

I.

Carroty bracelet
Flowers wild & cherries sweet
Humanity thrives

II.

Grass-fed mini skirts
Eating up the bearded men
Famish hovering

III.

You are a rare bird
Fly into my birdless world
Sing your lovely song

Untitled/Necessary

Untitled

There is light in the world today
making its way into
spilling over onto
invading the space of
the heart I know is in me

And I am afraid
timid of the
sickened by the
inching toward the
sunlight I know will awaken

Inappropriate, laborious
tears that disassemble
tears that recreate
the heart I know is in me

Necessary

The worst is when I'm being awkward and
I. Can't. Stop. It.
Or when the silence is mine to fill, but I come up empty-handed.
Or when I break down, down, down
And pull out a smile on command
(It's necessary).
The worst is feeling so much feeling
The best is feeling so much feeling.
Sleeping, playing dead keeps me stable
(It's necessary).

Fast Forward/Wednesday

Fast Forward

I wake up with the sweat
Of dreams heavy
On my skin

The world was ending
I saw it right outside
My window

Heaving, sighing
Too wet, too melting
Into an unimaginable nightmare

I wake up with the burden
Of earth heavy
On my back

Wednesday

I find a quiet Wednesday
I try to fill it with shoulds
They keep escaping, becoming echoes
Of a good idea

I find the quiet frightening
Quite frightening
What could be, should be, precious
I rush to kill
The killing, after all, is loud, quick
The opposite of quiet

I should...says who?
I could...but why?
I would...and yet I will
Bury the loudness
And find the quiet of
Wednesday, the voice I want to hear