The Wind

Some people hate the wind.
After all, it messes up the best laid plans.
The wind doesn’t discriminate.
Whether you’re a flimsy umbrella, a well-coifed hairdo, or a grand ol’ oak,
It treats you just the same.

Some people hate the wind.
I probably should too.
I have enough trouble walking on my own
Without tripping, falling, or going askew.

And don’t get me started on my nest of unruly locks,
Which goes from zero to frizzball in…
How long does it take for the wind to pick up?

But, as it turns out, wind is one of my favorite things.
I can’t see it, but I can feel it as close as my skin
When I close my eyes, open my arms, and let it in.

Charmed

One moment you’re here–
And all the promises you hold seem secure.
 
And then…
Wisps of smoke disintegrating into the anonymous night sky.
 
You’ve made me into both the peddler of fanciful tales
And the one willing to sell the shirt off her back to believe them.
 
But this not a tale of woe,
For as much as I fight and claw
To hold you for a moment longer,
Before I know it you’re gone–
And all the promises you hold with you.
 
And I’m standing here naked.
I’ve been here before.
 
I want to break down and cry,
But instead I hold still and wait.
In another moment I open my eyes
And am bathed in moonlight–
And all of the promises it holds are secure.

Chasing Cars

As a child born in the mid-80s, I have seen the proliferation of all kinds of technology over the course of the past 2+ decades. I’ve witnessed the transformation of huge, boxy computer monitors into iPad Airs and cassette tapes into CDs (and laserdiscs?) and now mp3s. Yet I’m not old enough to say that I lived before the time of cars. To be able to get from one place to another in a short amount of time, on a whim, is something I took for granted.

Lately, since I moved into the downtown area of my small town, I’ve been doing a lot more walking and realizing that it usually takes longer than I think to get from one place to the next. My sense of time and distance has been warped by years of living in a culture of instant gratification, and even two years into living away from the hustle and bustle of urban life, I can still feel its effects.

I imagine it as a person on fast forward being pulled back and beginning to move in “slow motion” as everything around her continues on fast forward.

What of this secret space?
What of the beauty she finds
In the cracks and crevices of life?
Of the language of infinite love
That surrounds and covers,
Offering hope
When all else fails.

Bailamos

[This was originally performed at an open mic night and is intended for live performance, but you’ll have to use your imaginations for now!]

I’ve never been a particularly rhythmic person, which is ironic because I love to dance. Don’t get me wrong–I’ve gotten better over the years. But there’s still a part of me that fears I’ll be found to be a fool who can’t find her feet.

Having rhythm is kind of like being cool (and comedy, come to think of it). You either have it or you don’t. And sometimes it seems like the harder you try (one and two and…three….and….four), the more you get off the beat. And when another person is involved, there is an even greater probability that a hot mess will ensue.

I was reminded of that when I went kayaking with a friend recently. Being the taller one (this only happens with Asian girls), I ended up in the back of the kayak. As two women in a group of male-female pairings, it was a challenge to keep up with the group. I alternated between relaxing and working my tail off to make sure we weren’t left behind. If I stopped paying attention, our paddles would hit the water at totally different times. I thought we’d get more bang for the buck if I could sync my paddle action with hers. I could find her rhythm and join her in it, and we’d be set. But I soon realized that my friend wasn’t very rhythmic either. So there I was, one rhythmically challenged fool trying to match another. Somehow it seemed hopeless.

Then there’s the rhythmic art of conversation. The ebb and the flow, the give and the take. Finding a good conversation partner is no easy feat. I’ve been on both sides of “the interview” and have also sat through my fair share of monologues. Ok, I’ve given them too. So sue me. It can be difficult to negotiate the appropriate times to interject as well as the ratio of me talking to you talking. After all, you don’t want to seem, on the one hand, needy or, on the other hand, bland.

So here’s the thing. It’s impossible to be meta with rhythm. The moment you think about it, you are already outside the beat looking in. Then you have to abandon the rhythm to get back on beat. By then you are flustered and feeling like a fool. Are we noticing a trend?

Here’s a crazy thought. What if we began with the notion that it’s ok to be a fool?
Then perhaps we could loosen our reins, settle into the pocket, and let the rhythm overtake us.

(Cue cheesy late 90s Latin hit that comes to mind.) <– Actually playing the song and dancing along is highly encouraged!