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2080

We cried a lot.  I cried a l ot. so I wrote a poem . -- I'm sitting in a park through one sun salutation  the breath of the sky turns gray and mother Earth sighs. T he year is 2080 - and I don't recognize you.  The bright oranges have dropped from the branches, decaying into the land. I firmly press my toes on the ground beneath my toes are rooted roots I sway, swaying slower while the green turns to brown turns to green. I invert, or the world is inverted?  sweet smooth faces shrivel,  and I touch the warm cheeks of a baby close to my heart.  I crossword, the fraying fingertips of my reality hold words. inhale, exhale. the vast blueness gleams with sunshine. The three bridges remain tucked behind the achy Oak tree. we share the quality of old growth as its branches start to sag. People move faster, yet I find solace cuddled into the hills with the frequent company over tea but rest escapes me and I tire q
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A Little Closer to the Edge

It's National Poetry Month! April 2016 so I wrote a little something. __ A little closer to the edge foggy tips sit on morning fingertips, goosebumps fill her olive arms in the Altamont Valley where green hills - actually green - coat the backdrop as if an Irish bar will be placed precariously at its base. But like most mornings, the haze will dissipate and the climate will fluctuate Philly sweats then wears two sweaters while Californians expect sunshine even when it's January, she saw cherry blossoms in February. Aching sounds, construction won't falter because change is on the horizon. we are on the horizon, the dogwood patches dance in April breeze but car engines proclaim, "dominance." we are constructed roads, build high rises - maybe she is stuck in urban America. the seasons bleed together like the Bay meeting the Pacific Ocean waters are indistinguishable. in all corners of land I want to know if this if this cata
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Quarter Century

Like many fellow humans, I am not sure what to make of the recent attacks around the world. I know that I feel infinite gratitude for life, but I understand, too, that all our of lives are threatened. There is fear everywhere - whether is be by the American police or the growing group of the Islamic State. Or the fear that the media is perpetrating. I sit in Oakland and think about all the anger, unrest, uncertainty. How can we live in a state of such... in my backyard and across the sea. I find solace in the sunshine, my gentle community, and the opportunities I've had to succeed. People are being displaced. People have ALWAYS been displaced. Where is the (human) in humanity? Then again, I'm displacing. Young, white, educated female. Always trying to grasp my place in this colorful world, this maze of a place. At a quarter century, I'm grateful for life. I'm grateful that my parents, although unsure about the love that was built between them. They decid
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Unconventional Schedules

As children, our schedules are created for us. Maybe they're not even created intentionally. Our parents (or caregivers) guide us though the days - nursing us while we are young, swaddling us into cozy balls, introducing us to team sports, bringing us to school. This "regular" schedule (often based on the school day and even stretching as far as the school year schedule... why do people feel like they should work less come Summer? maybe it's all the sunshine...) is ingrained in the mind of a western individual. Now I am guilty of this sense of "normality" when it comes to a "job" (I think i'm quoting because I feel like these are constructs of society). Now, after being pushed and pulled through the academic system (for better or for worse), I feel unsettled with my lack of 9-5. I feel an intrinsic guilt when sitting in coffee shops mid-day, attending late morning yoga classes, or running along the Bay at any hour I please. Yes, I do have a j
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Bay

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Are you a pusher or are you a puller? Bouncing around (t)here back to the Bay with the San Francisco lights burning across, lingering in the backdrop while buried in the hills of Berkeley. I pull the weight towards me. Dead weeds, sucked dry as we pass by without eyes. I drink another espresso and peddle forward. And I lack the zest of a lemon, looking forward. Stretching into my core, I release. With the songs in my head, seeking for what's next. Unless I have a woman pushing me.
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Location: Alameda, CA, USA
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90 West

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Your CDs don't work, as I drive West. But the podcasts keep me company, as I peer out on the Minnesota land. The Mississippi River shines below, and South Dakota says hello. Great places, great faces - into an unknown abyss. Shiny purple rocks in Lake Superior, linger in my mind. The land of 10,000 lakes behind, I used my compass to guide me home. Your CDs don't work, but I can find more to consume. Sylvan Esso and the Shins, too. Mostly This American Life. Badlands and the Black Hills, a juxtaposed South Dakota scape. Blissed with cloud coverage, and sunsets on lakes. Coffee shops look all the same, all the different. Caffeine. Spearfish, where am I? Smiles fill the room, chatter. Your CDs don't work, and you push me away, and we argue and embrace. colors of my face. I continue West to the mountains, where I can get lost in the trees. alone, it feels good. so just let me be.
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Francophone

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It wasn't until I hit the Canadian border that I realized I was actually entering another country. Oh yeah, roaming. Oh yeah, no USD.  Oh yeah, French street signs.  As I wondered to a free electric festival in downtown with some Quebecers, I realized how French of a provence Quebec is. However, once at the fest, there was a moment when I was in a circle with: a woman from Columbia, a woman from Jordan, many French dudes, a few Quebeccers, and a woman from LA. Then I see a man with a San Jose Sharks hat on, standing on a platform about 10 yards away. Soon after, I see he is wearing a Sharks sweatshirt too. He was asking for me to talk to him. I run up to him and ask him if he's from San Jose. "The East Bay," he responds. Small world. Francophone or Anglophone wasn't a concept I was too familiar with, although aware of its existence. Now I get it. I'm in awe of this scenic place, with a canal lined with greenery AND industrial derelick buildings. E
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