fajando con la poesia // fighting with poetry

I've started reading Edna St. Vincent Millay, a poet whose work I'd actually dismissed on more than one occasion. She's best known for her short, alerting pieces like "First Fig":

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

which every high schooler read and said YES! about. I've often critiqued my own work negatively, thinking I spend too much time relating to the home, creating home, etc., while still trying for feminist defining. I have read Millay's work and now find some comfort in knowing she was able to do similar things and to do so successfully. Yes, I'm still on my quest to devote more time to my writing.

I get caught up in doing other things though and if it's at all creative, I lose my ganas for writing. I think that's why I like to be a little pent up too. Have a little denial in my life or someone who tells me no.

But still have freedom. Think polyamorous relationships or open marriages. There might be other options but no amount of meditation will remove that fire from me. I was having a simple coffee yesterday evening with a friend of mine. This was after my first day of class (yawn!) so I was now fully awake - and we talked about how another friend views him as shy, nice, even religious. I laughed because it only takes us minutes each time to start talking about how there's too much fire in the room or how it's sometimes good to stay good friends with an ex (yes, in the biblical sense). More fun is that we have most of our conversations in Spanish and some words differ in meaning between Cuban Spanish and Mexican Spanish.

When we did start talking about our exes, I mentioned always seemed to be in a fight (Siempre estabamos fajando) and he laughed. I realized that fajando meant something totally different for him... something along the lines of what you do after you fight. Either way, ours were physical exchanges...

I got off topic... within one blog entry! My god, my mind is everywhere instead of right here. Alright, so one thing I am aware of and actively trying to develop is less fear in my writing. I want to go all the way. And I mean less fear elsewhere too. Mami 'ta lista!.

seek release/From dusty bondage into luminous air

--Edna St. Vincent Millay

a new year

it's been a few weeks since I've written anything.
it's actually been several weeks since I've felt like writing anything.

curiously, I moved into the apartment and ended up with a rash that usually shows up when I am stressed. true enough, work's been hell with changes. not intolerable but it's easily visible that lines are being drawn and friends help friends.

the rash finally gone I realized my writing was at a change and needed some time to come together again. I feel like I'm in the first few months of pregnancy, and am starting to feel the flutter like butterfly wings inside my center now.

this month of quiet has been unique, magic and calming:

tigrette's learning an incredible amount of sign language at school
and she can laugh about looking like a boy sometimes, especially now that her hair is even shorter, and sometimes, the way she looks at me, reminds me of a picture of my great great grandfather, a mulatto french man who moved to Cuba, with wild, kinky hair and intense eyes;
cliffy and I are coming together
and things like grocery shopping aren't chores so much as they are the opportunity to provide some softness to my family;
the apartment is all lived in already but still fresh, a real opportunity to grow;
we have a new hamster, puffy, who has the same boitel attitude all the rest of the family has;
I've strengthened my friendships, in some cases finding friends again, and claimed them as family.

there's a lot more but some moments of growth and change are so subtle, I would have no appropriate word to show the movement they provoked in me.

today is my birthday and cliffy gave me a gift last night that I didn't want to open until this morning. at 1 a.m. I couldn't sleep so I got up for some water and opened the present. you know, I've been accused of holding back on letting people see me. I didn't expect any present at all except a handmade card from Delhi and some great emails from friends.

a gift from cliffy was incredibly sweet and she chose these things that were so exactly right for me. it makes me feel good that she sees me. in particular, she bought me a cute red and purple ceramic heart with the word "create" on it. there I was, all crying, just holding that heart.

cliffy thinks I'm not writing because of work. I can't disagree with her but I do know that my writing is present, is with me - just quietly sleeping, a small group of petals promising an entire landscape.