Hunger for the World
I am hungry for the discomfort that means that world
I hunger to see new expressions of life piling up and pouring over the old.
I hunger for the shock of the new, the familiar, the misplaced and unanticipated context.
I hunger for inhibition to music the freedom to move with passion
My voice whistles like the pine needles on a hemlock
My voice babbles like a brook.
My voice hums and thunks
My voice bubbles like a lion cub's first, powerful roar.
Akron is a place to explore.
Akron whispers the swish and swash of down coats in January
Akron warms me on cold evenings.
Each day like a wrapped present,
Remembering my fifth grade teacher's voice,
Crocuses breaking the ground in early spring
The difference between the world we live in
I write across the borders of memory, the barriers of my mother tongue
Borders are the empty space between our arms reaching for a hug that we fill
My story crosses the border of your ears in snaky lines
Untethered to borders, my pen writes free
My body is a bundle of copper wire vibrating, oxidizing, and hearing.
My body is an engine with too many operating hours.
My ribs hum like the soundboard of a piano.
My funny bone sings bad jokes and corny words to a crowd full of brittle bones.
Only when we mimic the Atlantic waves reaching for the moon,
Even the darkest of hearts have a piece of peace shining inside.
Peace prospers in people who seek potential voices.
Peace will come when all the women in the world have sleepovers and braid each other's hair and talk into the night and break bread in the morning, sleepy-eyed sisters sharing their humanity.
My Hair is a nation...full of Tribes with cultural stories of Breath
My Hands are Wombs....Giving LIfe to everything they Touch
My Eyes are golden chestnuts glancing around the ever changing world
My nails are bright unicorns directing my majestic words