April 14

Today was the last day of V-day, and what a beautiful success it was.

Thank you to all who performed, directed, set up, encouraged, supported, persued, took part, came, and engaged.

Thank you for being part of a movement that is so worthy and so important.

 

* * *

 

Rising

Written in Kerala for the women of India who lead the way
 

This could have been anywhere
And was
Mexico City
Manila
Mumbai
Manhattan
Nighttime men
waiting
like wolves
Drooling
for prey
behind
that single dimly painted door
paying nothing
a couple of dollars
or euros
rupees
or pesos
to have her
Enter her
Eat her
Devour her
and throw away her bones.

 

This could have been anywhere
And was
A Buddhist nun on a bus
Trying to stay dry for the night
A woman leader speaking out against
The repressive government
A young woman traveling with her boyfriend
One lost her voice
The other her following
The last one her life

This could have been anywhere and was
Pink wooden crosses
A stack of stones
Red wilting carnations
Empty chairs in a square
Ribbons flying in a sultry wind

 I ask Anna Nighat Kamla Monique Tanisha Emily
Why Why
Porque Eran Mujeres
Parce qu'elles étaient des femmes
Because they were women
Because they were women

This could have been anywhere
And was
Where she got fired for being too beautiful
Fined for drinking after she was raped
A serious offer to marry her rapist
Got told it was legitimate but not forcible
This could have been anywhere
They do such a thing
When the girls go for fire wood
Step into the lonely man’s car
Drink a little too much at the college party
Wake up with her uncle’s fingers inside
Run from the screaming machete and guns
Be taken at sunrise
Get a bullet in the brain for learning the alphabet
Be stoned for falling in love
Be burned for seeing the future

I am done
Cataloguing these horrors
Data Porn
2 million women raped and tortured
1 out of 3 women
a woman raped every minute
every second
one out of 2
one out of 5
the same

 one

 one

 one

 I am done counting
And recounting

Its time to tell a new story
It needs to be our story
It needs to be outrageous and unexpected
It needs to lose control in the middle
It needs to be sexy and in our hips
And our feet
It needs to be angry and a little scary the way storms can be scary
It needs to not ask permission
Or get permits or set up offices
Or make salaries
It wont be recorded or bought or sold
Or counted
It needs to just happen
It is not a question of inventing
But remembering
Buried under the leaves of trauma and sorrow
Beneath the river of
semen and squalor
vaginas and labias
shredded and extracted
stolen
body mines
mined bodies
It is not about asking now
Or waiting
It is about rising

Raise your arm my sister my brother
Raise your one
Billion
Your one heart
Your one of us

I used to be afraid of love
It hurt too much
What never happened
What got ripped away
The rape
The wound
And love
I thought
was salt
But I was wrong
I was wrong

Step into the fire

Raise your arm
Raise your one
 Billion

 One

 One

 One

 Rising.

 Rising.

 Rising.

- Eve Ensler

April 13

 

 

We had a freak hail storm today that was a little uncalled for and a lot exciting. Apparently 1300 people lost power - us being five of them - and we were a little nervous that it would put our V-Day performance in jepordy. But all is, in fact, well that end's well. We had a cozy little afternoon, watching ice slash against the windows and the neighborhood turn white, and then it was off to the races. The show must go on, come hail or high water. And it did.

 

* * *

 

The Snow Arrives After Long Silence

The snow arrives after long silence
from its high home where nothing leaves
tracks or stains or keeps time.
The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal,
bears up like sheep before shearing.

The cat at my window watches
amazed. So many feathers and no bird!
All day the snow sets its table
with clean linen, putting its house
in order. The hungry deer walk

on the risen loaves of snow.
You can follow the broken hearts
their hooves punch in its crust.
Night after night the big plows rumble
and bale it like dirty laundry

and haul it to the Hudson.
Now I scan the sky for snow,
and the cool cheek it offers me,
and its body, thinned into petals,
and the still caves where it sleeps.

 

- Nancy Willard

 

 

 

 

April 12

 

 

We did it! Happy Friday! Go out and live a little.

* * *

Warning

 

 When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit.

 

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

 

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

 

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

  

- Jenny Joseph

 

April 10

Happy National Siblings Day!

 

I am so very thankful for my two big little brothers.They are hilarious, they are talented, they are taller than 6 feet. They are handsome, and big hearted, and driven. And also opinionated.

 

Thank you for great company on long trips, thinking taking pictures of sleeping people is funny, snake hunting, dying several deaths during every christmas prayer ever, the joint effort of getting mama to react to anything really, musical dish washing sessions, loud arguments, not killing me for being late to school every morning, working together to take out other siblings who dare offend  Rubesh pride*, letting me sleep in the top bunk when I was scared, and also, more importantly, your wise words and constant support.

 

I do love you a whole lot.

 

*Only a pair of overalls was ruined in this particular story. And she deserved it.

April 9

Today was a day that bucketed - it feels like winter is back for round two. Which would be fine if I could stay cuddled up in my pillows and drink lazy cups of coffee. But I can't. And I suppose that's fine, because it'll make coming back to my pillows just that much more delicious.

* * *

Dreams
 

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.
 

- Langston Hughes

April 7

We took a rainy little walk today, my honey and I, and it was quite pleasant. We perused a book store, and took in the fresh air, and I had my red umbrealla.

 

* * *

Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me

Last night

the rain

spoke to me

slowly, saying,

what joy

to come falling

out of the brisk cloud,

to be happy again

in a new way

on the earth!

That’s what it said

as it dropped,

smelling of iron,

and vanished

like a dream of the ocean

into the branches

and the grass below.

Then it was over.

The sky cleared.

I was standing

under a tree.

The tree was a tree

with happy leaves,

and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky

that were also themselves

at the moment

at which moment

my right hand

was holding my left hand

which was holding the tree

which was filled with stars

and the soft rain –

imagine! imagine!

the long and wondrous journeys

still to be ours.

- Mary Oliver

April 6

 

 Starbucks, Alisa, Greek food, puddle jumping, littles, cousins, monsoon downpours, and sunbreaks.

 

Followed by a wonderful little Bulthuis evening and Chronology.

 

What a day.

 

* * *

 

New beginnings
 

A myriad of colours explode as spring comes to visit,

The ice queen is finally dethroned with her batallion of grey,

New life shoots up from every corner of nature's garden,

Brothers and sisters wake from their slumber embracing the birth of a new day.

 

- Simon Thorpe

April 5

SPU said goodbye to my dear Kwirl today - she is off on a new adventure over at UW helping struggling people find their footing, as is her way. So we got Thai food and a little office and shared merry stories of her time here. I will miss car pooling and lunches and whiney early mornings with her, but I am excited for this new step in her life. UW doesn't even know what's going to hit them!

* * *

The Road Not Taken
 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.
 

- Robert Frost

April 2

 

April: National Poetry Month

 

I love poetry for its ability to put into words things that I feel and see and touch and sometimes have no other way of expressing.

I love it for making words beautiful, for using beautiful words.

Poetry tells of stories, of whispers, of  thoughts, of pictures, of the way morning fog collects over rivers, of the way raindrops mirror the world in their tiny pools, of the way people laugh and cry and hope and die together, alone.

Good poetry, always in a few perfect lines.

 

So April, a poem a day.

 

* * *

 

The Journey

 

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations, though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen branches and stones.
but little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life you could save.

- Mary Oliver

 

 

April 1

 

April again! the willow wands are yellow
Rose-red the brambles that the passing wind knows,
Comes a robin's note like the note of a 'cello,
And across the valley, the calling of the crows,-
'April again!'

April again! and the marsh birds swinging
Over the rushes that belong to yester-year;
Silver shines the river, and young lips are singing
Songs as old as Eden-as old and as dear;
'April again!'

April again! with a wet wind blowing,
And along the western sky a pathway of gold;
Sounds a call to follow the road we're not knowing,
A new road-a wild road-o'er fairy lands unrolled,-
'April again!'

April again! with its wonder of gladness,
April with its haunting joy, and swift-stinging tears,-
Month of mist and music, and the old moon-madness,
Month of magic fluting, the spirit only hears,-
'April again!'      

 

- Virna Sheard

 

*And also this.