Sunday, June 17, 2012

Mujer # 17

Because you addressed me
with shrugs, each
arch of back
a warning

de niƱa I wanted
only the purpling of lips
insatiably     biting
plum flesh

if only
you understood
the nostalgia
of collateral damage:
bone snapping    and
rogue gaps
along fidgets
you too would
lull into my terminal syphon

rocking, rocking
until spines collide
big bang theory mami

you a universe of atoms
and i an atom
in your universe.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Playing Jacks

Because your hands like boats
docked into evergreen jumpers
and nylon stockings

Baba didn't tell you so
that the multicultural bulletin
-shades of tan paper dolls hand in hand
were a game of darts.

That you were just the right shade
and the right height to be baby
and not a delinquent
a vagabond, a loafer.

That waiting for the bus
twirling hair and sucking fingers was
not arrestable on the terms of loitering
that the road to Winchester Thurston School
cut through Black Wilkensburgh
Wilkensburgh of cop cars and sirens
scraped knee and dawgs
and drug dogs and Baba
was the pack mule and
you the cargo
the contraband of masala brands
that were not quite not white
but so close to right.

Nena he didn't tell you
that your nail file was a weapon
and playground rounds of cops and robbers
was a punishable offense
Feds breathing down Mumia's neck
when Baba told you speak the truth

he didn't mean to tell
the truth, the whole truth
and nothing but the truth
hey baby don't lie
stick a needle in your eye
or tire swing banter.

When you spoke of Andhra suns
and girls under tents
you pouted
just like you were trained, daahling
Ms. Dialis smiling, pashmina shrugging

orientalism was the only drug on the block

thought it was just all right
bros and hos
booty shakin' ghetto getup
at the school social.

Nena blinded to the west side
school house rocks couldn't be jailhouse rock
imprisoned in the privilege
of semetrically cut cucumber sandwiches.

When you were 9
cops were your heroes along with mama and baba
and the boys on the block
who wore baggy clothes as dark as you were
in the summer during wintertime
were up to something

not imagining 6 year old Regina
was escorted out of class for screaming
because she didn't share because
you didn't either

imprisoned by visions of Amreeka
Baba painted for you to protect you
from school prisons and prison schools
what difference does it make anyway
when you are hanging on monkey bars
swinging, swinging
hiding under jumpers and lace.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Dear Mr. Republican

I see you across the Mudbox watching me. 
See you cross and uncross your legs. 
It is only out of my vanity do I notice, Mr Republican
The sweat over your brow
the tie around your wrists
collars haphazardly pressed
Mr. Republican
I see your eyes wandering to my ankles
noticing the hairs on my shins
lace slips between knees, I see the doves in your chest leap. 
I see fear in your eyes, make you nervous
thought I’d just blend in. 
You needed the East through me
lauded me for my Bollywood and colors and nuclear deals
Recognized the only legitimate brown revolution as Gandhi
fuck Nagaland, fuck the Naxals
You forgot the mass burning of White western cloth
boycotts as radical- you erased that, forgot about me. 
Faces interchangeable, masks ready to be torn. 
Thought they’d have the same eyes, the same nose
same teak wood breasts, same amazon vine arms
wrapped around your chest- everywhere women just like me. 
My eyes burn you. My voodoo doll eyes burn you. 
My four armed nympho kama sutra goddess eyes burn you. 
Can’t charm me, can’t charm me
can’t bear to know
dark shouldered Westerner ‘speak good English too”.

Remember me, Mr. Republican?
Freshmen year, second semester SIS 100
I bore gifts from Chiapas. Here take this
NAFTA signed and kissed besos besos Subcomandante Marcos
we don’t need agreements no more in the montanas Mr. Republican
I watched nudge your twin with plastic pamphador 
“where’d she come from” papi im here to stay. 
You’re upset because you confused me
for pseudo liberals in navy blue conservative wear. 
Assumed my short skirts made me a biddie
cant pin me down in your binary
You gulp, Mr Republican
fearing Id start a brown or dyke or even white Revolution
cant bear to imagine I pinned shattered mirrors on my chest
like Juana Ines de La Cruz
turning rubble to rocks to hills again
can’t shut me up, cajole me, hold me, seduce me, race me, embrace me
tongues click 1 hundred 86 thousand miles per second
Afraid that my tongue rolls in my mouth 
afraid of the moans and orgasms reached across the table
as I read Homi Bhaba, Foucoult, Anthropology as I bounce my knee.
Puzzled I dont grab my uterus in fear 
as the war against women rages. I smear on war paint,
show you my battle scars
instead I plan on licking my lips, begging you to resist
Scared that I measure a man’s balls to the size
of my fist. Afraid you won’t size up. 
Thrusts in the air Im dressed in the words you gave me Mr. Republican. 

Thousands of years ago, sky opened up
and magma met ocean 
shrieking lightning bolt screams
the earth was borne in 7 days, each day 
a day of a woman’s cycle. 
I am nothing but the stuff of big bands
diamonds meeting at my thighs.
Humor is all I need- empowerment- a dialectic
I read the myths on the back of women’s palms
tear out the sheets, splatter murals on my back.
I want to be the example you give to your children 
when talking about bad, bad girls.
Im the zapata, the malinche, the mata hari
flavored curry you buy at Whole Foods
We the stuff of Hindu myths are your biggest nightmares
Revolution, Brother Guevara said, is the most primordial 
mark of love. So I’m here with love and a condom 
and a dildo and a drum and a mic
So I’m ready, Mr. Republican 
making you nervous, remember my grin
purse my lips draw skirt above knees like trees. 
Oof Mr. Republican Im ready give me what you got. 
Im not easily to please.