Just finished reading the second installment of the Harry Potter ouvre (hee!). It's not really my favorite, but I love how in rereading I can see the seeds of later plots making an appearance. If its true that in Sorcerer's Stone, Rowling wrote some things that were later negated in the series, in Chamber of Secrets she took pains to right that and apparently to begin to think things through. I think people like that the most about the series, the idea that it was "all there" and that she was just reorganizing it all and what not.
In Chamber of Secrets, Harry finds himself in problems even before leaving Privet Drive thanks to the appearance of the house elf Dobby, who loves Harry Potter and what he stands for so much that he intervenes with his life trying to "save him" from the horrible things that will happen if he goes to the Hogwarts School of Wizardry for his second year of study. In the process of this book Harry turns 12, learns about house elves, spends about half of his summer vacation at the Weasley's place, and learns about the stigma that being Muggle-born can carry in some circles of the Wizarding world.
I know that the plot is common knowledge, but this is supposed to be a review rather than a summary so I won't go into many details. What I liked about the book: Ron is an individual, smart kid. Hermione of course, figures out the mystery ages before Harry and Ron do, but the two of them slowly get the same knowledge. It made sense that after the first book, Harry and Ron would be the one's to go on - after all, they're still 12. However, Rowling still manipulates it all so that Harry is alone at the end in order to fight Voldermort. Well... not Voldermort, but Tom M. Riddle. The things that I liked that Rowling introduced from this novel: the similarities between Harry and Voldermort. That Dumbledore makes it clear that it's all about choices people make and not the circumstances of their birth. That's also something I like... although the novels are very moral, they never hit you over the head with the message, and Chamber of Secrets is no different.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
April 14th
This is what I'm afraid of
Measuring tape in hand
the Miami-Cubans find me wanting.
Hands placed, 10 and 4,
incoming traffic, you in the passenger seat.
Visit after visit on jobs.com
a big "no one wants" whatever I am sign.
Mami, sad.
Papi, sad.
A Snickers Candy Bar
The Golden Arches surrounded by red.
Bit by bit, blood turning away from me
and "my kind".
Discovering that my words mean
nothing.
The worst fucking word in the world:
potential.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Measuring tape in hand
the Miami-Cubans find me wanting.
Hands placed, 10 and 4,
incoming traffic, you in the passenger seat.
Visit after visit on jobs.com
a big "no one wants" whatever I am sign.
Mami, sad.
Papi, sad.
A Snickers Candy Bar
The Golden Arches surrounded by red.
Bit by bit, blood turning away from me
and "my kind".
Discovering that my words mean
nothing.
The worst fucking word in the world:
potential.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
April 13th
Some days
are longer than others
with hour after hour adding
minute after extra minute but
our watches don't notice.
It's a conspiracy, you see
and since everyone looks at
cellphones nowadays to find out
what time it is
no one catches on to the fact
that 10:10am follows
10:10am as if it's never been
and I can't stand 10:10am
being the minute that never ends
and I can't stand some days
when all I can think of is you
and I can't stand when 10:11am
comes
and though time has passed
your absence still burns.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
are longer than others
with hour after hour adding
minute after extra minute but
our watches don't notice.
It's a conspiracy, you see
and since everyone looks at
cellphones nowadays to find out
what time it is
no one catches on to the fact
that 10:10am follows
10:10am as if it's never been
and I can't stand 10:10am
being the minute that never ends
and I can't stand some days
when all I can think of is you
and I can't stand when 10:11am
comes
and though time has passed
your absence still burns.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
April 12th
Turning 30
Little Myra, you're no longer in the picture
but your words live on in others
like pain reincarnation
revisiting.
She says "you're 30," like I've forgotten
my age and in the midst of my playfulness
talks about being a grown-up.
Can you see, little Myra, how I still hurt?
Hackles raised, I change the subject
because I can't deal with her words
and when the phone's turned off
I rattle on to myself
about multiple college degrees,
12 years of full time work,
paying for kiddie karate classes,
mom's vacations, papi's new TV,
Angel's iPod, as if each item checks
a mark and there I am again
17, after Mami's life changing surgery-
Little Myra, with her words
by now forgotten by her since unlike you
she didn't mean them
and yet she accomplished what you didn't then
because inside I am again
turning 17, and my Mami is hurt
and I don't know what to do.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Little Myra, you're no longer in the picture
but your words live on in others
like pain reincarnation
revisiting.
She says "you're 30," like I've forgotten
my age and in the midst of my playfulness
talks about being a grown-up.
Can you see, little Myra, how I still hurt?
Hackles raised, I change the subject
because I can't deal with her words
and when the phone's turned off
I rattle on to myself
about multiple college degrees,
12 years of full time work,
paying for kiddie karate classes,
mom's vacations, papi's new TV,
Angel's iPod, as if each item checks
a mark and there I am again
17, after Mami's life changing surgery-
Little Myra, with her words
by now forgotten by her since unlike you
she didn't mean them
and yet she accomplished what you didn't then
because inside I am again
turning 17, and my Mami is hurt
and I don't know what to do.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
April 11th
Pentecost
My first day cleansing
I leave the house with two
clear jugs, filled to the top
with chicken-broth like swimming inside.
"It's a Dominican Thing," Gaspar says
to my coworkers, who laugh
but wonder.
Each one holds 32 oz of water
8 tablespoons of lemon juice
8 tablespoons of maple syrup (grade b)
about a spoonful of cayenne pepper.
Each swallow is supposed to curb
hunger and cleanse me
of pounds of fat and the untold
impurities living inside me.
It reminds me of prayer and of afternoons
with Mrs. White reminding me that the body
is the Temple
of the Holy Spirt
and to keep it clean meant more than
no tattoos or piercings.
I'm stronger than my cravings
I think as I swallow,
knowing that if I were alone,
I'd be inhaling a Big Mac.
No way the Holy Spirit
can live here.
©© Yazcaminante, 2011
My first day cleansing
I leave the house with two
clear jugs, filled to the top
with chicken-broth like swimming inside.
"It's a Dominican Thing," Gaspar says
to my coworkers, who laugh
but wonder.
Each one holds 32 oz of water
8 tablespoons of lemon juice
8 tablespoons of maple syrup (grade b)
about a spoonful of cayenne pepper.
Each swallow is supposed to curb
hunger and cleanse me
of pounds of fat and the untold
impurities living inside me.
It reminds me of prayer and of afternoons
with Mrs. White reminding me that the body
is the Temple
of the Holy Spirt
and to keep it clean meant more than
no tattoos or piercings.
I'm stronger than my cravings
I think as I swallow,
knowing that if I were alone,
I'd be inhaling a Big Mac.
No way the Holy Spirit
can live here.
©© Yazcaminante, 2011
Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone
The first of the "Harry Potter" book series, I read this for the first time back when the first movie came out, mostly because my kids wanted to watch it and I wanted to make sure I knew what it was about before I let them.
I don't know how many times I've read this by now - minimum 5 times for sure. Even though I know and remember most of what happens, it still is an enjoyable read. The funnest part is to recognize the little clues that J.K. Rowling may have not had her entire HP ouvre planned when she first published Sorcerer's Stone (Things like wizards performing magic without a wand), but usually what I realize most when I read is the amount of times the HP movie producers gave Ron's lines to Hermione.
The three main characters are very well fleshed out, and that's the main reason the series has always been awesome. I do have to say that Rowling can be very mean when referring to Harry's only remaining family, and there's something to be said about the fact that they're all fat or bony. Ron's mother, who is slightly overweight is described as plump instead. I enjoy the fact that Ron and Harry don't gravitate towards Hermione immediately, but that their friendship is earned - very true of a group of 11 year olds.
The shortest of the books, this is quite the easy read, and a great beginning to the series.
I don't know how many times I've read this by now - minimum 5 times for sure. Even though I know and remember most of what happens, it still is an enjoyable read. The funnest part is to recognize the little clues that J.K. Rowling may have not had her entire HP ouvre planned when she first published Sorcerer's Stone (Things like wizards performing magic without a wand), but usually what I realize most when I read is the amount of times the HP movie producers gave Ron's lines to Hermione.
The three main characters are very well fleshed out, and that's the main reason the series has always been awesome. I do have to say that Rowling can be very mean when referring to Harry's only remaining family, and there's something to be said about the fact that they're all fat or bony. Ron's mother, who is slightly overweight is described as plump instead. I enjoy the fact that Ron and Harry don't gravitate towards Hermione immediately, but that their friendship is earned - very true of a group of 11 year olds.
The shortest of the books, this is quite the easy read, and a great beginning to the series.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tiger, Tiger by Margaux Fragoso
I read about this book somewhere online; I remember opening up a window with a review and leaving it open on my desktop for about a week because I didn't have the time to seat down and read it. When I finally did read it I knew right away that I was going to be getting this book, regardless of it being on Hardcover still. (Isn't it sad how a hardcover book feels like a luxury nowadays?)
In any case, I read this baby in about a week, not necessarily because I couldn't put it down (which I couldn't) but because it was such an easy read. I mean, I was surprised at how smooth the whole thing was. I expected to need breaks because of the subject matter, that Fragoso was going to go on and on about herself and her plight, and it was not the case. But I suppose I should tell you a bit about the actual book itself. Tiger, Tiger is a memoir. What makes Fragoso want to share her life? First, she was raised by a controlling and self-aggrandizing Puerto Rican Man, a mother with deep psychological problems, and at 7 years-old, she met a pedophile who molested her until the age of 17, and who killed himself when she was 22.
Fragoso starts the book with a foreword, explaining this situation, so the reader knows what they're getting into. Well, they know about the pedophile. She manages to tackle this subject matter head on, not using euphemisms nor fake colorful language when it gets tough. She's honest: their relationship begins with Peter Curran just being the nice guy with a house full of animals that is the complete opposite to her father. She explains her family situation first, (without saying that she's doing so) so the reader knows how it was possible that she could be molested so assiduously and for so long. When she was 8 and 9, Peter taught her tickle games and was the hug monster. He was also a serial rapist, through the story we learn in a roundbout away (the way Fragoso learned it) that he molested several other girls, including his own estranged daughters.
Curran eventually turns her into his goddess and Fragoso eventually begins to abuse him as well, in order to have some "retribution" from the sexual favors she gave him. He encouraged her creative mind, helping her write and create as a child. She is poetic, yet correct anatomically when it comes to explicit talk of their sexual endeavors. She also explains how slowly their relationship stopped being sexual but still present, until her 20's, even when she had a real boyfriend. And then there's the account of his death and how it affected her - and her family. Fragoso ends the novel by talking about her own daughter, now around the age Fragoso was when she met Curran, and she explains why she would take the time to write the novel; seemingly a how-to for pedophiles, Fragoso claims that if parents know that it's the innocuous neighbor who posits the most danger, then their guard will be up.
But that's just what the book pertains to be about. Personally, I found the story to be more about her parents than anything else, especially her father. Their story weaves in and out of her "relationship" with Curran, and you can tell that unlike with Curran, Fragoso has yet to work through her anger towards her parents. She depicts Curran as a calm man, even through the moments he was angry and yelling at her, even at the times he slapped her. Her father, however, rarely spoke without an exclamation mark at the end of every sentence, often in CAPS to indicate yelling. Although Fragoso deconstructed Curran, both in writing and personally, her father remains a mystery to her. The man that tried to protect her, albeit in a macho way, and whose efforts to take care of her somewhat drove her into Curran's hands, is barely explored. We receive tidbits here and there, often gained from his talks with her.
Her mother, who allowed for the abuse and molestation to occur while she was in the same house with Fragoso, is also not explored. Fragoso doesn't seem to come to terms with the fact that her mother's psychological problems allowed her to possibly see what Curran was doing, but deem it love and care and good for her daughter, since at least Curran would make her eat. At the end of the novel, we know nothing of Fragoso's current relationship with her parents, wether she agonized about them learning about what went on under their noses, whether they knew before hand, or if she blames them in any way. I found that to be the only lacking aspect of the memoir. Even though she ends by talking about the family tradition she now continues with her daughter (making up stories for her at night, like her father did with her) Fragoso leaves open the fact that her parent's abuse was just as detrimental as Curran's. Although she does admit that there are some traditions she's planning on not continuing.
In any case, I read this baby in about a week, not necessarily because I couldn't put it down (which I couldn't) but because it was such an easy read. I mean, I was surprised at how smooth the whole thing was. I expected to need breaks because of the subject matter, that Fragoso was going to go on and on about herself and her plight, and it was not the case. But I suppose I should tell you a bit about the actual book itself. Tiger, Tiger is a memoir. What makes Fragoso want to share her life? First, she was raised by a controlling and self-aggrandizing Puerto Rican Man, a mother with deep psychological problems, and at 7 years-old, she met a pedophile who molested her until the age of 17, and who killed himself when she was 22.
Fragoso starts the book with a foreword, explaining this situation, so the reader knows what they're getting into. Well, they know about the pedophile. She manages to tackle this subject matter head on, not using euphemisms nor fake colorful language when it gets tough. She's honest: their relationship begins with Peter Curran just being the nice guy with a house full of animals that is the complete opposite to her father. She explains her family situation first, (without saying that she's doing so) so the reader knows how it was possible that she could be molested so assiduously and for so long. When she was 8 and 9, Peter taught her tickle games and was the hug monster. He was also a serial rapist, through the story we learn in a roundbout away (the way Fragoso learned it) that he molested several other girls, including his own estranged daughters.
Curran eventually turns her into his goddess and Fragoso eventually begins to abuse him as well, in order to have some "retribution" from the sexual favors she gave him. He encouraged her creative mind, helping her write and create as a child. She is poetic, yet correct anatomically when it comes to explicit talk of their sexual endeavors. She also explains how slowly their relationship stopped being sexual but still present, until her 20's, even when she had a real boyfriend. And then there's the account of his death and how it affected her - and her family. Fragoso ends the novel by talking about her own daughter, now around the age Fragoso was when she met Curran, and she explains why she would take the time to write the novel; seemingly a how-to for pedophiles, Fragoso claims that if parents know that it's the innocuous neighbor who posits the most danger, then their guard will be up.
But that's just what the book pertains to be about. Personally, I found the story to be more about her parents than anything else, especially her father. Their story weaves in and out of her "relationship" with Curran, and you can tell that unlike with Curran, Fragoso has yet to work through her anger towards her parents. She depicts Curran as a calm man, even through the moments he was angry and yelling at her, even at the times he slapped her. Her father, however, rarely spoke without an exclamation mark at the end of every sentence, often in CAPS to indicate yelling. Although Fragoso deconstructed Curran, both in writing and personally, her father remains a mystery to her. The man that tried to protect her, albeit in a macho way, and whose efforts to take care of her somewhat drove her into Curran's hands, is barely explored. We receive tidbits here and there, often gained from his talks with her.
Her mother, who allowed for the abuse and molestation to occur while she was in the same house with Fragoso, is also not explored. Fragoso doesn't seem to come to terms with the fact that her mother's psychological problems allowed her to possibly see what Curran was doing, but deem it love and care and good for her daughter, since at least Curran would make her eat. At the end of the novel, we know nothing of Fragoso's current relationship with her parents, wether she agonized about them learning about what went on under their noses, whether they knew before hand, or if she blames them in any way. I found that to be the only lacking aspect of the memoir. Even though she ends by talking about the family tradition she now continues with her daughter (making up stories for her at night, like her father did with her) Fragoso leaves open the fact that her parent's abuse was just as detrimental as Curran's. Although she does admit that there are some traditions she's planning on not continuing.
April 10th
Spent the morning chillin' with my cousins in Philly, where I bonded with my cousin Anthony over all the traveling and the hustlin' for Airline Miles. Not bad.
Former Times
We remember
pelas, and tricks our parents
played on us, punishments
and school days.
We remember
yaniqueques and how we
gleefully ate anything given to us
(if it was fried)
and how the dirty oil from
the corner chimichurri
made everything taste good.
We remember
summers together, and the time
I made Anthony afraid of spaghetti,
how he still won't eat pasta,
and how when we all moved to NY
for once living in the same town
we saw each other less.
I remember
years of hiding the self
and they accept that the self
wasn't so hidden after all
when I speak up my truth,
Mami and Tia a room away,
blissfully not understanding English.
We agree
there's no telling Abuela
I'm gay.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Former Times
We remember
pelas, and tricks our parents
played on us, punishments
and school days.
We remember
yaniqueques and how we
gleefully ate anything given to us
(if it was fried)
and how the dirty oil from
the corner chimichurri
made everything taste good.
We remember
summers together, and the time
I made Anthony afraid of spaghetti,
how he still won't eat pasta,
and how when we all moved to NY
for once living in the same town
we saw each other less.
I remember
years of hiding the self
and they accept that the self
wasn't so hidden after all
when I speak up my truth,
Mami and Tia a room away,
blissfully not understanding English.
We agree
there's no telling Abuela
I'm gay.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
April 9th
Sorry about the massive delay on posting all. I know, you've been waiting with baited breath. Saturday was a chill day, with the rare opportunity to actually wake up in my own bed and not have to run to go somewhere. I did a whole lotta nothing before Mami and I headed to Philadelphia to celebrate one of my niece's birthdays. This one just turned 4 and had her a Dora Birthday.
Family Time
Loudness
is just a word,
cacophony is more
like it.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Walked 4.0 miles in 60 minutes at 12:00pm
Family Time
Loudness
is just a word,
cacophony is more
like it.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Walked 4.0 miles in 60 minutes at 12:00pm
Monday, April 11, 2011
April 8th
Had a busy weekend and didn't take the time to upload poetry and what not. Friday, Ida and I had a date night, and it began with dinner at the Vegan Asian Fusion Restaurant Franchia. In efforts to have something different, I abstained from the dumplings and we had lettuce rolls.
They weren't exactly what we had been expecting, but they were tasty. We were a little scared about the hard noodles that seem to follow me everywhere. For an entree, I had the Vermicelli Noodle Bibimpap Stone Bowl with extra tofu. The Bibimpap was described as a Korean Health Staple consisting of rice and various toppings served in a bowl with sauce. It can be cooked on a stone bowl to make the rice crispy (which is just an interesting version of the Dominican concon I grew up with.)
It was very good and I ate every little bit. Afterwards we walked to Times Square to watch Hanna, the new movie with Cate Blanchett, Eric Bana and Saoirse Ronan. The main conceit is that Hanna is a teenager, raised in the middle of nowhere by his father, who has trained her to become a killer.
The movie was quite interesting and the soundtrack was CHILLING and quite appropriate. I totally bought skinny little Saoirse as Hanna - the combination of her ethereal look with some quick cuts and "demonstrations" of her strength made it easy for me to believe that she could kick ass. Dad Erik has trained Hanna to essentially kill Cate Blanchett's character whose name I don't remember. Marissa something, I think. Marissa is smart enough to not put herself in front of the child and so, Hanna kills a different woman and then escapes the hands of the CIA operatives. The movie then turns into the search for Hanna and Erik. Hanna and Erik in the meantime, are making their way through Europe to Berlin, so they can meet each other.
On her way to Berlin, Hanna runs into a vacationing English family, consisting of father, mother, precocious son and hella cute and funny daughter, who was really the funniest bit of the movie. I don't want to ruin her jokes by telling them to you, but she sure made me chuckle out loud.
At the end of it all, the movie was entertaining, looked beautiful but also as gruesome as one would expect. The only thing missing for me was motivation. Marissa didn't seem to have enough motivation for her actions, and she was almost just a caricature of an evil person, obsession with clean teeth included. The movie ends in an open note and we don't know what happens to Hanna, but I hope she goes to live a life full of sunshine and music.
In other note, I failed to exercise once again. For shame.
Escucha
Aquà estoy, y todo lo que queda
es la memoria de tu voz.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
They weren't exactly what we had been expecting, but they were tasty. We were a little scared about the hard noodles that seem to follow me everywhere. For an entree, I had the Vermicelli Noodle Bibimpap Stone Bowl with extra tofu. The Bibimpap was described as a Korean Health Staple consisting of rice and various toppings served in a bowl with sauce. It can be cooked on a stone bowl to make the rice crispy (which is just an interesting version of the Dominican concon I grew up with.)
It was very good and I ate every little bit. Afterwards we walked to Times Square to watch Hanna, the new movie with Cate Blanchett, Eric Bana and Saoirse Ronan. The main conceit is that Hanna is a teenager, raised in the middle of nowhere by his father, who has trained her to become a killer.
The movie was quite interesting and the soundtrack was CHILLING and quite appropriate. I totally bought skinny little Saoirse as Hanna - the combination of her ethereal look with some quick cuts and "demonstrations" of her strength made it easy for me to believe that she could kick ass. Dad Erik has trained Hanna to essentially kill Cate Blanchett's character whose name I don't remember. Marissa something, I think. Marissa is smart enough to not put herself in front of the child and so, Hanna kills a different woman and then escapes the hands of the CIA operatives. The movie then turns into the search for Hanna and Erik. Hanna and Erik in the meantime, are making their way through Europe to Berlin, so they can meet each other.
On her way to Berlin, Hanna runs into a vacationing English family, consisting of father, mother, precocious son and hella cute and funny daughter, who was really the funniest bit of the movie. I don't want to ruin her jokes by telling them to you, but she sure made me chuckle out loud.
At the end of it all, the movie was entertaining, looked beautiful but also as gruesome as one would expect. The only thing missing for me was motivation. Marissa didn't seem to have enough motivation for her actions, and she was almost just a caricature of an evil person, obsession with clean teeth included. The movie ends in an open note and we don't know what happens to Hanna, but I hope she goes to live a life full of sunshine and music.
In other note, I failed to exercise once again. For shame.
Escucha
Aquà estoy, y todo lo que queda
es la memoria de tu voz.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
April 7th
Y'all, back in New York. Had an evening with the girls that was supposed to be all about poetry but ended up being all about bonding. A pool table will do that for you. So, in honor of my friends who cheered me up when necessary, laughed with me (and at me when I was shooting pool), and let me talk about Mi Cariño all night long without once saying "enough already!" cuz they're sweet like that.
Oh, if we're going to talk details: Bar Nowhere. Pretty cool place, a lot more "mixed" than it used to be.
Nowhere
It's been almost five years since
we each sat down in a classroom
with the other
for the first time
three separate entities, so very
different. But I still know
the order of your favorite Sarah Waters
books from most liked to least
and you still know to stand outside
the bathroom door that won't
latch when I'm inside
and you still get philosophical
when drinking and we're still
I, you, you,
we.
And you say that friendship
like love
is knowing the worst traits
while loving the person
and I say that friendship
like love
is all about the little things
like knowing when to joke about
my tendency to play it cool,
hugging me while I speak to my love
and then checking up on me
five minutes later -
saying I love you,
and I'm OK because it's
you, you, I.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Oh, if we're going to talk details: Bar Nowhere. Pretty cool place, a lot more "mixed" than it used to be.
Nowhere
It's been almost five years since
we each sat down in a classroom
with the other
for the first time
three separate entities, so very
different. But I still know
the order of your favorite Sarah Waters
books from most liked to least
and you still know to stand outside
the bathroom door that won't
latch when I'm inside
and you still get philosophical
when drinking and we're still
I, you, you,
we.
And you say that friendship
like love
is knowing the worst traits
while loving the person
and I say that friendship
like love
is all about the little things
like knowing when to joke about
my tendency to play it cool,
hugging me while I speak to my love
and then checking up on me
five minutes later -
saying I love you,
and I'm OK because it's
you, you, I.
© Yazcaminante, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
April 6th
Dear friends, today I allowed myself to not work out. And to eat horribly. Yes, I know, major fail. I have no good reason for it all except that I woke up early and I did not want to yoga and I convinced myself that I would come back in the afternoon and workout for an hour instead, but things happened and the exercise didn't. I will, however, attempt to work out with gusto tomorrow morning before my departure to NYC. Since I didn't go out to eat, no updates on that front.
1,203 Miles
I look up our distance to know how quickly
I will not be getting to you.
Here's a test, I've never been good at them.
My number 2 pencil is not sharp enough to handle
grief from this far, when my only resources are
my words and they feel empty.
Words can't hug you, or kiss your temple.
They can't turn you on your stomach and rub your
back. They can't sneak behind you and massage
away the tension on your neck. They can't do
the dishes, or make the bed, or do that last
minute run to the laundry room. They
can't drive you to the airport (not that I can
either), or stand next to you letting the world know
you've got someone to lean on. Grief makes me
realize I've kept all my words for you and that
maybe by now
I should've been sending words to the 3-0-5, saying
your mother's first name to her, not to you.
Mirror sure is funny when it's pointing at me,
suddenly all the excuses I made for myself
this past year about distance are senseless,
because I'd see them soon, we'd bond in person
soon and soon is
as senseless as my trying to behave towards
them the way my family behaves when in truth
this is your family
-your family,
our family,
since I am yours-
and now our third Abuela's body is gone
we're left with all this love
that 1,203 Miles can't cover.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
1,203 Miles
I look up our distance to know how quickly
I will not be getting to you.
Here's a test, I've never been good at them.
My number 2 pencil is not sharp enough to handle
grief from this far, when my only resources are
my words and they feel empty.
Words can't hug you, or kiss your temple.
They can't turn you on your stomach and rub your
back. They can't sneak behind you and massage
away the tension on your neck. They can't do
the dishes, or make the bed, or do that last
minute run to the laundry room. They
can't drive you to the airport (not that I can
either), or stand next to you letting the world know
you've got someone to lean on. Grief makes me
realize I've kept all my words for you and that
maybe by now
I should've been sending words to the 3-0-5, saying
your mother's first name to her, not to you.
Mirror sure is funny when it's pointing at me,
suddenly all the excuses I made for myself
this past year about distance are senseless,
because I'd see them soon, we'd bond in person
soon and soon is
as senseless as my trying to behave towards
them the way my family behaves when in truth
this is your family
-your family,
our family,
since I am yours-
and now our third Abuela's body is gone
we're left with all this love
that 1,203 Miles can't cover.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
April 5th
Under Pressure
There's a point in the back
of my head, I can't touch it, it's inside
in the back
and I can feel it, squeezing, squeezing
squeezing
til I have no air left. My brain
has no room to breathe.
When I think of a life
with you
and without you.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
Today John chose dinner. He wanted barbecue. Unfortunately, E&L does not serve anything other than pork, links, tips, catfish (with the bone in).
I went for the combo plate, which came with pork ribs, hot links, baked beans and potato salad (and two slices of bread.)
I managed to eat a link and a bite. Had them with the bread and some spoonfuls of the baked beans, which had sugar in them so blegh to them. I managed about a tiny try of the potato salad, but that was essentially mayo with potato and pieces of egg, so no thank you. I couldn't even bite into the ribs. I just couldn't do it. So John gets that for lunch tomorrow. And I choose the place.
Yoga at 7:00am for 33 minutes
Walked 2.1 miles in 35 minutes at 5:00pm
Lifted weights for 5 minutes at 5:35pm
There's a point in the back
of my head, I can't touch it, it's inside
in the back
and I can feel it, squeezing, squeezing
squeezing
til I have no air left. My brain
has no room to breathe.
When I think of a life
with you
and without you.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
Today John chose dinner. He wanted barbecue. Unfortunately, E&L does not serve anything other than pork, links, tips, catfish (with the bone in).
I went for the combo plate, which came with pork ribs, hot links, baked beans and potato salad (and two slices of bread.)
I managed to eat a link and a bite. Had them with the bread and some spoonfuls of the baked beans, which had sugar in them so blegh to them. I managed about a tiny try of the potato salad, but that was essentially mayo with potato and pieces of egg, so no thank you. I couldn't even bite into the ribs. I just couldn't do it. So John gets that for lunch tomorrow. And I choose the place.
Yoga at 7:00am for 33 minutes
Walked 2.1 miles in 35 minutes at 5:00pm
Lifted weights for 5 minutes at 5:35pm
Monday, April 4, 2011
April 4th
It's time to make a decision
Just one more minute, just one more minute
and it'll be worth it.
Yet, step after step
I have no idea why
people run
for fun.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
I know y'all - not the strongest poem in the world, but I want to make sure I write everyday even if it's crappy stuff. Today we had a Tornado Warning in Jackson, MS and the sky was looking ominous after a day of work. So we drove rather quickly to Kerfies, a Mediterranean place a lot of people and websites recommended. We picked the food to go and made it to our hotel just in time to have sheets and sheets of water and wind dropped on us. It was a bit scary actually - there was a lot of rain and the wind was so strong the car was shaking a little. After a bit we finally made a run for it though and it was at a good time because we didn't get drenched.
Before eating however, I made myself do my afternoon exercise, which I'm glad about. I don't feel energized though. I feel tired and headachy. It's tough to stay motivated when it's this way. I've downloaded the new Noom, which is a combination of Cardiotrainer and Calorific and that helps a bit. In any case, I did not take pictures of my food this time around, but Kerfie's was really good: I had a bit of hummus with pita bread, and a mushroom pita wrap, with sauteed onions and mushrooms, lettuce and a bit of feta cheese dressing, which the restaurant is apparently famous for. I wasn't that excited over it.
Yoga at 6:00am for 50 minutes
Walked 2.0 miles in 35 minutes at 5:30pm
Just one more minute, just one more minute
and it'll be worth it.
Yet, step after step
I have no idea why
people run
for fun.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
I know y'all - not the strongest poem in the world, but I want to make sure I write everyday even if it's crappy stuff. Today we had a Tornado Warning in Jackson, MS and the sky was looking ominous after a day of work. So we drove rather quickly to Kerfies, a Mediterranean place a lot of people and websites recommended. We picked the food to go and made it to our hotel just in time to have sheets and sheets of water and wind dropped on us. It was a bit scary actually - there was a lot of rain and the wind was so strong the car was shaking a little. After a bit we finally made a run for it though and it was at a good time because we didn't get drenched.
Before eating however, I made myself do my afternoon exercise, which I'm glad about. I don't feel energized though. I feel tired and headachy. It's tough to stay motivated when it's this way. I've downloaded the new Noom, which is a combination of Cardiotrainer and Calorific and that helps a bit. In any case, I did not take pictures of my food this time around, but Kerfie's was really good: I had a bit of hummus with pita bread, and a mushroom pita wrap, with sauteed onions and mushrooms, lettuce and a bit of feta cheese dressing, which the restaurant is apparently famous for. I wasn't that excited over it.
Yoga at 6:00am for 50 minutes
Walked 2.0 miles in 35 minutes at 5:30pm
Sunday, April 3, 2011
April 3rd
Hello again my peeps! I write from awesomely warm Jackson, MS. Don't get excited though, we're supposed to have a thunderstorm tomorrow. I choose to enjoy the now. So, you get two awesome things in this post: first, tonight's meal, brought to you by Open Table and the recommendation of the front desk clerk.
Traveling with John this time and the one thing we agreed on with the trip was that there would be no holding back when it came to food. Enter Julep! We began the meal with some deliciously warm rolls.
They were hot and perfect and I could feel them sticking to my ribs as I ate. They were so warm, that after cutting the roll with the knife, touching the butter with the knife was enough to have it melt.
As part of the "no holding back" we went with an appetizer. We chose Eggplant Fries, because, hey, it's a vegetable!
I wasn't too excited about them though - barely tasted like eggplant (I hope it was eggplant in there) and the whole thing had obviously been fried with fish or in fishy batter.
Main entree: some fried chicken dipped in a honey batter, with red skin mashed potatoes and green beans
I absolutely ate everything on that plate and there's not an ounce of guilt in me. It was super delicioso. I mean, sure, I feel a bit sluggish now, and hella sleepy, but I've been traveling all day - don't blame it on the chicken!
In any case, it's time to turn in. But first today's poem. I decided to follow the prompt Mi Cariño followed for today. I grabbed the nearest book, in this case it ended being Jodi Picoult's "House Rules". Don't judge. Found the first 10 complete words, wrote a poem with them. The words: I glance at It isn't. Well says it's not know
Hampton Inn
Isn't true then that the secret's in the color?
warm reds, not just cream, adorn this hotel
room, with a hide-a-way couch by a king's size bed.
At it's left there's the desk where I
seat, trying to avoid sleep, trying to forget
I didn't choose the painting on the wall.
But at a glance, the room is mine, with
its warm red walls and bedside clock
a tiny studio apartment maybe, that
lady with the 90 foot square place in the upper
west would well do wonders with this place. But
she would keep the warm red walls, because the interior
decorating magazine I read says that
warmth is what makes home, even when
I set the thermostat to 65. This
I know.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
Traveling with John this time and the one thing we agreed on with the trip was that there would be no holding back when it came to food. Enter Julep! We began the meal with some deliciously warm rolls.
They were hot and perfect and I could feel them sticking to my ribs as I ate. They were so warm, that after cutting the roll with the knife, touching the butter with the knife was enough to have it melt.
As part of the "no holding back" we went with an appetizer. We chose Eggplant Fries, because, hey, it's a vegetable!
I wasn't too excited about them though - barely tasted like eggplant (I hope it was eggplant in there) and the whole thing had obviously been fried with fish or in fishy batter.
Main entree: some fried chicken dipped in a honey batter, with red skin mashed potatoes and green beans
I absolutely ate everything on that plate and there's not an ounce of guilt in me. It was super delicioso. I mean, sure, I feel a bit sluggish now, and hella sleepy, but I've been traveling all day - don't blame it on the chicken!
In any case, it's time to turn in. But first today's poem. I decided to follow the prompt Mi Cariño followed for today. I grabbed the nearest book, in this case it ended being Jodi Picoult's "House Rules". Don't judge. Found the first 10 complete words, wrote a poem with them. The words: I glance at It isn't. Well says it's not know
Hampton Inn
Isn't true then that the secret's in the color?
warm reds, not just cream, adorn this hotel
room, with a hide-a-way couch by a king's size bed.
At it's left there's the desk where I
seat, trying to avoid sleep, trying to forget
I didn't choose the painting on the wall.
But at a glance, the room is mine, with
its warm red walls and bedside clock
a tiny studio apartment maybe, that
lady with the 90 foot square place in the upper
west would well do wonders with this place. But
she would keep the warm red walls, because the interior
decorating magazine I read says that
warmth is what makes home, even when
I set the thermostat to 65. This
I know.
© yazcaminante, 2011.
April 2nd
Saturday went by in a delicious blur. Although I had a most excellent evening meal at Cafecito, I don't feel in the mood of posting the pictures and the meal; it was good, but not excellent, ya know? I think I enjoyed the experience more than anything.
So here's yesterday's poem. It's a first draft and I wrote it while riding home late at night while sleeping, so don't judge! Plus, I expect that the work will get better with every day I write, since it's been one hell of a while.
Untitled
There's something about the way
my skin feels when you touch me.
You can reach across the table
in this tiny, cramped restaurant
fake candles illuminating your smile
and with the pad of your finger on the
back of my hand you can remind
my thighs of the way they feel wrapped
around your hips and my neck will
shiver in memory of your lips and
there's something about the way
the touch of your finger
makes me want to speak
of love, love, love.
© Yazcaminante
Alright y'all - I'm off to Jackson, MS. I hope to be updating you with Southern food goodness soon.
So here's yesterday's poem. It's a first draft and I wrote it while riding home late at night while sleeping, so don't judge! Plus, I expect that the work will get better with every day I write, since it's been one hell of a while.
Untitled
There's something about the way
my skin feels when you touch me.
You can reach across the table
in this tiny, cramped restaurant
fake candles illuminating your smile
and with the pad of your finger on the
back of my hand you can remind
my thighs of the way they feel wrapped
around your hips and my neck will
shiver in memory of your lips and
there's something about the way
the touch of your finger
makes me want to speak
of love, love, love.
© Yazcaminante
Alright y'all - I'm off to Jackson, MS. I hope to be updating you with Southern food goodness soon.
Friday, April 1, 2011
April 1st.
Here's the first poem for National Poem Writing Month:
Sometimes
Sometimes I forget where I am
not just in place but also in time -
find myself waiting for the J train on
Chamber Street and I can't remember
if it's 2004 and I'm coming back from school
or early 2000 when I didn't know the fastest
way to the Empire State Building.
But it's 2011 and I return from the Upper East
a full day still ahead of me,
plans and hopes still percolating through
la cafetera of my mind.
The early early morning riders sport
a different kind of tired than
the late late night one's. The silence feels heavier
and less dangerous. Sometimes that helps
me tell the time. Sometimes I just have to
look down and see the mass of fat
hiding under my skin. This is not the body
I wore in 2000, or 2004. This 2011
body looks different and walks different
and finds it harder to squeeze between
the two men and their perennially spread
legs taking over the subway seats.
This body plans to Yoga, or something,
when it gets home
but I already know that walking I'll
convince myself to do it
later
tomorrow
yes, yes
tomorrow I'll work out twice.
Regardless of the time, I know the place:
stand right in front of the garbage can and then
I'll be right in front of the opening car doors and then
I'll be right in front of the first set of stairs
I'll need to climb down in order to get
home.
Ride the track over and over
it'll take me to the same place.
Maybe it's time to change
my way back home.
© Y. Peña
I plan to post these once a day during the month of April. I've decided that accountability is the key here! Not just for writing, but for everything else in my life. Time to open the book and leave it open. I need to get healthier my peeps and so, this will be now more than just my traveling and the food I eat. I will keep y'all as my "live" journal and maybe this will shame me into making sure I stick to an exercise regimen.
The test will be when tomorrow/Sunday I have to measure and weight myself. I don't know yet if I'll share those numbers with you guys - I don't know if I'm ready! But if it'll help me, then it is what I'll have to do.
In the meantime, with every poem post (at least 5 days a week) there'll be the workout update. Here's today's:
Yoga at 7:45am for 35 minutes
Walked 2.4 miles in 35 minutes at 3:30pm
Sometimes
Sometimes I forget where I am
not just in place but also in time -
find myself waiting for the J train on
Chamber Street and I can't remember
if it's 2004 and I'm coming back from school
or early 2000 when I didn't know the fastest
way to the Empire State Building.
But it's 2011 and I return from the Upper East
a full day still ahead of me,
plans and hopes still percolating through
la cafetera of my mind.
The early early morning riders sport
a different kind of tired than
the late late night one's. The silence feels heavier
and less dangerous. Sometimes that helps
me tell the time. Sometimes I just have to
look down and see the mass of fat
hiding under my skin. This is not the body
I wore in 2000, or 2004. This 2011
body looks different and walks different
and finds it harder to squeeze between
the two men and their perennially spread
legs taking over the subway seats.
This body plans to Yoga, or something,
when it gets home
but I already know that walking I'll
convince myself to do it
later
tomorrow
yes, yes
tomorrow I'll work out twice.
Regardless of the time, I know the place:
stand right in front of the garbage can and then
I'll be right in front of the opening car doors and then
I'll be right in front of the first set of stairs
I'll need to climb down in order to get
home.
Ride the track over and over
it'll take me to the same place.
Maybe it's time to change
my way back home.
© Y. Peña
I plan to post these once a day during the month of April. I've decided that accountability is the key here! Not just for writing, but for everything else in my life. Time to open the book and leave it open. I need to get healthier my peeps and so, this will be now more than just my traveling and the food I eat. I will keep y'all as my "live" journal and maybe this will shame me into making sure I stick to an exercise regimen.
The test will be when tomorrow/Sunday I have to measure and weight myself. I don't know yet if I'll share those numbers with you guys - I don't know if I'm ready! But if it'll help me, then it is what I'll have to do.
In the meantime, with every poem post (at least 5 days a week) there'll be the workout update. Here's today's:
Yoga at 7:45am for 35 minutes
Walked 2.4 miles in 35 minutes at 3:30pm
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