Young Wind
“Daddy, dear, may I please go out and play?”
Kindly to her father, the Young Wind did say.
“No, no, my darling. Not today.”
Father replied to her dismay.
“Why must I sit here bored as always?”
“To comb out the wheat so that it sways.”
Young Wind did not care to comb wheat very well,
but rather comb little girls long ponytails.
And fly to warm lands, soaring mile after mile,
To pick up bright kites and make little boys smile.
And swim above oceans, pushing surfers and skis
And elaborate yachts that tickle the seas.
“Father, I said that I want to go play.”
“I told you no, sweetheart, not now. Not today.”
She pushed down the wheat just a little bit tighter.
A big, angry storm began brewing inside her.
She kicked up some dirt and some dust with a frown.
Her father, now worried, said, “Sweetheart, calm down.”
But, Young Wind didn’t quite listen. She was upset and wanted to play.
“The weathermen say that the wind should be calm. I’ll let them be right today.”
“But YOU’RE in control, and YOU say what goes. Not the pitiful humans of earth.”
“I AM in control, so calm yourself down.” Now, Young Wind was ready to burst.
“I’ll play right here, then!” she shouted at last,
bending the trees and the brush with a thrash.
She spun in a tantrum. She plucked up the wheat.
She flung a few cars that were parked on the street.
She tore off the door of Farmer Ben’s barn,
And tossed all the phone lines like thin strands of yarn.
She ran through the gardens of seventeen homes,
She trampled their flowers and kicked up their gnomes.
She threw many rocks and shattered some glass,
She pushed down the people who tried to run past.
She grew bigger and bigger with every loud cry.
Her terrible teardrops rained down from the sky.
She fell on a house and she started to kick.
She banged on the ground, and she cracked every brick.
At last, her dear father had sure seen enough.
He reached down and grabbed her and lifted her up.
And he took her away to the heavens so deep,
Where she calmed down, and breathed in, and fell sound asleep.
And over the earth, the quiet did fall
Except for the sirens and crying and all.
They certainly now had some cleaning to do,
Not to mention the part about search and rescue.
But Young Wind was sleeping, and under cloud sheet,
Realized that it WAS quite fun combing the wheat.
Political Correctness Gone Mad
We often read about ‘political correctness gone mad’. It makes me shake my head in wonderment, sometimes.
I mean, some people object to ‘political correctness’. But what are they suggesting? That we should encourage political incorrectness? Wouldn’t that mean being abusive, or at least unkind to people?
Needlessly.
Why would anybody encourage that?
And the term itself is, in fact a negative phrase. Why is it political?
Why can’t we just promote ‘correctness’?
In all we do?
When they say it’s ‘gone mad’ they mean it prevents them from using some kind of lazy stereotype or offensive term that they have always used without thought.
Good.
So I hereby declare a new term for political correctness, mad or otherwise.
Henceforth, it will just be known as ‘correctness’.
Even this will be a transient label, because in a year or three we will just call it ‘normal’.
If you disagree with these thoughts, simply respond with ’political correctness gone mad’ and we’ll know what you mean.
Toxic Masculinity
I overheard a senior
telling the teacher what
his big project would be
for the whole year.
I admired this kid a lot,
I had heard him recite poetry
and it was good poetry too.
So I listened to what he was saying
He said
"It has to be on an issue in today's society.
I'm doing it on Toxic Masculinity."
And ever since he said that, I've been thinking.
Thinking, because what defines a man?
Is it sleeping with a woman?
Is it having a dick?
Is it showing no emotion?
Is it having muscles and working out at the gym?
Is it anything?
Is it clothes?
Really, I started thinking.
Is there a way to define a man at all?
If someone wants to be a man,
feels like a man,
then they are a man, regardless of actions or attire.
So what defines masculine?
To me, masculine
is just a different form of word
in the Spanish language.
Ella versus El.
Las verses Los.
What difference
does it make?
One single letter,
for the most part.
Who Are We To Think We Get the Ending We Want?
Reading in bed an old copy of a book
I’d brought here from home, my childhood home,
a photograph slipped out from between
the pages and landed face down on the comforter.
I had probably used it as a bookmark
the last time I had read this, back in high school.
Instead of turning it over, though, I just
sat and looked at the blank white back of
the picture. My mother used to write on the backs
of photos, who and where and when;
but I never did, it never seemed important.
Until now.
There are too many people I would not
be able to handle seeing, if I turned the
picture over. So I left it face-down and
went back to reading the book.
But I couldn’t focus on the words,
my thought were drifting back in time
to the summer when I was fifteen
or sixteen and I had last opened this book
and read it. I seem to remember having
a broken arm, a robin’s-egg blue cast,
trying to turn the pages with stiff,
robotic movements. I don’t remember,
though, how I’d broken it.
I remember lying down in the backseat
of my friend’s car, cradling my limp
arm on my chest, my skin hot and sweaty
and the car driving fast and my friend
telling me not to move so much.
The windows are open but it’s the middle
of summer and hot air is blowing over me.
Now it’s spring and the open window brings
the smell of the canal into my room,
I always sleep with the window open,
because I like dreaming of the sea,
I like dreaming of ships and swimming,
I like waking in the night to feel cold air
sliding over my chest and face,
like a wight’s kiss,
since I have kicked the comforter down
to my waist in my sleep, I cannot tolerate
the embrace of so much comfort.
In the winter I would wake with
goosebumps and tight balls.
Besides, the world goes on while we are asleep,
people are riding trams and cleaning offices
and drinking so much they fall down the stairs
and break their arms,
or making love or fixing their bike.
Only people who have never sinned
sleep face-down, everyone else needs to
be ready to flee or face the little revenges that come
in the middle of the night.
How do you sleep like this, someone asked me once,
but I pretended I was asleep and didn’t answer.
Best Fortune Cookie
“You are going to pass a difficult test” said the fortune in front of me as I read it after releasing the white slip with misspelled words from its crispy sugary exterior. I looked up at my friend and asked her what hers said. She shook her blonde locks viciously.
“No ma’m! I’m not telling until it comes true. And if it doesn’t you will never know!” She held on tightly to the crumpled up fortune she had read only moment earlier.
“ You’re right.” I acknowledged, but I really wanted to see hers first and I wasn’t about to tell her mine if she wasn’t going to tell me hers first. I reached towards my friend of 15 years, hoping to grab the fortune with ease from her. But she inched herself back as far ash could from me, almost falling out of her chair while doing so.
“Come on....” I said wanting to know right then.
“ Fine! You win! I don’t feel like fighting with you over this Allison!”
She actually seemed mad but I knew she would get over it rather quickly. She always did and I knew how to get my way with people. -Especially her.
I grabbed it from her sweaty hands as she released it into mine. I looked at it. Stared. And didn’t say one word.
“ Don’t you want to say something about it?” Lauren asked.
“ No”
“ Why not?”
“ Because it’s ridiculous and I can’t believe you were holding that stupid fortune back. -You’re really silly.”
“ I’m not!”
“ It said,” You will receive a fortune.” “And we already know you got yours.” I began to laugh at her.
She interrupted my hysterics.
“ You are rude. Well, what’s yours say?? Please do tell.”
“ No problem! It said I would pass a test!-Ha!”
I held it up in the air, brought it to my lips, kissed it and tucked it inside my knock off Chanel Purse for safe keepings.
“ This is serious! You know I have a test to take next week....I’ve been worried sick about it.”
“ Right!? I have to admit that’s a good one! But it won’t come true!” She warned.
“ Yes it most certainly will! You will see!”
And one week later I called my friend up with good news. I had passed my Real Estate Exam with flying colors on the first try. She couldn’t believe it. We celebrated that night at the restaurant, with you guessed it, our magical fortune cookies awaiting our arrival. But this time I held back. It was too good to be true.