Color Collective Poem

Silver Spring- Benjamin Moore

2120-70

Spring,
A bud, barely blossoming
She stares out

out her window 

in anticipation

Keen to sneak out the kitchen door

she holds her breath

one, two, three

lets it out, back in

inhaling the chilly air

(it hurts her lungs)

When the raindrops

make their way
to the icy branches
of the cherry blossom tree

She spends her days 

out,
in the wilderness
running free

Winter, 

Just an ice cold skeleton in her memory
she glides
through her silver spring.

Her mother

at the kitchen sink

her father gone
the child, she seeks happiness
in the vanishing cold 

her coat made of nylon

She lets her pale lips

kiss the frigid air
and her bones weaken
She leaves those memories 

to be buried 

in the ground
No more despair

Her mouth begins to feel dry

she slowly and thoroughly

moves her still damp tongue

Across her chapped, cracked, colorless lips

The air begins to numb

Her hands

She reaches for the door knob

Back home

But her hand slips off

And comes back

To her side

She decides to sit on the stairs

The ones that lead home

And a single cherry blossom

Falls to her feet

It lays motionless

With a thin layer of snow still under

Her hand reaches out to it

And picks it up

There will be others like it

Replacing the snow

She reaches for the door knob

And says

Goodbye to her silver spring.

Where I'm From

I am from slides and swings
From D’onofrio and Inca Kola
I am from the cross over every bed
Damaged, worn, carved, crafted from wood
And dipped in holy water.

I am from bugambilias
White, purple or pink
But always carry thorns
The ones I did not know of
Until I picked at one.

I am from homemade
Guanabana ice-cream on sweltering days
from short, small stature
Alicia and Regina
and the Merino family tree
I am from fast thinkers,
Jokesters and the prank players.

I am from you choose your own path and enjoy it while it last
From tracing the sacred symbol across my face and chest
Prayers I was told to keep in my heart
But I have lost
Lost and barely keep in my mind.

From Aji and rice
(No matter on what)
From the hearts my uncle used to break
And the kisses he would steal
The joy in my grandmother’s blind
But still, deep green eyes.

I am from the bronze frames on the wooden cabinet
Albums leaking abundance of memories,
And stolen photographs to greedily keep
Under the pillow,
Under the bed,
To salve the distance
Remember the lost faces
Cut, picked from the tree.

I am from Lima, Peru
But my heart,
It belongs to other places too,
I am from where I wish to be
the place that’s absence
Causes my melancholy.

I am from everywhere I have lived
every country I was ever referring to
when I whined, whimpered, whispered,
I want to go home.

And although at moments I feel
I am not there now
I know where I come from
From hugs and kisses and
Te amaré por siempre
I am from the arms of my family
That wrap around me
Like the sun does the day

It always comes back to
where my heart
Wishes to be.
I know in those short moments
those magnificent moments of remembrance
I can‘t help but smile
But get that warm feeling in my heart
that I know
Where
I am from.

Uncertain Living

"Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it"- George Santayana

"No hay pasado ni futuro en la existencia, la existencia es solo presente."/ "There is no past or future in existence, existence is just the present."- Macaco

"The past cannot be changes; the future is yet in your power."- Mary Pickford

      My mother told me to live in the present; that I shouldn’t look for the future or seek the past. However some days, minutes, years later I learned about this place called heaven; I’m sure you have heard of it: A place superior to earth, to anything, to anyone and the basics steps to get there were as simple as being good.  But heaven as I’ve been told lays in the future, something I was once told not to worry about. Around this time I was taught by my mother herself that I was to learn from my past. And that’s when I became uncertain on the concept of living before, now or then. To follow mother’s teachings in their entirety I was to learn from my past, to think about heaven but still be able to live in the present. To learn from the past, live in the present and aspire for the future. At the end of the day, it’s really your decision how you want to live your life, past, present or future and for this reason I picked poems about living in every one of these, being able to captivate those who live or aspire to live in anyone of these tense.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

     If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

     A Word is Dead by Emily Dickinson

     A Patch of Old Snow by Robert Frost

     To Virgins, To Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick

     Dreams by Langston Hughes

     Look To The Future by Leah Harlow 

     Three Airs for the Beggar's Opera, Air XXII by John Gay

Society Killed the Teenager

        

I barely turn on the news and it is only because of things like this. I’m afraid that I’ll find myself listening to tragic events where people like George Zimmerman kill innocent people (in this case a teen) and where young people like Trayvon Martin are killed. 17 year old Trayvon Martin was simply walking in Sanford, Florida, with nothing more than a bag of skittles in his hand, iced tea in the other and a hoodie over his head. However George Zimmerman shot him dead, claiming that the boy looked suspicious and that he only did it in an act of "self-defense".

Prejudice, unfortunately, is a part of our community and society: appearances are judged frequently and this is exactly what Zimmerman did. He judged Trayvon, simply and solely knowing what he looked like.  Prejudice leads to injustice and it is evident when a black male in a hoodie is considered “suspicious” and a threat. It is evident when he is shot and killed, the murderer is not charged with manslaughter and the police department chooses to ignore the case.

The innocent deserve to live; however, sometimes they just don’t. Its the ugly truth, but we, as individuals have responsibilities in impeding events like this from happening. Discrimination shouldn’t be something we act upon,everyone deserves to feel safe and rights should be respected while we do everything we can to prevent harm. Although it isn’t much, it`s all we can do as individuals and all we can do to help.

As a child, i feared things i didn’t understand. I faced fears like monsters under my bed, in my closet, even the thought of a creature coming into my room and taking me away. But what i didn’t understand was that these were only figments that adults would speak of and which i portrayed as malevolent creatures. And if you think about it, adults do the same thing when stereotyping; they create an image for certain people and ,others, unaware, sucumb to believe in such accusations. And this seems to be the case when talking about the murder of Trayvon Martin. George Zimmerman acted upon those accusations;a black male in a hoodie is not automatically a threat. But just like a child, he feared something he did not understand and the result was tragic.

It hurts to know that innocent people are killed on a daily basis. That the world we live in is messed up and we, as individuals cannot change it alone. It’s something we cannot fight and take into our own hands. It hurts us one way or another, and it’s something that I’m afraid to say, will just get worse-- Society. I try to do my best for this world, and i keep my hopes up, waiting for someone, something to come along, to change people. Create a world where prejudice, racism and discrimination are absent and where equality, rights and freedom aren’t JUST things we claim to have, but truly are concepts our society is based on. But me, I’m one person in this planet, a planet that holds over another billion just like me.  There really  isn’t any other  way to put it-- this world is messed up, and things like these just reinforce my point.

To Kill a Mockingbird: Anything But Usual

Later that winter Ms. Radley died; however it was barely a calamity as no one in town seemed to be affected in anyways. When Atticus came back from the Radley house Jem encourages me to ask about Mr. Arthur. I was meticulous to ask and right to do so knowing that interrogating Atticus wouldn’t get me anywhere but in trouble. But Jem pushed me and I said before, it got us nowhere.

            Bizarrely, the usual, sweltering weather in Maycomb County was absent and instead we received what I thought to be the end of the world—Snow. It worked in my favor though, getting us successfully out of school for the entire day ahead. With no school to shackle us to a day of boredom Jem took this time to make nothing more than a snowman.

            With the cold providing an imminent death for Miss Maudies plants, there was no dissension when Jem retrieved all of the remaining snow from her yard. But refusing to tell me or Miss Maudie what his exact intention was for the snow, it was only obvious he was conspiring to make more than just a common snowman.

As time elapsed and Jem’s creation was completed, I began to apprehend that he had made nothing more than an explicit snowman along the lines of Mr. Avery’s image. Atticus, however, asked Jem to make the similarities somewhat discrete, which only led to Jem taking Miss Maudies hat, and when putting it on the snowman, creating our very own Morphodite for our backyard.

Later that day the temperature dropped and with that I fell asleep, but in what seemed to be only minutes late I was woken up by Atticus’ voice. We ran out, assimilating into the crowd surrounding Miss Maudies house which was in flames. Atticus  ordered us to over to the Radley’s house, away from the anarchy that had seemed to commence as the town crowded, everyone trying to catch a glimpse.

I, unlike the others, couldn’t watch; Miss Maudie was the only woman I could lionize, with other women, Miss Stephanie Crawford setting the example, there wasn’t many other options anyways. She was the only one I truly respected and the thought of her house in flames terrified me.

At dawn, after they assured the fire was out and Miss Maudie was okay we headed back home where Atticus pointed out the quilts over our shoulders. Although he was not mad, Jem acted as if he was being arraigned, as if being sentenced guilty for leaving the Radley place. He had gone mad defending himself, stating he had done nothing but follow Atticus’ instructions. Later on though, we came to the conclusion that there was only one person who was at the fire, only one person could have supplies is with the quilts—Boo Radley.

Dear Lily

Dear Lily,

I know it is peculiar to write twice to you in a week, but a bizarre feeling came over me, and I felt the urge to write once again.

            Over here it is complete chaos. The court has gone into a state of anarchy. The number of occurring calamities is becoming larger and more frequent. Several people­­–more than the usual–have been arraigned and apprehended for committing crimes that I know for a fact they didn’t do. It hurts to see cells of prison filled with innocent people. Even with people like me as lawyers the injustice we saw everyday when we were children still occurs. I should have known that assimilating into a group of people who call themselves impartial, and are nothing but that, would not be imminent.

            But, that isn’t the reason why the urge to write to you came. I understand now that a type of anger has been building up inside me; that the dissensions that I face everyday at court and the interrogations that are now meant to attack innocent people have been affecting me more then I would like. Lily, I’m not the same boy who promised he would come back for you 20 years ago.

            So when I heard about you father–his death– I went back to those sweltering summer days when we would sit far out by the river and you would go on about the cruel man he was. How, at first, your mother had loved him and he had thought so much of her, lionized her. But as the years passed he stopped being the sweet, meticulous man who paid attention to everything your mother did, and started to become the T-ray you knew. You said it was because of building anger–anger that I, now feel.

            For that reason, I do not think you or I should continue writing. I do not want to become T-ray–I don’t want you to become your mother. I don’t want years to elapse and with them, our love for each other. I want to think back and remember Lily, the girl I loved; not Lily, the girl to which I was only a shackle.

            I love you more than you can imagine and although this is the final letter, it is not the final time I will think about you.

Sincerely,

Zach

The Problem We All live with

         In 1964, 4 years after the Little Ruby Bridges scandal had started, Norman Rockwell painted The Problem We All live with. The painting depicts the scene in which a little African-American girl wearing a white dress, famously know as Ruby Bridges, who became one of the icons of civil rights and integration. She is walking to her recently integrated elementary school in the 1960’s. Around her there are 4 U.S Marshals which seem to be escorting her to elementary by their formation; two in front and two behind little Ruby Bridges.

Looking closer, you can see that on the wall behind her there is black and red, washed out paint that spells out “NIGGER” and “KKK” across the wall. Other than that there are tomato stains resulting from fits of hatred by white people who were against desegregation, and who would throw the tomatoes at this innocent girl.

But despite all of this, the facial expression that is registered on Ruby Bridges face is not an angry one, not even a worried one. It is a calm one, and looking closer, you can see her head is even held high. In a way, her body language matches those of the U.S Marshals, as it seems she is just playing along, being her own “little soldier”. It is a face of a naïve and innocent little girl, a girl who does not fully comprehend the hatred toward her. Even though the signs of hatred are portrayed obviously in this painting, thinking from the point of view of that little six year-old on November, 14, 1960, she is oblivious.  Even a now grown up Ruby Bridges commented, “That girl in that painting, at six years-old, knew absolutely nothing about racism. I was simply going to school that day.”

Although I cannot speak for other people, I do believe that when looking at this Norman Rockwell painting, the first thing that impacts you is the cruelty, the hatred that was directed towards this little girl. After all, she was, in fact just trying to get to school. It shows that people went crazy with ignorance. THIS was not who they should have been throwing tomatoes at; in fact, no tomatoes should have been thrown AT ALL. And it is for that same reason that I think Norman Rockwell decided to paint this scene.

Norman Rockwell was NOT known for painting scenes with these types of impacts. His paintings were usually about the normal American family. However when The Problem We All Live With was shown,it completely defied what he was originally known for. In all, he had never painted anything like it:

I believe that the reason he did go out of his comfort zone was because he wanted to make a point. That what these cruel and insensitive people were doing was UN human like; savage for that matter. It was simply not right to attack and innocent girl like that. And anyone who was sane and whole hearted would have known that. Other than that, the fact that the painting illustrates Ruby and not the crowd shows that he wanted to specifically show that this girl, with pig-tails and her little white dress was not a target. He is showing the importance of this brave six year-old, who although thought she was simply going to school, did so much more than just that.

Travel Journal: Back to jUSt us

    My brother and cousin our now gone, leaving me and my sister alone with my parents. It's what im actually used to, since my brother left when i was in 1st grade and my sister only left about two years ago. But them leaving also means one other thing...being bored. I mean when my dad asks if we want to go to corner store we run down those stairs like nobody's buisness. I mean its pretty exciting when all you do all day is sit around.SO imagine when he asks if we want to go get icecream; saying we get excited is an understatement.                
     When people visit us, even if its my brother or cousin ( I think my sister is the only exception) we always go out and visit places. But i guess that's over now. Its okay though, no pity for my boring life. I've got my sister, who is pretty good to be bored with. Except for when she hits me....or punches me...or pushes. But other than THAT...well, yeah, i guess its fine.

Travel Journal: Dont take me out

     Normally during vacation my family gets a little crazy about what we eat. During vacation, because my mom doesn’t want to cook at all, (and none of us have any chance of cooking without burning the house down, other than MY delicious quesadillas - _ -) she leaves no other choice but to go out and eat. And EVERY SINGLE vacation I feel like my family WANTS me to die of eating too much.

      It always starts with a simple suggestion of going to eat at La Mar.  Whenever we hear those two inoffensive syllables we are naturally happy. But after about a week the same word makes you want to cry and be happy at the same time.
     Worst thing is that it NEVER stops its constant. Of course for the rest of my family its fine. People like my brother get hungry every two hours. But for me and my sister, every time they talk of going out we try to get out of it.
      Every time we end up going anyways. Worst thing is that normally they ask for platters without consulting us. So when I and my sister are walking back to our table from the bathroom, we see a HUGE plate of samplers and realize its going in the same direction as us.
       Honestly I’m only a tiny bit glad for my siblings to leave. I’m ready to go back to homemade meals. Even if it’s just rice and chicken; that okay with me.
PS: It’s so amazing how I'm writing about food, while everyone else’s travel journal has ACTUAL stories. So I’m sorry, this vacation hasn’t been the best.