A Child is Conceived
When it is wondered about
When it is dreamt of
When it is wanted
When it is loved
Let all
be born in love
Let all know a life
of intention
Of hand held to belly
with warmth in palm
Of calm happiness
pressed upon forehead
like a blessing
Yes
I am ready
think the ones
who will hold this tiny heart
Yes
I can show you
say all who would treasure this mind
Children are not created by force
They become themselves
regardless of who raises them
Let all
come into a home
when it is made for them
and not a moment before
Photo by Omar Lopez on Unsplash
#Prochoice #Prolife #Life #Family #Poetry #CanadianPoet #Love
Not mine, but I claim them
01. The butterfly is proof you can go through a great amount of darkness and still emerge beautiful.
02. Alabama did not pass an anti-abortion law. Alabama became a sanctuary state for babies.
03. You may have freedom of choice, but you do not have freedom from the consequences of your choice.
04. Logic cannot be the salt of the Earth if you only take it sugar coated.
05. I thought "Roe v Wade" was Ted Kennedy's escape plan in case a date went bad.
06. Baby Boomers read cereal boxes while eating breakfast. Millennials read phones.
07. Travelling on the high road is always easier because the traffic is always less.
08. There is a Stairway to Heaven and a Highway to Hell. The latter is getting crowded.
09. Isn't gun control the ability to hit your target with a single shot?
10. If socialism means that the government will make decisions for you, be the single source of mandated purchases, and increase taxes so everything is free, will you still be happy when someone you do not like is in that position of power over you, making those decisions for you, forcing you to pay for the free stuff they believe others should receive?
11. How many of the first 10 amendments to the US Constitution limit an individual's rights. How many limit the government's rights? Who had to find out to be sure?
12. Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind can see (Mark Twain).
13. Why is it that the American flag and the American culture offend the same people that American benefits don't?
14. If Socialism is the best system of government, why do people leave Venezuela, Cuba, and North Korea? Why don't people move to these countries?
15. Sitting on the porch, watching the stars, listening to crickets, makes me know that everything on cable is not worth watching.
16. A grilled cheese sandwich is as close to culinary perfection as possible.
17. Power is not only to be sought, it is to be wielded. Question the motives of those who subscribe otherwise.
18. Someone, via their vision or camera, is always watching. Think before acting. The internet is forever.
19. Somewhere, someone has created some wisdom I need to understand.
20. You win life's lottery when you are born in the United States.
el sol es un asesino
Head pounds, heart aches, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I need water. I sit up and the world zooms around me. Vast nothing. Sand. More sand. One tiny little bush sits thirty yards from me. Can i make it there? My legs have given up on me - why do my knees feel like ballons about to explode? Sand pours into my shirt as i army crawl to the plant. Probably more of an ordeal than just walking. There is nothing here. There is nothing here! Why did i expect this plant to have something for me? And now i left my comfy spot in the sand over there for this patch of sand... that is almost identical. i guess it doesn’t really matter.
nothing is making sense. my last clear memory, she was laughing in front of me, bold lips crying for me to kiss her. did i? my heart would’ve remembered. my eyes close and shuts my brain down. i wake up when the sun is pink and purple, telling the world goodbye for the night. my skin burns, searing red on the pieces that are not covered by my clothing, which is stuck to my body with sweat. i put the collar of my shirt in my mouth and suck, the salty moistness burning my throat. the sweat on my clothes is the only liquid i’ve found. i’m going to die soon. my hands dig into the sand. exfoliating. people pay spas good money for this, and it sits here for free.
a soft pitter patter of feet approach me. i can’t tell from which direction. the sun has long been gone and the moon is covered with clouds. not that there is anything for me to see other than this boring old bush. i try to make a sound. “heeeeeeee-”. too dry. if it’s an animal, at least it could make my death quick. or, quicker. more quick? why am i worried about my grammar when i’m about to die?
“Hay alguien?”
i know enough spanish to know that it’s not an animal. i don’t know enough spanish to know what is being said to me. no sounds can escape me. moon, please, shine on me; clouds don’t cover me.
“english?”
no, no language, buddy, im more dead than alive. the clouds crack and a diamond ray of moonlight shatters over my figure. a huge, shadow extends past my crumpled one, distorted by the sand.
“are you okay? estas bien?” the voice is concerned. the voice belongs to a man. the voice sounds like it’s been here before.
my head shakes. water touches my lips. i did kiss her. it stings. i need more. my tongue and throat are liberated from their dry chains. “where...”
“hush, hush” he cuts me off. softly, sweetly, “you are in the Copper Canyons of Mexico. About fifty miles from the nearest town. How did you get here?” soft red lips; rose petals. “Okay, im sorry, you aren’t ready for this. quite lucky for you, that i needed to be in town today. drink this water. slowly, don’t hurt yourself.” he refills the bottle from a pack on his back. im still unable to pick myself from the ground.
he sits next to my clump of body, in the stillness of predawn. silently contemplating my decisions, and how i ended up in a desert in Mexico. i can imagine the conclusions he arrives at, from my tight clothing to my hair and makeup that promise ‘i looked good before i spent a day in the desert’. he lights up his watch and shows me a time of 4:48 in the morning. “I’ve been here for almost a full day,” i say outloud as quickly as i think it. his brown eyes find mine, and he pours more water from the tube connected to his backpack into the bottle in my hands. his face is thin. wrinkled, but not from age. he wears nothing but a pair of shorts, some beat up running shoes, and an uneven tan that tells me he occaisionally has a shirt on.
“well, you are officially tougher than most ultra runners,” his eyes flickered. his mouth was dry and cracked, harsh mountains creating a quiet river of blood where his smile stretches too far. “the sun will rise soon, i will set you up in the shade while i run into town and get a vehicle for you. can you walk two miles?”
two miles. to the nearest patch of shade. the only thing that would keep my body cool enough not to implode while i wait for this stranger to come back for me. who even was he? would he return? he said it was fifty miles to the nearest town, how long will this take?
he left the backpack with me under some tall brush and took only his meager bottle of water. “i do this all the time,” he reassured, and those wrinkles found their home in his smile.
the sun rose, then set, and rose again when i realize the backpack of water is as dry as the sand it sits on. he isn’t coming. now, i get to die.
an engine heads my direction. i won’t die. not today. the sun, new in the sky, having just shaken its pink welcome. it sat confidently just above the horizon. shouting.
“hey, there is somebody over here! that must be him!” my head turns. three people are hurling themselves toward me from a white jeep, a makeshift stretcher in their hands. the world spins. questions in spanish and english are hurled at me, but i don’t have anything coherent to offer them. they leave me at a hospital.
“you are very lucky, gringo. few people can say your story with the same ending,” the R’s roll seductively from the foreign tongue. “Very rarely are gringos alive after a night in the Canyons. An angel was watching you.” the nurse visits me consistently while i drift in and out of reality. Am i in a hospital now? Fifty miles from where i was found? Where was the stranger who gave me the water?
Two black shirts with clicking shoes enter my room. “How did you end up in Mexico?”
Not cops, border patrol. Immigration. I had no idea how, and they understood. “It was a bar in Texas, I was celebrating a friend’s engagement,” i explained to them everything i could remember. The bar closed down and the after party was with some men in leather. Leather jackets and cowboy boots, one of them had a horse. Cowboy boots that were dancing, kicking up the sand in a cloud. My last memory was the fringe from one of their jackets tickling my thigh as they took us for joy rides on the back of the horse. I told them of the girl I kissed. The younger officer flushed when he thought of two girls kissing. The older one looked down solemenly. He knew something.
“You’re pretty lucky, Eva. We don’t have many stories where white people escape the Sinaloa cartel. You’re lucky you’re a woman,” I had never heard that sentence before, and felt rather tossed.
“If i were a man, wouldn’t I not have been picked up by the Cartel?”
“If you were a man, and kissed one of their woman, we would be looking for you in limbs.” It took several severe moments of introspection for me to understand what was being said. Of the full danger of that night. Where was the rest of the party?
“A man helped,” i stated, even though i was more concerned for the friends who I last saw in America. I felt more lost in the hospital bed surrounded by cops than I did in the desert surrounded by death.
“He was at the bachelorette party with you?”
“No, in the desert. He gave me water. He was the one who got me rescued. I need to thank him.” The words were honest, and i felt a new drive within me. Find the man. Thank the man. If he’ll allow it, befriend the man. What was his story, anyway?
The suits exhanged unsettled faces. Eyebrows furrowed. Spanish poured out of them as they bickered over something. Only two words i heard: “caballo blanco”.
Because I’m smart, I interrupt to ask “what does a white horse have to do with this?”
Their faces fall hard. The younger one grabs a remote and turns the television on. I cannot understand what the News Lady is saying, her beautiful smile and lovely chest a distraction from the tiny English words on the bottom of the screen.
″... renowned for being one of the world’s greatest ultra runners, and is notorious for disapearing for weeks with no notice. His body was found this morning miles from the nearest trail, in a canyon.” The screen changes to a photo of the man who gave me his water. His brown eyes beam life. His cheeks are cracked in a smile, the reason for his wrinkles.
I find myself holding a woman who wails loudly and shakes uncontrollably. Her face pressed against the window of a white jeep; a white jeep acting as a hearse for the man she loved. Still loves. Deeply.
The body inside of it looks tiny. Not like the shadow that loomed over me three mornings before. That face - the face that folded so effortlessly into a beautiful smile - looks weird with flaccid lips. His cheeks waited for a smile. His eyes closed, he looks calm - despite being covered in a deep stain of blood. An arm bends unnaturally over his chest.
I never knew him. I don’t know her. No one even understands what happened; Micah was one with this land, and knew every sand dune and rock better than his own body. How did he get so far off course?
He ran off his usual trail to a nearby canyon to refill his water. A canyon he’d never seen in daylight: A canyon he only saw for fleeting seconds while he lost his footing; A canyon he would’ve loved as much as he loved every other change in topography; A canyon he loved despite his body crushing itself against the rocks. A canyon for him to explore for eternity.
His wife begged with the Gods to take him back in time, to before he left, and remind him to bring his backpack. “He always thought he was invicible, the fool! Why didn’t he have his backpack?” She pleaded with the fates. When did God become so cruel? Fists hurling at the sky. Desperate tears, a chest crippled with memories.
I couldnt bring myself to tell her that I had the backpack. That he gave me his supply of water. That I, the arms attempting to comfort her, was the reason her love would never say her name again.
(in loving memory of Caballo Blanco - https://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/21/sports/caballo-blancos-last-run-the-micah-true-story.html )
The Gray Ribbon
I lived a young life of suffering and pain. I was too young. The pain and disease outweighed any happiness I ever had. The doctor gave me a gray ribbon. That's what he said I had. I was too young to understand what it meant or what was going to happen to me. I didn't understand anything about what the doctor said, but I heard words like, "malignant" quite frequently.
One night I wasn't feeling good at all. The pain was intense and scary. My mom cried on my bedside, and held my hand. I didn't understand what was going on. I never did. More and more people came to my room to cry beside me. I wondered why they were always so sad. I was hurting so bad, and I felt so tired. I closed my eyes to fall into a serene sleep.
The next time I woke up, I quickly realized I felt no pain. Before I sat up, I called to my mother but she never came. I sat up and I realized that I was no longer in my bed anymore. I looked behind me and I had the most beautiful pair of white wings. At the time I didn't understand where I was, but I knew that it was peaceful, and I was welcome and loved.
Sometimes here and there I still like to check up on my mom. I tell her that I am okay, and that I love her. Sometimes she doesn't get the message right away, but it comes to her eventually. I told her that I am waiting here with my wings, and someday she'll get her's too.
desert paradise
.
all great changes
are preceded by chaos
Stuffy air, heat spreading and attacking my body, a buzzing sound waking me up from a shallow sleep, my tongue permanently glued to the inside of my mouth. I lay on my stomach, feeling the rough covers under my skin, and a heavy moan escapes my throat. I hear someone breathing next to me and then a raspy laugh. My eyelids flutter and someone’s hand smacks me lightly against my bottom. I turn to my side and stare shocked at the man lying next to me. He’s relaxed and still smiling, apparently having the time of his life.
Who are you?
My voice is weak, and my mouth feels like a desert area.
Someone very close to you. Well, as much as two people can be after 18 hours, joined in the holy matrimony.
What? No, no, no... I don’t even know you.
Oh, but you do. See?
He moves his hand up and shows off a wedding band. Then he takes my hand and turns it around, so I can see a similar ring on my left hand.
What is going on around here?
I’m trying to process what I just heard from him, but my mind doesn’t seem to work right, unable to focus on any information.
Without getting into details, it’s quite simple love. Since last night things had changed dramatically and now you got a husband, and I’ve got myself a green card... or will have it soon. Just a matter of time and some paperwork. Everyone is happy, life is good, so just enjoy it.
He stares at me and his smile turns darker.
And don’t worry, we all behaved. The covers didn’t’ fly and the earth didn’t shake. You are just not a very big fan of clothes, then again, neither am I.
My eyes follow him as he casually gets up and disappears into the bathroom, the sound of water filling the remaining silence. His words ring loudly in my head, yet I don’t flinch, don’t run away. I just stare in surprise at the now closed door. Who the hell was this man? I know I should be panicking after waking up to a complete stranger that claims to be my husband, but all I can do is lay on this bed and feel confused. I sit up and cover my naked chest, feeling that I still have underwear on - well, at least that, I think as my eyes scan the surroundings. It’s definitely a motel, a cheap room fit for lost and deprived souls. The window is closed, and the humidity is unbearable, I yearn for a cold shower and a glass of ice water, almost seeing little drops slipping down the glass; the image so powerful that it makes my throat tighten. I start to cough, and the feeling of nausea hits me with force.
How much did we drink?
My voice seems barely audible, but he manages to hear me anyway since it’s the only sound in the room. I hear light footsteps in the thick carpet that covers the floor. I stare at his bare chest and a towel that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, yet it doesn’t seem to have much effect on me. The feeling of curiosity and confusion still the most dominant part, he notices my neutral reaction and gives me a funny look.
Well, y o u were definitely drinking. I just tagged along and had some fun as well.
My gaze lingers on him. He could have been right, lately, it has become a habit of mine, and I was wondering if I should start looking for help because the problem was there without any doubt. I sit up, cross my legs like a three-year-old in a nursery, and stare at him. Right now, I had bigger issues to look into; a husband for starters. I ask another question while still waiting for the fear of the unknown and the consequences of last night decisions, but nothing comes.
How much?
I put more pressure on my words.
Enough to wake up in Mexico with a wedding band on your pretty little finger.
He takes something from the nightstand and throws it on the bed. I pick it up and look at all the red lines marking names and numbers. It’s a map. I unfold it and see that someone drew a circle repeatedly over one place. Mexico.
Why here?
Sweat runs down my back and between my breasts, as I still wait for the normal reactions I should have in this situation. Nothing. I imagine myself grabbing clothes from the floor and running away without ever looking back. Then I see myself screaming at him, punching him, and calling the police. In my head, I see him hit me, or throw me on the bed and silence me in so many ways; yet I do nothing.
As said, you weren’t the only one drinking, and it seems that we both got a taste for tequila and a strange sentiment for the desert scenery. It was meant to be, my darling, so take it how you want it. Call it a wild adventure or practicality, but here we are.
I need a shower.
I stand up on shaky legs and head for the bathroom, wrapped around in bad quality sheets.
Afraid I have the only remaining towel in these royal chambers.
The doors of the bathroom shut behind me and I grumble.
I’ll make do.
The only available option in this hell-hole was cold water but I take it with gratitude. Letting it flow over me until my brain starts to work properly. My eyes close as I try to remember the last night. The one thing that I was sure about, was that I had too much alcohol, and probably didn’t need that much reason to drink in the first place. Walking past a bar was a good enough reason as any other. I move my face to the shower head and against my better judgment, open my mouth and drink. Relief overtakes me as the water goes past my dried throat and lends in my stomach. I can almost imagine it filling my bones and all my nerves, hydrating every single cell in my body. I turn off the water and despite any logic; smile.
The funny thing was I didn’t even have a hangover, the thirst was more due to the excruciating heat than the liquor still moving in my veins. I step out and gaze into a small dirty mirror, looking closely at myself. Everything seemed fine from the first glance, nothing to prove that something really bad had happened to me. I put my underwear back on and cover myself loosely with the sheets; as I walk out my eyes move to him automatically. He is laying on the bed and watching the news. He’s wearing green shorts and a white t-shirt. I watch as he turns his head and looks up at me. Those eyes, they grab my attention instantly. The white t-shirt bringing out the deep blue in them, his face slightly crinkling up when he smiles at me. His thick, dark hair still wet from the shower. I finally feel the accelerated heartbeat that I was waiting for all this time.
Come on, sit down. I won’t bite; didn’t last night might not do it now as well.
I sit next to him and try to read something from his face. His smile widens.
I don’t think we have been properly introduced, not this time around anyway. I’m Kostas Callas.
He outstretches his hand and I take it; his skin is warm and the grip firm. I feel the sheets slipping, so I grab them with my other hand.
I’m Emily... wait, Callas now?
I ask just realizing the fact.
Yes, you were gracious enough to accept my last name, and I thank you for that. It’s good to know that some things stay the same in this crazy modern world.
This is insane.
I state simply and lean a bit closer to him without even noticing. He smells of something sweet and rich; I can’t place the smell, but it doesn’t matter.
Life is insane, so we are just following its rules here.
My eyes take in the room again and I frown.
Do you know where my clothes are?
I think for this weather your underwear will suffice.
I’m serious.
As am I... they are probably under the bed, but some should still be in the hallway.
Excuse me?
Yes, I think you aren’t a fan of heat waves and decided to start to get undressed still on your way. Don’t worry, the only things that you took off were your pants and your dignity.
Just the pants?
Yes.
Alright.
That’s the only thing that I ask as my life hasn’t been too perfect lately; a drinking problem causing the moral levels to drop. Then again, it was likely just me making a fool out of myself, nothing more. This was the first time that I brought a man with me and not just a big bill from the bar.
Is that all you want to know about your new husband?
Probably not, just let me find some clothes first, as I seem to still experience some leftovers of my dignity.
Thought so, that’s why I bought you this.
He reaches into some bag and hands me a simple, blue summer dress. I look at it and suddenly feel embarrassed, though I can’t exactly explain why.
You bought this for me?
I decided that my wife deserves something new.
My fingers trace against the delicate fabric and eyes tear up. This was ridiculous. You wake up next to a man that you never laid eyes on and that you are now married to... and this is what breaks you? A stupid dress? I ponder this while still touching the material when I feel his hand on mine.
Is something wrong? Because this is only temporary, and you will regain your freedom in just six months. I also assure you that the money will be transferred to your account, just not all at once. But you have my word for it, I always keep my promises.
I stare at him and feel that he means all of those words and that somehow, he is worth the trust. I put my other hand on his and ignore the slipping sheets. It’s not like he didn’t see it all last night.
I know, but my reaction, it’s... it’s just been a while since someone cared enough to do anything nice for me. I have been going through a rough patch and eventually managed to isolate everyone with the way I was acting. My family, my friends. And now here you are, making this simple gesture, something that I desperately needed and didn’t’ even realize it. You must think I’m crazy, but then again you already knew that when you chose me for your temporary wife.
I chose you because I knew you would be the right person for me. I felt like I could trust you. Don’t ask me how or why. Let’s just make best of this while it lasts.
My hand slips out of his. I get up and I slowly put on the dress, not saying anything or feeling ashamed. Just turning around and letting him zip it up.
You do realize that there is still so much to discuss before anything even starts to resemble normality?
Yes, but we have the time, six months should do just fine.
We step out of the room, passing the dark hallway and stepping out into the scorching sun. So much still had to be said, yet all this craziness didn’t stop me in my tracks, it made me wake up and start to run. Catching up with my life. Kostas being there by my side, carefully bringing us both back from the place that neither wanted to be, hopefully leaving the past behind.
And as the months passed, I learned more about him and decided to stay with him. Even if we met in the strangest circumstances and this marriage had absolutely no reason to work, it somehow did. I don’t know how to explain it, but my messy existence fell into place with him by my side. He was what I wanted.
A steady fire burning in my veins...*
_________
*Kostas / Steady; stable.
