Podcast - Poetic Resurrection

February 7, 2022

Colors of Life – Dr. Egypt Iredia

This week on the Poetic Resurrection Podcast we have Dr. Egypt Iredia. She performs a reading of her poem My Child-Like Eyes and the concept and development of the poem. We discuss her journey from a medical doctor, developing a holistic method for her patients, and her love for poetry, hidden knowledge, and healing.

Dr. Egypt is a multi-passionate, healer, physician, poet, metaphysician, and non-linear creative. She believes that minimalism, slow living, and living a spiritual and intentional life are all-powerful healing forces. She believes in using all of our wonderful gifts to show up authentically in our lives.

She has many passions and embraces them all to craft a conscious life. All her work and offerings are grounded in natural law and guided by spirit and intuition. Her mission is to empower people to live healthier, calmer, connected, conscious, and creative lives. She sees life as alchemy, art, and magic. Her journey of self-discovery and healing is never-ending. And she uses her strengths and vulnerabilities to act as a healing guide for others to manifest their highest selves.

My child-like eyes

At times I want to dissolve into the void
Into the place where I lay nameless
Where I possess no attachment to the weight of the world
A place where no tongue wags in my honor. Or in my disdain

Where I can be me. Where I can be free
I want to rest free, held by the knowingness of the Mother Gaia
For the love has flowed without condition
She has seen my darkest clouds, yet carried me through

I’m wary of ever seeking the eyes of others
Of ever proving my worth to be seen or heard
I’m fatigued with the many masks I must wear, not including my own
I want a sweet liberation, that which only the nothingness holds

What I speak of is not death, not an uncoupling of this mortal coil
What I speak of is not a hermitage, not a recoil away from this world
No, what I speak of is the untethering of my mind from the cares of others
From frivolous yearnings, that holds no essence

I seek for a new mind,
Unweighted with the many burdens of fixed paradigms
I want to once again see the world anew
Like the first day I kissed the earth hello

I ask again for my child-like eyes

by Dr. Egypt Iredia

Links: Website: https://manifestingalchemy.com/

all my poems: https://ello.co/manifestingalchemy

Listen to the episode on Poetic Resurrection

February 2, 2022February 2, 2022

Colors of Life Nothingness & Numbness

Poetic Resurrection Podcast Nothingness & Numbness This week on the Poetic Resurrection Podcast: Nothingness & Numbness. We sometimes interchange these terms with how we feel, but they are different. Nothingness is a term in philosophy that is of a higher power (In existentialism, the void is associated with the belief that nothing structures existence. Within this theoretical framework, the nothingness or meaninglessness of human existence is thought to be the primary cause of existential anxiety or anguish. APA Dictionary)

I’ve spoken with several people and they have informed me of their feelings of numbness. “There have been moments in my life when I’ve become numb to certain aspects of myself that I found frightening. Or I’ve conformed to certain morals of society and then maybe rebelled or found a way out.” Jessie Buckley. The pandemic has caused much concern about mental health and there are various local agencies that offer help during this time. I have gone through this numbness. In spiritualism, we can view nothingness as positive as a higher existence. (The Indian Vedas say that ‘nothingness’ is the ultimate source of knowledge—the final human frontier beyond which nothing else remains to be known. According to the scriptures, nothingness forms the chassis of ‘somethingness’ in its most subtle form. NatureAsia.com).

I find when I go through a period of numbness is when I’ve been overwhelmed by emotions or situations and then the overload makes me feel numb. Coming out of this numbness, I feel a perception/belief has changed. Usually for the better. Situations, titles, and possessions, whichever might be the cause of numbness, are not as important anymore. I then wonder why I have given these things so much of my personal power. Is it what society, cultural beliefs expect from me? I’ve searched the internet for this and couldn’t find any information about what happens after the stage of numbness, except for referrals to therapy. I guess this is such a personal journey that only a therapist or clergy can understand what an individual is going through. I believe in helping ourselves with mind, body, and spirit. That includes therapy.

How do you seek help when there’s a feeling of emptiness/numbness? We’re human and we will feel empty for many reasons. A loss of a person, dream, or a change in lifestyle. How do we handle this when you don’t care one way or another? When forcing yourself to take a walk is a chore and you don’t want to do anything? These are questions I’ve asked myself. Is it depression, anxiety, worry? Maybe you’ve also asked yourself these questions. Sorry to say, I don’t have an answer. I could just tell you what I’ve done. I meditated and went to therapy. Meditation might not be for everyone. Prayer might help. “If prayer is you talking to God, then intuition is God talking to you.” Wayne Dyer. Whatever is your belief, work with it during this time. When I first meditated, my to-do list was all that I kept seeing or what I could or should have done. Should’ve, could’ve, and would’ve are not action words. In meditation, I’ve learned to see myself in a safe place-the forest, beach, meadow, my home. This has helped me not focus on my what-ifs and to-do list.

Know that you have value and you’re good enough. We are all at various stages in life. If you need help, ask for help. You’re worth it. A quote from Rumi “Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom.”

I’ve listed links in the notes regarding various articles on this subject.

The poem for this week is: Time Passes from Inspire Me: Raw.

Sun caresses
Rosy hues
I flourish
Breeze prunes

Exposed and cleansed
Past stripped away
Layers erode
Float down

Chimes of time
Naked in the wind
Grasp reflections
Petals float

Rain overcomes
Only a fraction stays
A stem with leaves
One last rosehip – drops

Peaceful in the dust
Awakening
Sun caresses
New sprout
Rebirth from past

Many blessings.

Music: Drifting @ 432 Hz by Unicorn Heads

https://www.cdc.gov/mentalhealth/stress-coping/cope-with-stress/index.html

https://dictionary.apa.org

https://psychcentral.com/depression/i-feel-nothing-emotional-numbness#causes

https://www.healthline.com/health/feeling-numb#causes

https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/emotional-blunting#takeaway

https://www.goodtherapy.org/learn-about-therapy/issues/emptiness

https://lonerwolf.com/emotional-numbness/

January 24, 2022February 2, 2022

Colors of Life – Jasmine Di Angelo

This week on the Poetic Resurrection Podcast we have poet/actor Jasmine Di Angelo. We discuss and she reads her poem “Halves of Halves”. The poem reflects on being multicultural from Denmark and coming to Los Angeles at a young age. Check out this unique discussion on identity and acceptance.

Jasmine was born along the North Sea and learned how to walk under a Scandinavian sun (aka Denmark). She then made a quick, twenty-year pit stop in Los Angeles where she was raised acting on sound stages, in casting offices and sparring boys at her parents’ Taekwondo studio. Once baked until golden brown in the heat of the San Fernando Valley, she headed east and is now proud to call herself a New Yorker.

Jasmine has been writing poetry since age 11 and is the author of a one-woman play called S.T.A.T. (or, Stop Talking About That). Currently, she is compiling her first book of poetry to be released in late 2022. Jasmine also posts stories on her blog at jasdiangelo.com. Instagram: @jasdiangelo

“Halves of Halves”

Hum hum
Where are you from?
Stay out of the sun, stay out of the sun.
Small feet stretch and leap
From Nordic flatland to Californian heat.

Hum hum
Where are you from?
Strange sounds folded my tongue
Into halves of halves, splintered DNA wide
So I don’t look how I feel inside.

Hum hum
Where are you from?
Where there’s hygge and chocolate pastry with rum
Black licorice whiplash made syllables unsweet
And my soft consonants were rounded with concrete.

Hum hum
Where are you from?
A deep weaving of words came loose and undone
Replaced by hard R’s and confused faces
And all the wrong checkboxes naming all the wrong places.

Hum hum
Where are you from?
She gave him a daughter, but he wanted a son
Kicking and punching and dancing and screaming –
Multicolored horrors printed in all my dreaming.

Hum hum
Where are you from?
My skin is adjacent but cannot fully become
The flags in my cells, the spice in my blood
Many shades of soil heavy with flood.

I go slipping in the mud —

And my hands and feet won’t plant because
I am from everywhere and nowhere
Crossing bloodlines and flood lines
And lies
And lines and lies and lines
Pressed in the corners of my parents’ eyes.

The forward pitch
The needle stitch
Wove countries and more countries together which
Bent themselves into the shape of my body
Tucked cultures into the ridges of my irises–browned
Identity at once lost and found.

And in the mixing there was
Erasing
And in the erasing
Came something new
Brilliant in its Namelessness.

Hum hum
What are you?
And who are you from?
Someplace suspended between the moon
And the sun
Where freckles stretch footprints across the bridge of my nose
Where a new color quietly grows
Where many faces merge into one
And languages lay languid under my tongue

2022 © Jasmine Di Angelo

January 17, 2022January 17, 2022

Colors of Life – Lynne Thompson

This week on Poetic Resurrection we welcome Los Angeles Poet Laureate Lynne Thompson. We discuss her poem Invention, her experiences of being an adoptee. We laugh about rejection letters and go into detail about her journey in becoming the poet laureate.

Lynne Thompson is Poet Laureate for the City of Los Angeles. She is the author of Start With a Small Guitar and Beg No Pardon, winner of the Perugia Book Award and the Great Lakes Colleges Association’s New Writers Award, and Fretwork, winner of the Marsh Hawk Poetry Prize. Thompson’s work has been published in Pleiades, Black Warrior Review, Ploughshares, and Best American Poetry 2020, among others. She sits on the Boards of Cave Canem and the Los Angeles Review of Books and chairs the Board of Trustees at her alma mater, Scripps College.

Available wherever podcasts are available and the following:
https://poeticresurrection.com/podcast/
https://poeticresurrection.podbean.com/e/colors-of-life-lynne-thompson/

Her website is: https://www.lynnethompson.us/

Invention

If he could have, he would have
whispered my name like an old wish—
would have admitted
I am your father

I am a rage of teeth
I am absent but no marathon of deletions I am
your dancing foot’s “Why Ya Wanna Make Me Blue”
the heat from a hastiness of cooks
I am the distraction that is every father

(Maybe one day I’ll find him among
a rascal of boys — neither a man
nor a lad — but this day isn’t that day—)

If he can, he should reach out to me — say my name like an old wish:
admit he acted like a knot of toads
a shell of electrons
a breakdown in his woman’s plans He should say
he can never tell me why or why or why not
Just that he was never a hum of hymns knows he
was never relevant in any of my lunar years was
a smokescreen & all-ways a plague of questions

Printed by permission – The Night Heron Barks, October 2020

January 13, 2022January 13, 2022

Colors of Life – Teddy A Children’s Story

Teddy - A Children's Story A couple of years ago, I was thinking of writing children’s books; I came up with this story called Teddy. I named it after a teddy bear that I’ve had for many years. Not that creative with the name.

Today’s mood I wanted it to be uplifted and have something children can listen to. Self-reflection is always a good thing, but today we’re going to have fun with a simple rhyming children’s story. Enjoy the story of Teddy and his friends. Please let me know what you think in the comments. Have a blessed day.

Teddy bear sits on a chair
Sees me and stares
What will we do today?
Can we go out and play?

Yes, we can, little one
Let’s go out and have some fun
The day is sunny
Teddy says, “I want some honey.”

Walking down a forest path,
Suddenly we hear a splash
“Help me please!” yells the bee
I can’t swim in the sea

Teddy grabs a stick
Bee asks, “Is this a trick?”
“No, grab on, I’m here to help.”
The stick is what the bee held

Out the bee came soaked
The bee dried himself and spoke
“Thank you for saving me
Can I offer you some tea?

“I don’t have any money,
Do you want some honey?”
Yes, I do
For my tea brew

Tea party and all are happy
Time to go home for nappy
The day was fun
Being out in the sun

Thank you, sunshine
For my lunchtime
This beautiful day
In the month of May

https://poeticresurrection.podbean.com/e/colors-of-life-teddy-a-children-s-story/

Happy Ukulele Children Party by MusicLFiles
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/6302-happy-ukulele-children-party
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

January 4, 2022

Colors of Life – Grieving Dreams

Grieving Dreams is when we review our lives and realize a dream we have pursued so long doesn’t benefit us anymore.

I recorded an episode of my other podcast, Chica and the Man with my co-host Alex Greenwood. We talked about career changes and how it affected us. (Listen to that episode here).

How we grieve when we have pursued a job, career, or a business and gave our heart and soul to it only to have to let it go. We know it’s the right thing to do, but yet there’s this sadness of letting go. We think what-if I could have done more? Where did I go wrong? Was I just not good enough? In reality, I feel the lessons and importance of it have run its course. When we feel this way, it is a form of grieving. We need to address it. As Eleanor Haley from Grieving the Loss of Hopes and Dreams states: When we care deeply about something, it can be difficult to know when to let go. Sometimes our hopes are all we have to keep us getting out of bed in the morning. People always like to say things like, It’s never too late to follow your dreams and many times this is true. When there’s a chance to see your dreams through or there is still joy in the journey, by all means, keep going.

I grieved letting go of acting. There was no more joy in the journey. I knew I couldn’t make a living at it, yet I pursued it for many years. I was in disbelief because I had invested so many years and my soul in it. How can I love acting and the career doesn’t love me back? Nowadays, if it comes my way, I’ll be happy to do it. It’s the pursuit of it I have released. It was heartbreaking and liberating at the same time.

Grief is a normal response to loss during or after a disaster or other traumatic event. Grief can happen in response to loss of life, as well as to drastic changes to daily routines and ways of life that usually bring us comfort and a feeling of stability. Common grief reactions include:

Shock, disbelief, or denial
Anxiety
Distress
Anger
Periods of sadness
Loss of sleep and loss of appetite

CDC on grief and Loss (see link below)

Regardless of the scenario, the loss of hopes and dreams can be incredibly hard to accept and cope with. Eleanor Haley.

Deep listening is the practice of turning toward your feelings and emotions.

Most of us have the tendency to run away from anything uncomfortable within us. It’s only natural. But numbing, avoiding, and rejecting our pain only makes what we feel larger and ‘scarier’ than it truly is. When we turn toward our pain with curiosity and gentleness, we often find an immediate sense of relief. Aletheia Luna

What I’ve learned through grief is to accept, be kind, and love myself. Life will have its moments, it’s part of living. Learn to ride the beautiful, never-ending passions and gifts of life.

The poem for this week is Quiet from Inspire Me: Perception

Black and white
Chrome bedroom
Reflects silvery gray moods of
The uncharted mind

Incandescent garden lights
Shine through the blinds
Marking lines on face
Stares at the light

Answers from another realm
Beyond our three dimensions
Silence prey’s existence of
Yearning questions

An essence enters
Smoky figure gazes
Into questioning eyes
Serene presence felt

Changing monochrome
Movie of thoughts and dreams
Reflect on cheeks and lips
Grin extends to essence

Crimson smile, blushing face
Sends joy to ashen figure as
Chromatic shades appear and
Smoky image disperses

Lights fade into darkness
REM creating memories of
Longevity with peaceful
Nightfall sleep

Goodnight

Music by: Ocean Bliss by Gotama

https://gotama-music.bandcamp.co

https://lonerwolf.com/deep-listening/

https://whatsyourgrief.com/loss-of-hopes-and-dreams/ (Eleanor Haley)

https://www.cdc.gov/mentalhealth/stress-coping/grief-loss/index.html

https://www.helpguide.org/articles/grief/coping-with-grief-and-loss.htm

December 29, 2021December 30, 2021

Colors of Life – Yearend 2021

New Year 2022 Yearend episode 2021

Here we are at the end of 2021. Another year of the pandemic. When this pandemic started, it was a time to reflect. Reflect, I did and now in the second year–I’d like it to end. I’ve been vaccinated and boosted and, to be honest, I don’t want any more vaccinations, but it’s not about me—it’s about those around me. I want the pandemic to end.

These last two years have been a challenging and trying time. I had a friend die this year of covid. I’ve had a scare with my elderly parents and I’m grateful they’re okay. I feel blessed that everyone and I are healthy. I was hoping the pandemic would have ended with herd immunity, but we never got to the 70% vaccinated to have that occur. I wish I had an answer to what is happening; I don’t think anyone knows.

My year in review.

I started a second podcast called Chica and the Man with podcaster and friend Alex Greenwood of the Mysterious Goings On podcast. It’s so much fun to just talk about anything that comes to mind. The subtitle of Chica and the Man is As Unscripted as it Gets. It’s different from the Poetic Resurrection podcast. Doing this podcast has been slow in editing as my computer crashed and it’s taken me about a month to retrieve my information. I was shocked but can’t complain the computer lasted seven years.

I’m on vacation now and I’m working on my fourth book—Inspire Me: In Time of Need, still. I have a new editor; Ruben Rodriguez and I’m looking forward to the release—early next year. Fingers crossed. I love writing poetry and the last two years have put a slight halt in writing. I guess the pandemic has affected me more than I thought. So many deaths, sending blessings to families for your healing. The dichotomy of this nation and others. This is a world healing time and even though we would like to get back to normal, what is normal anymore?

I’m an avid researcher. I feel exhilarated when I learn a new concept, belief, or skill, and yet I’m exhausted this year. I used to feel I knew what I wanted and now it’s all in question. Do I want to continue acting? I love being on the set, so if it comes up, I’ll be happy to do it. I had two photoshoots this year. One was headshots with Mark Atteberry, which I also use for my podcast, and the other was an artsy shoot with Ken Sawyer. I had a great time doing both. I booked a print job and have auditioned for many shows.

Poetry, another passion of mine since childhood, still exists but it’s changed what I want to write. I’ve gone from writing about acceptance and life to a surreal style. A style I find challenging to write since the reader needs to visualize and understand it.

The Poetic Resurrection Podcast has reached over fifty episodes and has over 1500 downloads and as Alex Greenwood informed me, that’s fantastic for a podcast without an advertising budget. I’m on season three of the podcast and I want to say thank you to all the guests for honoring me with your presence and knowledge.

I meditate every day and decided to become a teacher on the Insight Timer app I have talks and meditations.

The poem for this week is Love and Blessings, recorded in 2020 and is available to see and hear on YouTube. It’s from my upcoming book Inspire Me: In Time of Need.

When thoughts
Overwhelm your being
Send love

When worrying about the family
And wanting to care for them
Send love

When sleep evades
When thoughts repeat
Send love

When finances diminish
And needs remain unmet
Send love

When feeling defeated
When feeling alone
Send love

When feeling fear
That life isn’t fair
Send love

Sending love
Doesn’t cost anything
Sending love
Brings us to the present

Happy New Year–love and blessings.

Music by: Bensound.com
Song: Love

December 21, 2021December 30, 2021

Colors of Life – Luivette Resto, poet

poet: Luivette Resto This week on Poetic Resurrection we have the Puerto Rican poet Luivette Resto. We discuss her poem Living on Islands Not Found on Maps. How growing up bi-culturally and using Spanglish or as I like to call it “fusion of words”. We had a great time conversing about Puerto Rican culture. I love guests I can laugh with and laugh we did.

Luivette Resto was born in Aguas Buenas, Puerto Rico, but proudly raised in the Bronx. Her two books of poetry, Unfinished Portrait, and Ascension were published by Tía Chucha Press. Her third collection of poetry is from FlowerSong Press.

Living on Islands Not Found on Maps
I live on an island not found on maps. Growing up in the shadows of one of the most popular surnames: García. I speak Spanish to my abuela on Sundays but rely on Google to help my children with their homework because the accent rules never stuck. Stress or unstress? Penultimate syllable? Took the paradoxical college course: Spanish for Bilinguals where every Tuesday Prof. Cruz de Jesús would shake his head with indignation at my use of the familiar tú versus usted. No me conoce, he said. He was right. He didn’t know me and I didn’t know him or the proper word for bus or orange juice. What I did know is summers in Puerto Rico, eating quenepas as relatives asked, ¿No entiendes lo que dijo tu primo? And my abuela defending my tongue. This tongue. Colonized not once but twice. Leaving me isolated at family reunions.
Feeling inadequate for my inability to conjugate on command. Sounding out store front signs while riding the #42 bus on the way home from Kindergarten where I concentrated to understand Mrs. Farrell’s lessons about the seasons. But I finally found a home between Bronx bodega aisles, code switching with my homegirls about how many times Juana beepeó that boy we saw
standing in front of él building. This became the island where I belonged. Unfettered and absent of red pen corrections. Juana didn’t care if I used the tú or the usted or if my yo was about me or an emphatic reaction to her crazy story. This island didn’t care if I rolled my r’s or ever got the purpose of vosotros. An island where our bodies translated feelings: pursed lips, a raised brow, an aggressive eye or neck roll. We were bilingual neologists, inventing new lands we could carry in our Timbs and bubble coats. Here, language, like us, wasn’t disappointing or broken.

“Living on Islands Not Found on Maps”
first published on The University of Arizona Poetry Center’s website
Nov. 2020. Reprinted by permission Luivette Resto

https://www.luivette.com/

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December 15, 2021December 15, 2021

Colors of Life – Confusion

This week on Poetic Resurrection we discuss confusion. Sometimes I wonder why we go through experiences and maybe read too much into it and then we’re confused. This month didn’t get off to a great start for me. My computer crashed and I’m still recovering my info. I usually have an episode ready each Monday but that hasn’t happened this month. One of the pluses so far this month is that I visited my family in Chicago and I’m blessed to have my parents in good health.

What is confusion? Dictionary’s definition is lack of understanding or uncertainty; the state of being bewildered or unclear in one’s mind about something. Why do we feel this way? Is it because our heart/soul wants us to change? I’ve noticed when I feel confused is when my heart and my mind are at odds. “Your intellect may be confused, but your emotions will never lie to you.” Roger Ebert. I feel I should go one way in a situation but my mind disagrees. “The most confused we ever get is when we’re trying to convince our heads of something our heart knows is a lie.” Karen Marie Moning. “Your eyes may mislead you sometimes. So don’t be serious in observing, listen to your heart at times when you are confused.” Giridhar Alwar. (gi rid te)

Is it fear? Most likely what stops us from going forward is fear. Do we have the finances to change? Will I lose my home? Is my family okay if I decide to move on? Are you ruled by possessions? At times our financial burdens are because we give our power away to possessions. We have to have the latest electronics, fashions, cars, appliances, etc. It’s one thing if your employment requires equipment, it’s your livelihood, or if you have the cash to buy the items. Another is if you’re getting into debt for them. I have in the past, bought items because I thought I would be perceived as well to do. I wasn’t. I lived from paycheck to paycheck, many of us do. This isn’t how I want to live. It’s stressful not to have your rent, mortgage, money to pay bills and I have been guilty of using my credit cards to survive in times of unemployment. “No matter how confused or deluded we may be at the moment, the underlying and essential nature of our being is clear and pure.” Lama Yeshe. During the pandemic, many of us learned what’s important, and surprisingly I saw many who refuse to change and blamed the pandemic, politics, and companies for their problems. This is known as one aspect in psychology as psychological projection

Psychological projection is the process of misinterpreting what is “inside” as coming from “outside”. It forms the basis of empathy by the projection of personal experiences to understand someone else’s subjective world. In its malignant forms, it is a defense mechanism in which the ego defends itself against disowned and highly negative parts of the self by denying their existence in themselves and attributing them to others, breeding misunderstanding and causing untold interpersonal damage. A bully may project their own feelings of vulnerability onto the target, or a person who is confused may project feelings of confusion and inadequacy onto other people. Projection incorporates blame shifting and can manifest as shame dumping. Projection has been described as an early phase of introjection. Wikipedia

“Seek first to understand, then to be understood.” Stephen Covey

The poem for this week is Same from Inspire Me: Raw

Contemplating
Day after day
Wonders of fate

Searching for work
Organizing
Wondering what I’ll do today

Decorating
Writing this
Not knowing the end

At this point in life
I thought I’d succeed
By this time –

A house, a car
Children, husband
None of these

Strange thing –
Content
I think?

So much, so little
Overwhelmed
Organize
Decorate

Write
Stability?
Day after day
I do the same

Many blessings.

Listen to the podcast here

If the feelings are overwhelming there are several organizations listed here that can help.

https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/disaster-distress-helpline/warning-signs-risk-factors

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Music by:
Relaxing Meditation by Liron
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7891-relaxing-meditation
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

December 4, 2021

Colors of Life – Luis J Rodrigues

Luis J Rodrigues This week, we are honored to have Luis J. Rodriguez back on the Poetic Resurrection Podcast. Luis reads his poem, Always Running. This poem describes the hardships of poverty, love loss, and how Luis dealt with his experiences. We discuss the difficulties of growing up in the hood, living in tenements full of roaches, rats, and despair. His episode aired November 27th and after I posted his episode my computer died so my blogs are behind. Hoping the audience understands. Here’s his poem Always Running from Concrete River 1991 Curbstone Press.

Always Running
All night vigil.
My two-and-a-half-year-old boy
and his 10-month-old sister
lay on the same bed,
facing opposite ends;
their feet touching.
They looked soft, peaceful,
bundled there in strands of blankets.
I brushed away roaches that meandered
across their faces,
but not even that could wake them.
Outside, the dark cover of night tore
as daybreak bloomed like a rose
on a stem of thorns.
I sat down on the backsteps,
gazing across the yellowed yard.
A 1954 Chevy Bel-Air stared back.
It was my favorite possession.
I hated it just then.
It didn’t start when I tried to get it going
earlier that night. It had a bad solenoid.
I held a 12-gauge shotgun across my lap.
I expected trouble from the Paragons gang
of the west Lynwood barrio.
Somebody said I dove the car
that dudes from Colonia Watts used
to shoot up the Paragons’ neighborhood.
But I got more than trouble that night.
My wife had left around 10 p.m.
to take a friend of mine home.
She didn’t come back.
I wanted to kill somebody.
At moments, it had nothing to do
with the Paragons.
It had to do with a woman I loved.
But who to kill? Not her–
sweet allure wrapped in a black skirt.
I’d kill myself first.
Kill me first?
But she was the one who quit!
Kill her? No, think man! I was hurt, angry. . .
but to kill her? To kill a Paragon?
To kill anybody?
I went into the house
and put the gun away.

Later that morning, my wife came for her things:
some clothes, the babies. . . their toys.
A radio, broken TV, and some dishes remained.
I didn’t stop her.
There was nothing to say that my face
didn’t explain already.
Nothing to do. . . but run.

So I drove the long haul to Downey
and parked near an enclosed area
alongside the Los Angeles River.
I got out of the car,
climbed over the fence
and stumbled down the slopes.
A small line of water rippled in the middle.
On rainy days this place flooded and flowed,
but most of the time it was dry
with dumped garbage and dismembered furniture.
Since a child, the river and its veins of canals
were places for me to think. Places to heal.
Once on the river’s bed, I began to cleanse.
I ran.

I ran into the mist of morning,
carrying the heat of emotion
through the sun’s rays;
I ran past the factories
that lay smack in the middle
of somebody’s backyard.
I ran past alleys with overturned trashcans
and mounds of tires.
Debris lay underfoot. Overgrown weeds
scraped my legs as I streamed past;
recalling the song of bullets
that whirred in the wind.

I ran across bridges, beneath overhead passes,
and then back alongside the infested walls
of the concrete river;
splashing rainwater as I threaded,
my heels colliding against the pavement.
So much energy propelled my legs
and, just like the river,
it went on for miles.

When all was gone,
the concrete river
was always there
and me, always running.

Luis Rodriguez, “Always Running” from “The Concrete River,” 1991 Curbstone Books

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