I am Everyday People

Although my skin is white I don't consider myself caIucasian.  Why?  Well growing up Italian/Catholic I always felt less than.  Definately NOT white bread.   During lively last Saturday night my dinner companion made a statement,  "Last one in guards the door."  I guess "Caucasian" was a made-up thing (I am not a historian and don't profess this to be accurate), but the last two ethnic groups to make it "in" were the Portugese and Italians (Caucasian isn't really a race?)  And the poor Italian & Portugese smucks got the job of guarding the human race door.  That's a lot of responsibility.

So I start thinking, I think and think, I'd love that job.  This girl would start letting in as many people as she possibly can.  Wishing my feet could still skip and jump and dance like a 20 year old, I would sit quietly at the human race door, like the elevator operators used to be at the State Capitol.  Sit there with my word search and letting people in and giving them a ride to wherever they want.  Kind of like a cosmic elevator operator.    See? 

White - ok, well, we don't have to exclude them
Black - absolutely
Brown - Hispanic, Latino, Chicano, Mexican, etc.
Asians - yea go ahead and let them in Japanese, Chinese, Viet, Hmong, Indian, Indochinese, Phippilino, Korean and then some more.
and
Homosexuals  yes, LGBT and all the other fucking colors of the rainbow.

We could keep slicing and dicing people into what they are, but in the end we all pee and crawl into bed and dream of a better life.

Basically, whenever I get asked my Race/Ethnicity I always check the "Other" box and write in Italian American.   I always check the "Other" box. 

Spring's New Moon Wind



New Moon Attitude Adjustment
soy cappuccino
a la chocolate fish



Spring slipped through the crack under my door, an unexpected visitor.

A heatwave tempts me to abandon my coat and scarf for a sundress and sandals.

A balmy soaky storm doesn't last nearly enough to water the bulbs to burst and seeds to sprout.

A cold wind blows pollinated perfume through my hair and throws tender blossom confetti that gather like snow-drifts in the corners of my heart.  

A soy cappuccino soothes my agitated soul and strawberries promise warm weather ahead.



my left wrist

My Left wrist
                          always
              Adorned with four
                                      silver
                                      bracelets
                Each tell a story
                Acapella wind chimes
                                         unbearable sadness
                                         unfathomable joy
Four silver bracelets
             an unfinished poem
on my left wrist, always