Be Careful how you treat someone…

Be


To just be, at times can involve memories
Of losing someone to death of the most painful kind
Exposed and raw
Carry on, you must 
For work and play outside the haven of your home

Careful
With a suit of emotional armour
I ventured into a space
Once considered safe
But no longer
For a volcano was brewing its magma at my core

How
A confrontation with a white man
of the most dreadful kind
Words thrown in a sentence
(abrupt, harsh, condescending)
Defense to those words thrown in a sentence
(ghetto, Sheman-hear me roar persona, 0-60 in one second)

Due to my talking with a person sitting next to him

“Stop screaming in my ear!” –the belligerant white guy

“Excuse me, what did you say?!” – me the person of colour warming up

I can go on as he obviously did not receive the notice on messing with a woman of colour going through mourning and not having the time or patience to deal with a man, who addressed me in a tone uncalled for,

But… I’ll stop here for it did get ugly as I told him, “Don’t make me go ghetto on you” and he said, “You are ghetto”. Magma turned into lava and flowed…that’s how it went until WORDS OF THE MOST UGLY KIND sprewed forth in fire and brimstone from my mouth
I left seething in invisible black ash through the exit door

You
Not asking for an education on your past
I was schooled about it on the ride home
On their cell phones two members of the group in the space
I once thought safe disclosed your past and mugshot
You are not a nice person
You were arrested for stealing $37k from a client
Posing as a lawyer when you were disbarred years ago
For illegal practices

Obviously money and you are not a good mix
like alcohol to an alcoholic
like a rock to a crackhead
like chasing waterfalls and slipping
like the lucky charms guy engulfed in sugar looking for his charms

I did not know what you were emotionally carrying that day and time. You did not know what I was emotionally carrying that day and time.

But yet?…What would Jesus do?
(Not referring to the’Jesus Gone Wild’ moments: cursing and killing a fig tree, flipping tables and using a whip, hanging out with sinners)

But
Love your neighbour, see God in everyone, treat others as you’d like to be treated
Those words were not in my heart on that day and time

Treat
Be careful how you treat someone for you do not know what they are going through


That is my mantra when I walk out the door into the world
But I failed that day
I reacted
I did not think before speaking

Someone
I have changed in the past 8 years 
Mom, my mom is no longer here 
to soften my extremes at the world
When she passed
I took it upon myself to become what I admired most about her
No matter how people treated her, talked down to her, forced her to live with an aunt in another country,
Margarita, my mom always showed kindness

In that moment of abusive words firing back and forth
I did not take the higher ground when

Kindness was needed

(c) IMOB/Walsh-McCalla

Shadow of what use to be…or…Use to be

(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla

Shadows
Opaque surface rejects light
If the surface is moving
Dancing takes place

Shadows
Lingering in what was
Because the surface has not moved on
Stuck in a vacuum, never ending light

Shadows
The, I of what use to be
Memories of a time  
Sillhoutes trapped in the mind

Shadows
The dust of incense 
Dying embers within
Collect on the ground

No-where bound

I always cry when a McCalla dies…

Those words were first written in Tio Victor’s piece. I’ve shed many a tear for those who passed on due to illness’ that showed no mercy, was brutal and bent on destruction. It’s one thing when it happens to your parents, tíos, tías and even primos …

(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla

But
when it makes an appearance on a sibling
That’s a whole new realm and you can’t help to wonder 
When you’ll be next

I don’t cry for the Walsh’s
Except when my father died
The day before his 90th birthday
His spirit visited me and he was angry

Angry for being taken from living
Angry for the last drink not had
Angry for eating his last meal
Angry.

(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla

The McCalla I cry for today is my sister Evie
Although technically she is a Walsh
She arrived through a McCalla
And that makes her both

Nicknamed Judy for her JudyGarland eyes
Big brown with the longest lashes
Those eyes required glasses of the strongest kind
To view the world but not life ahead

Judy was whimsical
An artist with the capacity to draw
Images of fantasy and fiction
Prompted by her obsession with romance novels

(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla

Artists run in the McCalla family
From photographers to those who draw and painted
So does mental illness.
From those who isolate and those who drink

LGBT slides 
Beneath the surface 
The ones who never got married, never had a partner
Who live on the West coast away from the East

But
Back to my sister Judy
A life lived
To the fullest?
I will never know

(c) IMOB-Walsh/McCalla

A life lived 
Within her means and understanding 
Of the world she lived in
Comfortably existing in

I once told my sister I love you and she said she loved me too.

Morning Nature News in Cornwall Connecticut…

6:30am in the morning
I’m sitting outside on a green bench facing the Housatonic River. My intention was to dump my feelings via calligraphy pen unto my journal.

Photo: EMC/IMOB

Instead
I decided to listen to the morning news broadcasting in nature.
Birds stationed at multiple locations throughout the 55 acres, report the first segment with chirps and bleeps in various tones and pitch. 

It’s a good day to be alive.”
Starts the morning news.
“Due to the late night rain storm, it’s a perfect morning for good eating on the ground. We have a large selection to choose from. Worms and ants, lady bugs and if you’re in the mood for a challenge, a humming bird was spotted early on. 
 I’m particularly fond of mosquitos due to their high blood protein content but will have to wait till early evening.”  Reporter :Joe Crow

Photo:EMC/IMOB

Today’s Weather
“Cooler temperatures predicted for this overcast day with a 50% chance of showers by 7pm.”  Reporter: Jane Nimbostratus cloud

*Commercial Break brought to you by the Housatonic River where fly fishing is welcomed as long as you leave behind what landed on your hook*

Neighbourhood watch
“The trees are actively communicating through their deep roots underground and report Tree # 16 is passing into shade and the Turkey Vultures have taking residence in the upper branches. Tune in at 5pm for an update on Tree #16”.  
Reporter: Stinky Pine Trees

Photo:EMC/IMOB

Sanitation
“The 6:30am sanitation train is running on schedule with no delays. Have a great start to your morning and be sure to tune in to our evening broadcast at 5pm and 11pm.” Reporter: Cyrus Turkey Vulture

Photo: EMC/IMOB

I am…

I am 
Ackee and saltfish
don’t like the ackee 

I am 
codfish fritters
Fried with scallions, onions till golden brown

I am 
Plantańos
fried and mushed in Mazola corn oil

I am 
arroz con pollo
Saźon, Carolina rice washed 3x, meat falling off the chicken bone

I am 
a hot dog
Hebrew national of course with a toasted bun
or wonder bread, toasted

I am 
Wise
Potato Chips
geez, onion and garlic, barbeque, plain

I am 
Chef Boy Ardee
Let’s not open Pandora’s box
Ravioli, Spaghetti with meatballs

I am 
Spam
Fried in corn oil 
Served with eggs fried in butter
(Nuff said)

I am 
Vienna sausages
heated in the can 
served with ketchup and toothpicks

I am 
Sounds of Congos
at night in the playground
firecrackers, roasted pig, double-dutch 

I am
Puerto Rican Spanglish
loosie cigarettes, The Machétes, The Black Pearls,
whom protected us youngins (forever grateful)

I am
Let fart be free 
 as it caused the death of poor Mary Lee

I am
Faith moves mountains
You talk too much you worry me to death 
Que sera, sera, One less egg to fry 

I am
McCalla Brothers 
from Scotland, who settled in Jamaica and collected slaves

I am
From those ancestors 
who migrated to Honduras 
Working the banana plantation
Where my mother Joyce Margarita McCalla was born
And given away to her aunt and brought to Jamaica

I am
The half product 
of an Irish man who had a fling with my grandmother
Which produced my father Noel Emmanuel Walsh
Who helped produced me

Nite Swimming…

I’ve said to myself too many times to count
But this time like all the others, I mean it
I’ve hit a wall, hard
And there’s nowhere else to go

My body is warning me
To stop living in fantasy
We are in conflict which I hate
And I usually get my way

If I knew the answer to this
It would have a chance to stop
I can’t find the answer on my own

So, it spreads
Like a dog I’ve been chasing my tail
Spinning round, round and round
And where do I go?
Nowhere

If only I had the right mental pills
To balance out the discombobulation
A “Mothers Little Helper…”
That,
“Would minimize my plight”

Or some non-alcoholic elixir that would change
Copper infused days into a patina
Crafted by oxygen, carbon and water 
But, as Kermit says,\
It’s not easy being green…”

What is there to say?
Playtime is over
I’m tired of the self-inflicted
Emotional Violence

POC…Peeps of Colour…Just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round…

People of colour come in all ranges of skin tone
black, tan, yellow, white, bronze and even the darkest purple
We share the same colour tears and  blood and in most cases
the same colour food

As diverse as our colours are
because of it, we lack the
privileges afforded to others

We are harassed, ridiculed,
talked at slowly,
talked at loudly
as if we are ignorant imbeciles from an illiterate island

I miss my mom’s accent but I cannot miss what
I never heard, for her accent to me
sounded like everyone else’s voice
without one

Others heard her accent and treated her 
as if she came from a third world country
not from the god forsaken place she was born to

My mother left a developing country
with an eight grade education
for a better life in America

With that education 
She worked for a higher learning magazine

With that education
She worked for a major publishing company

With that education
She worked for a Dominican  

What I’m trying to say with words
is the same old, same old thang

Don’t judge a book by its’ cover or…
Don’t judge a POC by the colour of their skin

You never know what lingers underneath, 
below the surface, 
behind closed doors, 
safely held close to the heart

Until someone’s
gotta throw shade of the blackest kind at your ignorance self…

Retreat…or Escape to serenity

I am me
when I pack two days ahead
arrange babysitting for the furs
and book my ticket the day of

I am me
arriving at Grand Central 
an hour before departure
heading to the lounge

I am me
buying a pretzel 
eating mindfully
as I people watch

I am me
time to board the train
window seat
headphones on

I am me
Concrete to green 
tracks to wilderness
fast to slow

I am me
destination is known
as the green school bus 
waits

I am me
the gates of the Retreat 
gives a blessing
releasing the iron bars de mi alma 

I am me
suitcase dumped in the foyer
red barn beckons
and I am wrapped in the healing power of the donks.