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 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
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.
My memories are stored in a Memory box located somewhere in mi alma (soul) and accessed through the head. It is not made of rose gold or lined with fancy crystals, no lock or combination to enter or exit. The Memory box is invisible as are the memories stored inside. Like all other boxes, there is a limit as to how much can be stored. In the case of the Memory box in which memories are thrown in haphazardly it can be trying when it comes to cleaning out the rubbish-what to keep, what is of no consequence and of course, there are the ones we would like to burn.
We all know what happens when we refuse to clean…
Memories are a tricky lot. Some are laments, regrets, pain, joy, happiness, and anger with a bit of mad tossed in. Memories have the ability to teach us lessons, that is, if we pay attention. Some try hard to forget them while others spend too much time in them, in the box, going through the clutter, ruminating over opportunities lost and not seeing opportunities gained.
And…
We all know what happens when the clutter wins…
I have 58 years of memories stacked in my box and the ones before 7 years of age are not accessible. Good memories are as fresh, vibrant as the day they happened, bad ones are fuzzy fading colours and trauma comes in stark black and white. Those are the ones you can’t throw out. They are there for keeps, reminding you of the space they take up when least expected. The trick is to confront them, waddle in them, bring them close, hug them tight, then let them go. They will still be in the box but the space they take up will not be so overwhelming.
And…
We all know trauma is not good but if we acknowledge it, healing can occur…
***photos from the world wide web
MY MOOD
starts fresh each day
Waking up hopeful and open to the world
MY MOOD
is not like the rhythmn of the four seasons
Changing routinely, overlapping rudely, not blending in softly
MY MOOD
is prone to stagnate and fester
Going this way and that, bloated with urine
MY MOOD
at most is solitary
Moving through brown the dirt-Alone
MY MOOD
is glorious, proud, ever expanding
Exploring, born again from experiences encounter
MY MOOD
is comprised of tributaries, waterfalls, rivers, and streams
Flowing forth, clogging up, backing up, stuck then free, stuck
MY MOOD
supports others giving, giving and giving
They blossom, while I am stunted and deprived
MY MOOD
absorbs negativity literally
Which entraps and degrades until…
… the negativity has been cut away
my roots exposed, naked and afraid
MY MOOD
will continue forward
Towards the water, towards newness, towards growth
***All photos by EMcCalla
Some of the times
It’s easy to get out of bed in the morning
enthusiastically hopeful for the best
Celebrate a new day
Some of the times
It’s possible to eat healthy
wholesome food so the alma (soul) can
Rejoice from consumption of the blessed kind
Some of the times
It’s easy to breathe fresh air
when you open the windows of your heart and
Renew your world with fresh healing energy
Some of the times
Because we used to and I can’t
the gardener will clear out the overgrown weeds
Clean the dirt, gravel, and slate
Some of the times
Rain thumping down
on a hot humid day
Joyfully transports me to the Caribbean
Some of the times
The sound of Mr Softee
unleashes the childhood memories
Running wild and young in Brooklyn
Some of the times
Getting out of your head
and letting go of mind squatters
Radiates pure mind full filled
Some of the times
You want to whisper
activating all your senses
Being alive in the present
Some of the times
The body cries in power
As strength takes hold and
Welcomes the eradication of toxins
Some of the times
Optimistic should be my first name
Followed by Hope as the middle
Ready Set Go as my last
Some of the times
A cardinal brings laughter
Especially when fighting with the sparrows and
Winning
Some of the times
I laugh so hard tears come to my eyes
in a moment of pure joy
Happy at just being happy
Some of the times
You pray to HIM
Asking and asking till you become an
Instrument of his peace
Sometimes…
It’s hard to get out of bed in the morning
To begin a new day when you’d rather linger
under the covers in the past
Sometimes…
It’s impossible to eat healthy
When you have to prep and cook
and the corner bodega is…at the corner
Sometimes…
It’s hard to breathe fresh air
When the windows are shut
holding in stale memories
Sometimes…
The overgrown garden
Once tended by mom and you
should stay overgrown.
Sometimes…
Rain really sucks
Thumping down cold
on my bare head
Sometimes…
A mean and ugly person
Takes up space in your brain
squatting, rent free
Sometimes…
You want to scream so loud
Igniting car alarms up and down the block
but the scream is nothing but a whimper
Sometimes…
The body cries for help
As a fat revolution takes hold
obliterating muscle in its path
Sometimes…
Despair should be my first name
Followed by Anguish as a middle
Mourning as the last
Sometimes…
A cardinal brings hope
Except when its fighting with the sparrows
and the sparrows win
Sometimes…
You pray to HIM
Asking and asking
and never receiving
Isolated and the deaths of my felines, a brother and sister, two days apart was the ‘woke’ to my consumption of alcohol. What went from drinking after 5pm morphed into drinking at 10am. Half bottle of vino to full bottle. Full bottle thrown in as a chaser for bourbon.
Bourbon and wine intertwined.
Sobriety literally began as one day at a time. One day drinking, one day not drinking, repeat for two weeks. Get the wine from around the corner, then go four blocks over for the bourbon. Next day wine from two blocks up to bourbon two down and four over. Then repeat every day, seven days a week. “Silly rabbit…!” Buying one day reserves instead of a grate and handle make me a control drinker.
Bourbon and wine intertwined.
July 1st, 2020 arrived and no drink that day. Or the next, or the next. Reached out for help on week three of no drink. Completed a ninety day program of no drink. Met others who no drink and others who gave up and drank falling off the continuum of no drink.
Bourbon and wine no longer intertwined.
Three months, six months and now 9 months free. A mind not terribly wasted in a hangover pool brings hope to the present. On occasion I’ll jaunt down memory lane in my mind to remember all the gains with no drink. The future is not for me to see. Hoping no drink will follow me.
Bourbon and wine no longer intertwined.
The glasses made to hold wine sit on the top, top, shelf of the kitchen cabinet. Shapes, colours, pieces of artwork not to be tossed. The bourbon glasses now hold plants swimming in water, toothbrushes and pastes of the human and greyhound kind.
Remnants of what once and is no longer.
Faith moves mountains
You often said when despair embraced me
Fate moves mountains
I often said as control is in another’s hand
Faith moves mountains
Through troubling times optimism was your shield
Fate moves mountains
Through troubling times alcohol was mine
Faith moves mountains
You believed in a God that would nurture and care
Fate moves mountains
I believed in a God that was cruel and malicious
Faith moves mountains
You rarely shed tears and if you did
they fell with a purpose
Fate moves mountains
I cried everyday
angry tears driven by self-pity
Faith moves mountains
Cancer came back for you
this time it latched on
You cried once in the hospital
and I knew you knew
hope fought
Fate moves mountains
Cancer came back for you
I couldn’t pry it loose
I cried as much as I drank
and you knew I knew
hope lost
*** It’s been three years since you drew breath. You were in my life for 54 years. I guess I’ll be mourning till the day I join you. I cry mostly mornings, when another day begins, without wine or bourbon. During the days I’ll smile as memories, come in and out, out and in. Looking forward to more smiles and fuzzy feelings when memories hit instead of pain and tears.
I love you mom, my mom.
“You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need”-Rolling Stones
To have
teeth, white as fresh snow that bedazzles the eye, I want that expensive Sonic toothbrush
To have
the cleanest floor, one a Queen can eat off without plates, I want that Roomba
To have
the fittest body, tight in the right places and loose where it ought to be, I want that Equinox membership with a personal trainer
To have
the best frying pan, that distributes heat evenly across its radius, frying food to perfection, I want a Le Creuset Toughened Non-Stick Shallow Frying pan
To have
the best running shoes, that will propel my body forward, moving faster than any others running with mediocre shoes, I want the Nike Zoomx Vaporfly. 
To have
the best piano, whose strings would bring out the highs and lows of classical music, the best of my banging, I want a Bösendorfer
Well…
I can have all I want in my mind
Because the money to buy the things I want
is not sitting on fluffy golden cushion in my bank account
At times, the want is not what I need.
Anélemc's Writing 
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