Posted on by Anelemc

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

Posted on by Anelemc

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

Posted on by Anelemc

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.

Posted on by Anelemc

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…

Posted on by Anelemc

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.

Posted on by Anelemc

Mid-life crisis or…Mid-life movement

I made an appointment on Friday.

I traveled to Greenpoint, Brooklyn from Jerzy City, Nueva Jerzy on the Path to the MTA to the G train-notorious for never arriving on time or at all.

Traveling from one city to another is not the same as traveling from one borough to another which I did when I lived in Brooklyn and worked in Manhattan. 

For the past few months, I’ve been stuck in Jersey City, where I now live and work which saves money on taxes when you work in one city and not two.

Ok.

A septum piercing idea went from curiosity to commitment. With turning 60 approaching, I wanted to do something big but also on a small scale.

Researching YouTube videos for information on this type of piercing resulted in videos of the good, the bad and the ugly. Pain was to be expected at a high degree and images of poor aftercare results made me go…hmmm. 

Research continued and my interest peaked.

During a hair appointment I drooled over the stylist’s gold septum chain. We discuss the process and it was not painful or horrific for her. A visit to the Apple store led to another discussion on septum piercing with an associate, as it looked like everyone who worked there had a piercing.

My mind, a terrible thing to waste, made the decision to proceed.

With a septum piercing appointment set and chain link picked out, I made my way to Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

The piercer detailed what to expect and I felt at ease. 

My eyes teared up during the piercing which was quick and not painful. It’s been almost a month and it continues to heal well without complications. 

I wear my chain link proudly and it feels good to continue to please myself with self-care. 

Yes.

The septum piercing is self-care as it CELEBRATES me.

Posted on by Anelemc

Tears, Sunshine and Hair…

I drop tears every day. Over loss, grief and difficulty adopting to a new life without a mother to run to. I drop tears every day. Over not enjoying the hobbies culminated during Covid. I drop tears every day. Over not having family, being alone with no emergency contacts close by. I drop tears every day. Over the person who once was me filled with purpose, goals and drive. I drop tears every day. Over dying alone in a hospital or nursing home.

The movie, “Wit”caused trauma and profoundly solidified, how I’ll draw my last breath. Alone, with a terminal disease, in hospice and only a nurse by my bedside. The same scenario happened to my cousin who was born on the east and died in the west. I’d like to think you, my mom, will be waiting for me as I depart. Cooing words of love and singing, “You are my sunshine”. You watched me come into the world; I watched you go out.

I live to eat and not eat to live. I live to be and be to live. I live to please and please to live. I live to explore and explore to live. I live to live.

Memories are warm, snuggly like drinking a humongous mug of hot chocolate-milk not water and topped with gobs of whipped cream-no marsh mellows. I can laugh at our silliness over gin and tonics and smile over the hair always found in your food. I remember once your hair ended up in my mouth and I threw a fit as there were no tomorrows on the horizon. You swore apologies while the sun shined and refusing to accept them gave me power. Later that day, a thought emerged. One day I would long for your hair in my food.

 

Posted on by Anelemc

Spam I am…

Spam

The disgusting radioactive nitrate laden meat substitute 
my single mom working full time 
served with love and a pan-fried egg drenched in Mazola

Spam

Cooked in a small non-stick pan by
I, the latchkey kid to consume
after a vicious name calling day at Catholic school

Spam

Easy to open, cut into parts and thrown
into a pan of hot oil-how
the outside world treats a BLACK kid 

 Spam

The adult me still craves it and cooks it
although it’s now cooked in olive oil
as mom passed on   

 Spam

The consumption of this toxic delicacy is triggered by
childhood memories popping up time to time
along with mom working so hard

 Spam

The packaging feels like steel protecting the 
soft meat inside 
like how mí alma prepares itself before stepping out…

 * mí alma-my soul