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

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.

Las Estaciones De Mi Alma…(The seasons of my soul)

Invierno (Winter)
Mi Alma duerme 

My soul sleeps
For winter
Happy in the cold 
Warm in the body
Embraced at night with furs that live
Wrapped in a sheet with feathers dead
Bring comfort to a comatose mind

La Primavera (Spring)
Mi alma baila

My soul dances
For the air is tinged
With energy and rebirth
Resetting my soul to sync
Within nature at its most
Obvious time

Artwork: Marvin Piqué

El Verano (Summer)
Mi alma se sienta con el sol

My soul sits with the sun
Moving in slow mo’
Jiggly with passion
Humid, Heat, Hotness
Because she can

El Otoño (Fall)
Mi alma duele con recuerdos de Perdida

My soul hurts with memories of loss
Diá de Muertos
The altar once filled with marigolds and 
Bits of food, pictures of the elders 
Sits in a cardboard box in the closet
Because I cannot, love cannot
Add you to them

Wood and paper come from trees
Heart and lungs rule the body
Loss and love nailed in the alma
Scars deeply 

My Cousin is hurting…

Sacramento-driving home to NYC
Sacramento-driving home to NYC

My cousin is hurting and I feel so helpless

He needs a kidney because the two he has are bad, bad and bad
There are no kidneys available for him
He is on dialysis 4-6 hours twice a week

My cousin is hurting and I feel so helpless

He flew to California to drive back to NYC with me, car and a rabbit in tow
He moved to California a few years later while I, still, am, here
He has six dogs and I have two

My cousin is hurting and I feel so helpless 

Mi primo aka GI Joe
Mi primo aka GI Joe

He inspired me to write “GI Joe and the Betty Crockers” (short story)
He is my childhood friend and former nemesis
He is mi primo, who brought home cabernet and chicken wings on Friday evenings after work
He is mi primo who’d go out to get a second bottle after we drank the first while reminiscing about the elders-the McCallas-who have a way of attracting so much trouble and producing so much emotional drama

My cousin is hurting and I feel so helpless

I am afraid of his illness, of confronting it, dealing with it, flying out there to take over, to take care of him-mama’s illness took a huge chunk of me out of me and the scar tissue that covers what was once the me is thick and crusty

 

Celebrating a b-day with mom, my mom and his Tia, his aunt
Celebrating a b-day with mom, my mom and his Tia, his aunt

Mi primo está sufriendo y yo estaré allí para él.

(My cousin is hurting and I will be there for him)