While I was working a little, white kid on the sidewalk outside yelled, “I’m going to run you over. Right now!”
A little white girl hurried out of his way, skittering, almost tripping over her feet.
Their daycare provider then announced, looking at my house, “If that was my house, I’d tear down those trees.”
In less than ten seconds, I heard a threat, saw fear, and then judgement and an apparent disregard for our little baby ecosystem in the cedars.
It made me think about my reaction to things and how important it is to not be a Judgy-Pants especially about other people’s property, but also to not always hurry out of the way when someone threatens you and wants to be where you are.
Usually on Be Brave Friday I share art that I’m working on, but I’m not working on any right now. This whole week I haven’t picked up a paint brush. But I have clacked away on my keyboard, so this is the best I have to offer you today.
It’s a random poem I wrote. If you know anything, you’ll know that poems are almost as hard for me to share as art.
I feel my tooth now that it’s gone,
A hole inside my mouth, stuck
Between the survivors, a gap and fuzzy pain
Reminding me of things.
I said I wouldn’t
Cry. Damn it all to hell.
I am not a person who sobs.
Not over a tooth.
I stared at the surgeon as he sewed me up.
I stared at the white light above him, thinking
About out-of-body experiences and how
The people who return always talk about
The white light. I can’t keep staring at it.
I try not to think about things.
I try to not remember how I’ve become the person I am.
“Don’t present as insecure,” other women tell me. “You’re strong
And talented.” And I just want to say, “Bitch, those are not mutually exclusive.”
I don’t care about followers.
I don’t care about how I present
I don’t care about well-natured advice telling me not to be me. I touch
The letters of my soul like they are traps, but they are magical, offerings of
Hazelnut charms, nine letters encircling themselves meant to be placed on a door
To keep the evil out. If only it were that simple, right?
I feel my tooth now that it’s gone.
December is the month of birthdays of the dead I knew.
Father. Brother. Jesus. Me.
Try not to skitter. Try not to threaten. Try not to judge. We can all share, okay? And leave the damn trees alone.
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