Emily and I went to this poetry slam thing last night. The slam is where I met the long-haired poet, and I knew he would be there again. I didn't go necessarily to perform, but when I walked in, I was feeling it, so I signed up. I wrote a poem on the backs of fliers on the tables while I waited for my name to be called. Here it is:
Yes Juan, You Can
I dress with scarred skin, cover up with makeup
Dressing for? Who?
Earrings, mascara.
Walk in to sixteen six-year olds.
Strange.
They only see my hand reaching at the front of the line.
Will she hold mine?
They don't look at my bronzer.
Not at my trendy brown jacket.
And then I get it.
Somewhere between shoelaces,
Caprisuns and the sand coming from the webs of their fingers after recess
I see it.
On Cecilia's gold tooth.
It shone from Leo's dimple.
Look, I wanted to cry, I understand!
It doesn't matter what the short sound for "A" is.
This means LAP.
Juan Luna clutched my legs during "Mrs. Grindy's Shoes."
I UNDERSTAND.
Maybe at night, I long for a green embrace,
a man, arms and heat and pressure.
Here, though, my libido shorts out
and I am not feeling like any of that.
Is there room?
No, there is no room for insecurity
in this warm carpet circle.
Who I am here is not a student,
teacher, facilitator, sister, mother-
though I feel the tiny fingers of each inside me
molding.
There is no room here for pretense.
(Plastic memories of fake breasts and Los Angeles
creep in- I look at Annabelle's too-small
pant legs and delete images of fake tans)
Tiny hearts with mine
read together-
I am moving-
we are living-
we are in love.
And as they gather their ratty backpacks
shoving handwriting samples in,
Juan Luna walks up to me,
with his three braids:
(never been cut, nappy and dirty)
"Miss Roellke, can I live with you?"
He already does,
beneath my Maybelline
inside my trends
below my beaded earrings
in the dirt of my fingernails
and clutched inside my ribcage.
I made it to the second round. I was called up before the following poem was written, so they gave me extra time.
X-Box and Fox
I promise to listen to every song you recommend
Lyrics, bassline
Come on
COME ON
Just put on the music.
But no.
Faint color lines over this television instead.
I wish you could see
how much my brain turns to mush with this
American Idol on mute
is more than I can handle.
All I want is your hand.
Do you put
me on mute when I call?
Is it too much to as
that someone
just one person
OPEN THEIR EYES?
Halo 2?
Alias?
Is this your love?
Why don't you just look into my eyes?
I have something to say.
Someone else is telling you where to park your heart.
I have three spots available.
THREE SPOTS.
FREE PARKING.
But the joystick.
The game.
The remote.
Is more.
Than me.
Sad, that these animations
are more
than what I am
to you.
I won second place.
