Raven Moore's Blog, page 9

Europe and Africa

Democratic experiments

start with entry

then a discussion

or

a stare

and

retreat

then a private discussion about

the first discussion

or

stare

Africa first

then some Africans left

then some Africans followed

and the two groups merged

somehow

for several hundred years

or more

then

the first group to leave

said

enough

the first group controls

the second group

the second group is not really

the second group anymore

and it was always the only group

anyway

but

they leave

or die

or something like that

and then

the first group

goes after the second group

who went back to Africa

if they didn’t die

or something like that

then the first group controls the second

for a few hundred years

until the second group

remembers

they were the only real group

the human group

the true nationalists

via

human prototype

for the world

human in fact means African

you cannot be human unless you are African

you cannot be African if earth is not your home

the real group returns to where the first group to leave

stays

and that is today

the day

that so-called cultural purity

became a possibility although it

is way

way

way

too late

your Spanish is my Arabic

your French is my guttural

your Scotland is my Queen Scota

your gypsy is my gyptian

no seriously

it’s ours

meaning yours

meaning all of ours

this idea

of separation

is a hilarious fantasy

I am you

and you are

me

this is not the beginning

of the end

this is the end

of the beginning of the struggle

not really to win

but of people to think

that they are as different

as a house is

to a nail

instead of as essential

as a nail is to a house

stop thinking

camis means shirt

and camisa means blouse

and chemise is just

some invention

what’s the difference

and then I say

woman

and

man

were never as more

metaphoric of this idea

as we have different shapes

but still the same

blueprint

you can’t skin a cat

because the cat is too fast

for you

grow up

Already May

Japan is in April

no

May

I thought

this would have stopped by

now

another one

and

another one

every 5 minutes it’s one town

or another

Kumamoto has

no power 100,000 houses

no water 400,000 houses

no roads,

no houses

to travel through

we couldn’t leave here

if we wanted to

but still

we make the best houses

for this

we were built

for this

we thrive

and survive

even at 6.0

and 7.0

we adjust

we adapt

we rebuild

we’re inventors

there was worse than this

we clear the dirt off

chunk by chunk

and 1,000 years more

is it April still

no

it’s already

May

Tales on Rail

I’m the type of person that wants everything all at once. I expect the smoothest career path, the most handsome husband, the largest bank account, immediate knowledge of everything I need to know if I could just pick out the right bunch of books, and a gold medal prize as I climb to the highest podium block in the Summer Olympics all within the span of a few years. I don’t think I hallucinate. I think anything is possible.

I’m a Japanese translator, an independent author, a runner for life, a foodie, a traveler, and I’m deeply intrigued by identity. My love of identity exploration began in high school when I traveled to Spain for 2 weeks. Thereafter, it continued in the international environment of Georgetown University, a junior year abroad at Keio University in Tokyo, two years in Cote d’Ivoire as a Peace Corps Volunteer, and two more years in Hokkaido, Japan teaching English. I have been to 5 continents around the world, but this all happened several years ago before the reality of an un-smooth career path set in.

Now, I’m on a new journey—to figure out which rules of life I need to keep and which ones I need to throw away. Traveling has always clarified this for me. It allows me to see what’s important by finding out what’s important to most people. As I always have, from the moment my Dad introduced me to poetry to the moment I published “Padre!,” I want to continue exploring what is important to different people.

The purpose of my project is to start my second book about my Dad—I didn’t truly realize how much of my Dad was in me until he passed away last year. He too was a lover of languages, a writer, a poet, a runner, a foodie, intrigued by identity, and a traveler although he would only really allow himself time to travel in his mind and through books. He had to work too hard. So, I want to write a book that will allow others to travel in their minds and through my book about my father—one that gives people motivation to live life more passionately.

Your contest Tales on Rail is a fresh way to continue my exploration of identity, why we are all here, and how my father was able to become the man that he was regardless of one impossible situation after the next. I look forward to this opportunity to see places in France that I have never seen before and to discover Switzerland for the first time. I’ll be sure to use the soulful French that I learned in Cote d’Ivoire along the way.

IKEA

IKEA makes me think

of gambling

I sit down to play

with a machine

without instructions

without real instructions

like

how it’s really, really supposed

to go

like

if I really wanted to do this

really well

who would I have to be

how many hours

would I have had

to take

to get as far as

mastering a thing

before me

a thing before me

is glass

and it will break

as any rules can be applied

nothing is unbreakable

the scariest thing

is the thought of so many pieces

of

sharp things

that you can kind of see

and you can kind of feel

but not really feel until

it’s all the way in

and it hurts

and you feel disgusted

like

you tricked me

you slid right in

you inserted yourself

and to pull myself out

from being on top of you

or you in me

I have to pull

from both sides

you see

everything that is together

wants to be together

unless they’re not

so

how can I really say that IKEA

is tricking me or not

because they made it

the way it’s supposed to be

and who am I to question

but just do what I’m told

and maybe I’ll win

and maybe I just won’t get it

and then of course

there is also the maybe

I might

make my own thing

and make other people

play me

being me

I mean

see

you can only win,

lose,

or

play

and

once you win or lose

it’s over

Shoe Porn

This is

what I think of shoes

too narrow

too high

too thick

too noisy

always spreading me

out too thin

too late

too dark

too pink

too fantastic

I don’t care

about my feet

in some shoes

unless I’m running

20 miles an hour

in a race

that I’m winning

unless I’m spinning on the tip

of my toes

because of them

I don’t care about shoes

unless they get me

a business deal

a new car

a new house

and one less

corn

I cannot

wear shoes

that hurt

my feet

normal babies

come out

head first

One Acre

If I wanted food more than drugs

I couldn’t get it

These oranges are too orange

These bananas stay green

A farmer could plant it

A student could study it

A peasant could dig it up

but I could not eat it

right here

all the way here

all the way over here

but I could

smoke it

use it for fuel

I could get all the way across town

says Barrancabermeja

says my thyroid

says my liver

says these tumors

that I feed every day

on my way to work in the most expensive means

the bluest Xintang jeans

killing my kids

to kill your kids

right there

all the way there

all the way over there

subsidize my potato chips

I think

it’s the healthiest thing

I can find

in the supermarket

red peppers make my neck itch

green apples dry my throat

the only way you could

change yourself

is if you left it

this it

this all over it

if

you didn’t give a tit

you refused to birth it

you stopped

all of mankind

for humankind

then pressed rewind

then maybe

you could find

down in the well

you could see there was no bottom

because the bottom

always circulates to the top

somehow

never ravaged

just the source

the beginning

and in the beginning

when there was no beginning

it was always

the end

Peppercorn High

My stomach is full

but I’m wide awake

why is that you ask

peppercorns

sharp to the tongue

and bitter to taste

why is that you ask

peppercorns

I expressed my love

to a peppercorn

one day

and to my surprise

he had nothing to say

I buttered him up

I shaved him down

because he was giving me

the go-around

round me to the black

round me to the white

round me to the food

that I spiced last night

round me to the jungle

round me to the store

peppercorn, peppercorn

I don’t want you no more

Protection

Protection is sacrifice

it’s waking up early

in the morning

when you’d rather dream

about that guy

you check out

on Instagram

every few days

it’s not obsession

just obsessed

at that moment

Protection is a drill

that thing you do

over and over and over again

because you never do it

right

and there is someone who

does it better than you

and they even have

their own reality show

or maybe they don’t do it better

but everyone believes it

so it doesn’t matter what you can do

Protection is love

loving yourself

when at almost every moment

you get a really paranoid

feeling that

your life

is so boring

and you could be doing something

greater

but you’d rather

go eat a pepperoni pizza

Protection is means

having 3 jobs

one of which you don’t tell

anyone

about

because it has absolutely nothing

to do with any of your interests

you just want the cash

so you don’t waste most of your time

thinking about

not having any money

Protection is freedom

freedom to leave

whenever you want

even though you might not

but just having the thought

and letting your mind

wander about that reality

is enough…. maybe

Protection is laughter

that at the beginning

of the day

you don’t pressure yourself

to be the best

but you do pressure yourself

to get through it

Protection is real

because without it

when you fall down

and look around

and see that everyone is

very busy protecting themselves

you realize that all that they said

they cared about

really only involved themselves.

Things Are Still Falling Apart

I walk into Starbucks to find the safest thing to keep me awake. I ask for a small because I’m unfamiliar with the lingo. English is the least powerful. Then, the next sizes progress to Spanish. And finally, if you are trying to stay up for 7 days straight, you will need to brandish Italian.

“Short?” was not a question the cashier even bothered to confirm my request for a ‘small’ with and the cappuccino they tried to fill me up with did not even fill up the cup.

“$4.01, please.”

I stand waiting in a second line and have to wonder why, with that all too familiar question, why the person behind me gets their drink before me. Being upset is not something I ever want to be. But, it’s welling up inside of me. She even has the server inscribe a ‘Mrs.’ with her last name while I only give my first. Is she better than me?

Is this a form of subtle communication meant to make me go mad? Did I do something wrong? Is it what I am wearing? Is it my hair? How do orders change just like that? And, why does it make me upset?

“It doesn’t matter,” I pretend to feel even inside the safe walls of my mind. I don’t share even a visual grievance. I actually force myself to smile, but I’m kidding myself.

As my anger gives into subtle disappointment, my bowed head is quickly saved by the message it is then able to perceive. Beneath me is the New York Times and filling it’s front frame is the picture of a Nigerian grandmother who looks not much older than me, if that, telling the world how she was forced to take classes in suicide bombings to strengthen the power of Boko Haram.

For me, Boko Haram has no face as didn’t al-Qaeda—their center of organization in Afghanistan has no shortage of local East Asian faces. Can these faces be called Arabs even if they too happen to have a Muslim faith like al-Qaeda? Are we confusing ethnicity with race with religion again? The ethnicities of Boko Haram’s members, are they even the same as the ethnicities of the people they kidnap, rape, and kill?

As did al-Qaeda to Afghanistan, Boko Haram is also giving all of Nigeria a bad name and with a little more than half the total population of the U.S.A. and 1/10th the size of America’s land, Nigeria is the 7th largest nation in the world. Nigeria speaks more languages in one city than all of the U.S. combined.

I don’t assume that Chiraq in Illinois reflects what must be happening somewhere in Kansas next door. But, still, people assume this about what is happening in the very northern part of Nigeria with what must be existing in the rest of the country. It’s going to take over Cameroon perhaps. Chad and Niger are in danger, too. Really?

Where do we focus? Where does the bad part start and end? How do we know who is good and who is bad? Where do we not dare go on holiday? Brussels and France aren’t options anymore. Violent things are happening there, too. Are we paranoid? Are our jumped-to conclusions actually fanning the confusion?

“Things Fall Apart,” Chinua Achebe wrote and titled his famous novel. I would have to agree. It seems that the Holy War provoked by British missionaries in Nigeria in his book is now being provoked by Boko Haram in Nigeria in real life. And, so I have to ask myself in an as absurb a thought as possible in order to see clearly the dilemma—“Whose beliefs are right?” Everyone assumes that theirs is such.

In Achebe’s book, you are given both sides and you also see the absurdities of both as well as the things each side does that could make sense.

Where is the enemy coming from? How do we stop them? Why do they think they are right and that others are completely out of their minds? Some people know the “missionary position” to have been introduced by missionaries. Some people know the croissant to have been invented the day after the French won victory over the overpowering Moors—the crescent shape of the pastry representing the crescent shape of the Islamic symbol to be devoured daily as constant reminder of their conquest. Just, who are all of these religious people claiming to be first in line? Are they like you and me?

And then, when I think about the lady who got her fix before me in line and my consistent anger at such affronts, I realize that I do not know her and she does not know me at all. How I can I assume that my rules apply everywhere I go? Yet, how can I not if I believe they are universally good? And, what am I really supposed to do about it? Kill everyone who disagrees with me? And, is this a lesson, justice, or just hate? All of our differences, what are we really supposed to do about them when we don’t even know each other? Tell me, who is the most right? Who is the best? Who gets served first in line?

Just Like That

I’m rocking

Rocking

Rocking

like I used to

right before

we had to run

to catch it

on the last ring

to snatch the phone

off the jack

then call him jack

listen to the radio

not know that this station was

White

or this station was

Black

watch Superman specials

every Sunday night

not remember that

the next day was Monday

Worry on Tuesday night

listen to Aretha croon

Thursday morning

a tune that stopped the clock

make cookies and share them

with your neighbors down the block

sleep so long and deep

you never remembered how you felt

when you woke up

sneak downstairs to catch

Santa Claus

going up the chimney late at night

run outside into the sunshine

with all your fears

sunken into with every pedal

every jump over a wall

into a pond

go rolling down a hill

so far away

not knowing the day

would come

and go

just like that

not knowing the day

would grow old

just like that

did you catch it?