If I should have a daughter, instead of “Mom,” she’s going to call me, “Point B.” Because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m going to paint the solar systems on the backs of her hands, so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.” And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. I really like this idea, that pain and rejection is necessary and although it hurts it has a cleansing effect.
There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.
“And baby,” I’ll tell her, “Don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick. I’ve done it a million times. You’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you can change him.” But I know she will anyway, so instead, I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rainboots nearby. Because there’s no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.
Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rainboots are for. Because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat. To look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind. Because that’s the way my mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this,” my mama said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly, and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain, and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment, and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say, “Thank you.” Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shore line, no matter how many times it’s sent away. This image is really beautiful, but also I love how it mirrors the relationship between mothers and daughters, daughters always return to their mothers no matter how many times you argue or run away.
You will put the “wind” in “winsome… lose some.” You will put the “star” in “starting over… and over…” And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. This word play and repetition on win, star and mine/mind is really nice to listen to but also I like the connection it creates between pain and how she can cope with it.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
“Baby,” I’ll tell her, “Remember, your mama is a worrier, and your papa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more. Remember that good things come in threes, and so do bad things, and always apologize when you’ve done something wrong. But don’t you EVER apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small, but don’t ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache, when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.”
This poem is very interesting to me because the poem that I am writing is addressed 'To my daughter' so I like looking at what other women feel is important.
This is a pretty inspirational TED TALK from Sarah Kay about the power of spoken word poetry, I really like how she talks about spoken word poetry being so accessible for everyone because this is what my project is about. She advocates to write what you know to be true and talks about asking her students to write lists. This method encourages people to think about what they know and who they are, therefore their work is infused with the 'specific things that make you, you.' She also states 'that it is not enough to keep telling the same story' and that you must challenge yourself as a writer to push into new territory. She encourages that the first step starts with 'i can,' and that all you need is the ability to express yourself and the courage to present those stories. I think this is very liberating as she is not constricting voices by telling them to express themselves in a certain form but emphasises that you just need to express your story with bravery. She talks about 'the immediate connection' that spoken word poetry can have, it is so easy to feel alone in the world, yet you can watch a performance on youtube from someone on the other side of the world and they are expressing exactly how you feel. This is really beautiful moment of connection and it is important that people experience this. Most of all Kay encourages the audience to rediscover wonder, to look at everything with a child's eyes and not to become closed and cynical.
No comments:
Post a Comment