Black & Kinky Amongst Brown Waves

i was not too pleased with myself this week because i did not write a new poem and then inspiration hit while i was on the bus this morning! i started this poem in February, while i was traveling, but i never finished it because it felt a bit stuck. this piece may still need some work, but it feels a lot closer to being finished today.

tin birds
© 2012 by margaux delotte-bennett

bellies weighed down by suitcases stuffed with wealth and
weighty expectations of
expedience

trademarked colors and shapes emblaze upturned and tinned
tail feathers

things this big should not be able to fly for hours on end,
but they do.

leaping over land and sea
cruising through space and time
losing and gaining hours in new ports of call.

this bird of prey fleeces pockets
divides classes
warps perceptions.

we willingly keep them well fed.

the tin birds roost on tarmacs tattooed with letters,
lines and symbols read from on high.

we willingly keep them well fed as they swallow us in one world
and spit us back out in the next.

i was looking through my india journals and found this piece i forgot that i had written. i have a few friends travelling around India right now so the subcontinent is on my mind…

dogs
© 2007 by margaux delotte-bennett

dogs
dogs in every shape
and size
and breed, minus the pedigree

some fluffy
some with patches of fur missing due to mange

some young
some too old to move

some healthy
some with diseased and distended teats
favoring a hurt paw
missing an eye or a piece of an ear

dogs are everywhere in India
bus stands
inside train stations
in village restaurants
on temple grounds
crossing busy streets
in tombs and monuments
even on the golf course

they are neither welcomed nor spurned
neither fed nor starved
neither noticed nor overlooked

they are just there
and everywhere

fighting, sleeping, eating,
shitting, fighting, sniffing,
exploring, sleeping, barking,
having puppies, fighting puppies, peeing, eating,
being a part of the landscape
while blending in
to the point
of almost going unseen

dogs
dogs
dogs

my one woman show open up next week at WOW cafe theater in NYC. this means that i am currently in an Indian state of mind… i am wearing one of my favorite tops from my travels, i am reading and rereading my script and daily being reminded of the stories and feelings that i wrote about as well as the ones that did not make the cut. the piece that i am gong to share today was written while i was traveling about a subject that i am still learning about. there is so much that i don’t know about the partition of India and Pakistan but this poem was my way to try and put it in a context that i could begin to understand. the books i have read (i.e. midnight’s children) and the movies that i have watched (i.e. earth) on the subject are painful and shocking and this was my attempt to process what i had seen, heard and read.

the past never is
© 2007 by margaux delotte-bennett

a friend of mine once said
for Jews, the holocaust sometimes shows up
in unexpected places
references sometimes lead down unexpected roads
a word or phrase unveils itself in another time or place

for blacks, slavery is the slippery shadow
seldom shaken
sometimes fleeting
subtly branded or shackled to words
thoughts
and deeds

for many Indians
it is Partition
its reality
its repercussions

in the Indian writers section of the bookstore
(it never ceases to annoy me that bookstores in India need to have one…)
but in the Indian writers section
I find myself skimming the back covers of novels
old and new
purposefully avoiding Partition references
for the gravity of emotions I know will be therein
(I’m looking for something light to take on the road…)

stories set in 1947
families torn apart
migrations east
migrations west
all clearly spell out
‘Partition heartache’
that I’m not ready to handle

when I am ready
I will read more
adding to the harrowing pictures that have already come into focus
through the Indian books and films I’ve already consumed

but even when it is not mentioned
Partition bleeds through the prose
as ghost trains pull into countless stations
and I see the bags of severed breasts
and the blood slowly seeping through
those sliding train car doors
again and again
I hear the screams
I smell the smoke
I taste the hatred laced with fear…

without having to look too hard
family stories
talk of Mujahideen
refugees
Hindu/ Muslim relations past and present
all rooted in Partition
the carving up of a newly independent India
creating east and west Pakistan as an independent Muslim nation
India as an independent primarily Hindu, yet Sikh and Christian land

Partition created strife where there was once peaceful coexistence
if not integrated communities
Partition created sovereignty where there was once religious oppression
if not dominance and control
on all sides
fortunes were made and lost
family members lost and found
fear found and woven into the fiber
of those that survived
and those that were taught to never forget

so the two novels I finally picked for my travels
both have strong Partition references
(unmentioned on the back covers)
like the seed around which the fruit of the story is formed
a hard, bitter seed
a sweet, fleshy fruit
tempting
intensely flavorful

painfully

satisfying

here is another poem and picture from my vacation…

the feast
© 2011 by margaux delotte-bennett

not unlike the stomach
the eyes hunger too
landscapes can grow stale
and eyes can long to savor sights that are
spicy
mouth watering
sweet

there is something so filling about gazing
on the color green
each blink capturing a morsel
of the luscious light
light rich with potential and life
the essence of regenerated matter revived
broken down into parts that can nurture the new

green like this banana tree grove stretched out before me
green like the 3rd stripe of his rasta bracelet
green like the belly of that iguana skimming the side of the road

green grass green
growing
reaching for the afternoon sun
and turning it into fuel
bended light spectrums
rare jewels or common leaves

and when I have had my fill
and this deliciously rich landscape fades into my past
the memory does not linger on the tip of my tongue
but in the mind’s eye
where it grows
and glows on

as i was get ready for my vacation, the idea for this poem was rattling around in my brain… it is a rough draft, but at a place that i think it is good enough to share. my national poetry writing month participation taught me that good enough is worth sharing. constructive feedback is always welcome.

winged prayer
(c) 2011 by margaux delotte-bennett

there is a prayer
whose breath is
intimately linked to the taking off
of airplanes

i close my eyes
center my shoulders and chin
as i unfurl the wings
of my prayer
to lift the pounds of metal
glass
nervous chatter
hope
up and off of the spinning rubber
and fleeting tarmac

i pray each plane i take
into motion
and flight

the wings of my prayer
slice through clouds
before becoming them
matter changing
as perspective
elongates
and time stands a bit more still

the sound of the seatbelt sign dimming
brings me back to the now
when the winged breath
of my prayer
can be still
until it is needed
once more