You’re Write, Dear

She smoothes her hands over the roundness
Fifteen
too young to be old
she wraps herself against the cold
of loveless anger and screams shattering dreams/
Wrapping tighter in her blanket
in her fierceness
believing
that love she never had
could warm her heart
her baby’s heart
and bring true a secret wish for both
counted on 10 fingers and toes
redemption of a love that could make them whole
and hope.

A soldier pulls a screaming voice from the rubble
tiny bell ringing between the bombs
follows the sound
emerging with survivor swaddled in his shirt
the sweetness of sound like music
among the blood and ruin.
Handing the baby to the hospital nurse
eyes meet in a sad hopeful almost smile
between tear-brimmed weary faces
looking at the answer to why they carry on
10 fingers and toes
Redemption for the future
And hope.

Two families
parent and child
hugs at the airport
grandparents and kisses
and miracles.
One family’s triumph over tests and shots and years
crushed dreams and tears.
Another sprung from someone else’s womb
discarded
but only a moment without love
swept up by parents, borne in every way but blood.
Redemption wrapped in receiving blankets
counted in 10 fingers and toes
a family’s love
and hope.

So while I delight in sparkling trees
snowman and presents
voices in song
each December.
from this year on
I choose to honor the occasion
by the single reminder
of a baby’s birth as a miracle
from Bethlehem and Helsinki
Bangalore and Bangkok
Manila and Miami
and in between
remembering that gift we have been given
with 10 fingers and toes
redemption of every living soul
and the greatest gift of the birth
Hope.

Carla Dodd

Conversation forgotten

in favor of his soft mouth

we lay tangled in the carpet

under the stairs

When he sat

upright

and announced

“Today we will go over

the alphabet.”

I pressed my body against his

hoping to convince him

To play hooky

(or at least dismiss early)

when he pulled me down to him

softly touching his forehead to mine

pushing my body arms’ distance back

hands on my waist

and said firmly:

“A.”

The student giggled at the lesson

Teacher locked his ankles

with mine

put his finger to his lips

widened his eyes

sternly said

“B.”

The warmth of his breath

on my neck

hands surveying the landscape

quieted me at

“C”

Teacher’s serious eyes kept the class in check

Until tangled bodies

An impatient pupil

(and the sense of a very long recess)

ended the lesson

at

“I.”

April is nearly at a close, but it’s National Poetry Month. I hope some of you are taking advantage and jump-starting your writing! If you haven’t started, there are two good “Poem a Day” writing challenges. One is at Poetic Asides (a blog on Writer’s Digest.) Fifty (50) poems will be selected from these to be included in an electronic book (e-book.) Those that complete all 30 prompts by midnight on April 30 can get a certificate of completion. The exercises are at http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides

The second challenge is at www.readwritepoem.org, called “Napowrimo” (sp). No prizes, but the kicker here: you can link to both Facebook and your own website/blog, driving traffic in both directions.

I haven’t written 60 poems, but the ideas have refreshed me. Here is one I wrote for ReadWritePoem, for Prompt 23: Put on another (cowboy) hat, and write as though you were “wearing a different hat” in life. My poem is in third person, in an everyday blue collar job with a twist:

Live Nude Aftermath

Fake pine bypasses his nostrils

Drill into his brain

Numbed by headphone drumbeats

And sickly sweet disinfectant

He squirts and sprays

Wipes and scrubs

Sweeps and mops

Washes and dries

Climbs up and steps down

cleansing

the damp and filmy

stale and sweaty

perfumed and powdered

slick and greasy

traces of humanity

inverted

on a vertical silver swizzle stick

stirred on the floors

of the audience

occupying the mannequins

who have fisted their paychecks

and checked their humanity at the door

night after night

retiring to the faux paradise

of faux pine aroma

wiped down

to reboot what passes for pristine

in time for the businessman’s specials.

I live in the suburbs. I fell in love with this place as soon as I hear the rustle of the trees on my dead-end street, saw the river that ran behind the neighbors across the street, watched the chipmunks scurry, and well, yes, realized that our furniture would fit and the commute to my husband’s work was less than 45 minutes.

But if you ask me, I might qualify the suburb I live in, but to my heart, I live in Detroit. When we left the St. Louis (Missouri) suburbs after living there 25 consecutive years (and 45 of my 50,) I was FROM St. Louis, not Richmond Heights or Florissant or St. Charles or St. Peters. My home address may have been outside the city limits, a disdain for those inside the St. Louis city limits, but my memories and field trips and dollars and much of my entertainment took place in the city, from the Zoo to the stadium to the Arch to Forest Park to Soulard Market and Washington Avenue to the bus ride to my dad’s shipping dock on the near north end.

I haven’t been here long (June 2006) and have much to see and do and learn, but I want my friends and family and even the friends I haven’t met to know all of me…and all of Detroit. The area has gotten a bad rap, mostly from strangers and from those who don’t see what my friends in the city have seen–and the waters I’ve dipped my big toe in.

Having lived in two metro areas that are struggling, I know there’s a vibrancy that others don’t see–and the fierce loyalty and passion inside the city limits, and outside too, whose memories are etched into living and loving it here. Also living in a “metro,” I know that the bickering of city/county/limits does not serve to refresh the blood of the area.

My wish is that strangers and visitors and friends and neighbors inside Detroit and out will seek out its treasures, will find the Detroit its city dwellers so fiercely protect, and the best of what I have seen and will see. I hope they will take a little love away, leave some memories and dollars and come back with friends to help the blood of Detroit pump stronger.

And what does this have to do with poetry? I have finished a rough draft of a poem, called “Living at the fingertips” about this subject.

I would love to hear from some of you, wherever you live, to tell me about where you live and what you love. Convince me to love it too.

Living at your fingertips

I may have chosen to live at the fingertip of your right ring finger

front porch view of the sparkling bauble of lake waters

rustling breezes through your long hair

but I  know

that inside your city is your heart and soul

and when I reveal myself to my now and future friends

the family of my own soul

the stranger at the crosswalk

they may sleep in the palm of your hand

touch the curve of that fingertip and admire your bauble

but to know me, to know

you, to really know us

I must show them your heart

walk through Eastern Market where the sounds and smells and people and music

of you

is wrapped in the warm arms of downtown

to feel the sunshine on your face in the blanket of summer at Comerica

and watch the sparkle of nightlife speaking in many tongue

from the throaty call of jazz

to the castanet clicking of the words of the poet

and in that discovery I hope to know more of your soul

discover more of mine

so we can keep the blacks and browns and blondes

the languages and smells and sights and sounds coursing through your blood

pumping life into your secret soul

and showing your open and warm and giving heart.

I can drive past most signs, on most days, and not think of them until I need them. But yesterday, I drove past “Independent BMW Service.”

Well, of course I know they work on cars, but I couldn’t just leave it at that. Plus I was at a stop light-often a dangerous thing for a fertile mind. So I wondered if Independent BMW Service was:

• A community service bank for import cars, not affiliated with a political party, to find a volunteer opportunity, or
• A “draft board” of sorts for mercenary import cars to go on covert missions and “black opps/operations” for the right price.

Now, some of you are still laughing, but some of you are embarrassed. You know who you are-you’re the ones who see the ordinary, and your minds go off in all sorts of directions, creating images in pictures and words that most won’t think of.

To the latter: you can’t really stop it. You shouldn’t fight it. Writing, and art, are EVERYWHERE.

After all, I got to breakfast at the diner across the street, and my coffee creamer had words stamped on the coffee cup art: “For Your Coffee?” Do you, too, wonder if their customers have really gone to the emergency room for other purposes? Are there too many people in research and development who have stacked the little creamers to the gills? Or is there some sinister use that scientists don’t want you to know?

Don’t just laugh it off. Creativity is a gift, and you might as well cultivate it in some manner. Plus I’ve found when you create from the mundane, it helps chip away at writer’s block. (The pun was unintentional. Really. Just use this week’s writer’s exercise to play with what your muse has put into your head.

Meanwhile, if you are stuck in writer limbo, take these tips discussed last week from my writer’s group:

• Keep a notebook and fresh pen or pencil, a voice recorder, or (if possible) nearby 24/7. When you have an idea, you can at least record the immediate thought. (Please do so in safety.)
• Invest in a book light or flashlight to keep with your writing tools by your bed. Use it when inspiration hits and you don’t want to wake anyone else up.
• Write down at least the thought NOW. I have literally had ideas fall out of my head in the three minutes it took to wake up enough to go across my hallway to my computer.
• If at all possible, jot down the idea and everything you can come up with that’s associated with it. Try to get enough on paper/recorder/computer that you’ll remember the inspiration when you come back to it.
• Even better: squeeze out the time to write a first draft down. Legions of other creative people are sketching, writing, recording, drawing or keying their thoughts in the bathroom at work, the coffeehouse, the stop light, the parking lot, and just about everywhere.
• Make time to write. You HAVE time even if you don’t realize it. I know a dozen parents who write after the children have gone to bed. One of them, my friend Chris, stays at home with an 11-month old who is crawling and climbing at an impressive pace. Chris is also a wife, a team skater, is working on her thesis, and is up to Chapter 7 of a young adult novel! Naptime, stoplights, late night, early morning, coffee breaks, after work waiting for rush hour to begin are all bits of time you can squeeze out a few moments.

Meanwhile, I’ve got to go. I just looked up and saw a vending machine with a caption that reads “Sticker Universe.” It’s amazing how whole galactic entities can be visited through a coin slot…

Writing is everywhere, so this week tune in to bits of conversation, look at stickers, photos, signs, and things in nature.

1.     Pick out three things and jot them down

2.     Brainstorm with yourself and write down any ideas that come to mind about that sound, vision or collection of words. Snow falling from the roof could be the fallout from squirrels skiing. Write down your ideas, no matter how you think they may sound.

3.     If you like, sketch or draw or photograph what you see.

4.     Take one of your ideas and go farther. Write a rough draft of a poem, story, or scene.

5.     Take time to revise and create a finished product if possible.

6.     Don’t stop there. Go on to the next item.

Right now, in my world, there’s the world Near Detroit (ND) and the World Outside Detroit (WOD)…but that’s not really true. There’s a third world, and how ironic that it’s a “third world” of Connections To Carmakers (CTC.) And there’s more people living in, and impacted by CTC than much of the WOD knows…so please, please get this from someone who is here.

I live in suburban Detroit. My husband and I moved here when his company, which manufactures auto parts, transferred us from another state. You can’t walk around our block on a nice day without running into a neighbor who is CTC.

Please stop listening to the hearings and the executives for a little bit, and know how bankrupting the auto industry will affect millions of people, millions of dollars, and put you into competition with these folks for the jobs that already exist.

There are entire companies devoted to making auto parts, etching the glass with vehicle identification, manufacturing tires, manufacturing the fabrics and metals and plastics and rubber that are put into the cars, transporting materials and parts, distributing them from warehouses.
It trickles deeply down from there: workers in all these industries will have to cut back, or cut completely, from their regular expenses
(a) Everyday expenses like medicines, doctor visits, clinic visits, groceries, and fuel for cars
(b) Services like day care, babysitters, barbers and hairdressers
(c) Entertainment like movie theaters, bowling alleys, sporting venues, community and larger theaters, comedy clubs, bars and pubs, restaurants and nightclubs, tourist attractions and parks

Now, those are what I can think of off the top of my head. Imagine how much more there can be!

My husband works for a company that manufactures auto parts, both original equipment (car manufacturers) and aftermarket (for Sears, Auto Zone, Pep Boys etc.) Because of the recession and financial cutbacks, in autumn the company announced a shutdown for the three work days before Thanksgiving and the two days before Christmas Eve.

At least partially because of the cancellation of orders from the car manufacturers, another change has come. About 10-14 days ago, they announced that there would be another shutdown, and employees must choose between the first and second full weeks of December (Dec. 1-8 or 9-15) to take off without pay. Employees may file for unemployment, or take any vacation days they have left. (Steve will lose 3-4 days’ pay; he had vacation time for the first week.)

We had no way of knowing, or preparing, for the cut in pay. So here are the quick ways in which we are trying to keep our expenses down:
1. Not spending as much at the grocery store
2. No movie theater
3. Cut down services at the hairdresser
4. No breakfast out during the week (I normally go once a week out to breakfast.)
5. Drastically curtailing going to restaurants (something we do 2-6 times a month, now probably going to 1-2 times)

THAT IS JUST US. Extrapolate from their for families larger than ours (2 adults) with children, longer layoffs, and possibly losing their jobs, and you fully understand the impact that shutting down the Big Three has on this country, and globally.  Every dollar you spend will be affected by every dollar that those who are CTC don’t spend.

And don’t forget the number of families that will not be traveling to be with extended family and friends because they won’t have the means during the holidays.

We who are CTC are in cities and towns, large and small, all across the United States. Michigan will take one of the biggest blows, but if you’ve ever been to a great little small town that has an auto plant in ANY state, the town diner, the grocer, the gas station, the local mechanic, the video store…those people could lose their jobs if their customers don’t come.

You don’t have to embrace the executives and the mistakes of “The Big Three” (Ford, Chrysler, and GM.) I don’t, and neither do scores of people inside, outside, and surrounding the automakers.

This is bigger than that. That’s why I’ve written my Congressman, my Senator, the current President, and the President Elect. When I think of someone else, they will hear from me too.

SO PLEASE CONSIDER THIS when you talk about the auto industry. It’s not just executives and bad choices at the top. It’s not just me. It’s not just Detroit.

Sooner or later, the collapse of the auto industry could help collapse your world, too.

First, a note to the driver of the beaten cargo van, the guy with the big curly hair and black horn-rimmed glasses who looked my way and uttered “Wow, you are FAT.”: Thanks, Captain Obvious. It’s not my only gift. I can read lips, too.

For the most part, I’ve gotten accustomed to the looks from people who notice my size. Relax. I have mirrors in my house, so I am just aware as anyone around me what I look like.

I no longer make apologies, excuses, or explanations for the size it’s taken 32 years go grow. In fact, it’s YOU I pity. I believe the verbal obnoxiousness of people, on this subject and any other, are a way of believing you can elevate yourself by putting others down.

The odd comment I can deal with. Sometimes I even fling a comeback. But I will admit: since my parents raised me to be polite, there are some things that I have heard that have stunned me to silence. Those obnoxious-to-outrageous comments stopped me in my tracks at that time.

However, among some of my friends, I am queen of snappy comebacks. So for those who have silenced me, here they are, with the original offender’s comments. (Don’t forget to read to the end for my favorite solution of all.)

Feel free to add, or contribute, your own comments:

“Well, you know, that neighborhood has become awfully…DARK.”

(Dramatically whispered at a business networking dinner in the company of an entirely Caucasian audience. For this one, I couldn’t help myself; I had a prompt comeback.)

“Well, maybe they should call the power company to update their lighting. I’m sure that would solve the need.”

“Well, you ought to think about babies yourself. You know, your biological clock is ticking.”

(Said to me when I was single, 24, not dating anyone seriously, at a baby shower for a friend.)

“I’ve hit the snooze.”

“I want a puppy first.”

“You’re right; I’ll pick out a ‘baby daddy’ tonight at the bar.”

“Darn, I was really enjoying just having meaningless recreational sex.”

“Well, he liked just everyone and anyone. He even liked n****** and Democrats.”

(Said at visitation before my father’s funeral ABOUT MY FATHER.)

If only I’d just put my arm around the person and said sweetly, “That’s right, and remember, he loved you too.” (more…)

I love dance class. That’s probably not a declaration you’ll get from every plus-sized, 49-year-old woman.

Belly dance appealed to me from the start. I went to see a friend (whom I met through her day job) dance at a nightclub about five years ago. There were dozens of students, teachers, and appreciative fans. What really hooked me was the other dancers: younger, older, larger, smaller than me. At the musicians’ break times, ALL the dancers and students would get on the dance floor. Not one of them looked like the way her stomach, hips, or anything else looked or felt mattered. Nobody commented or stared, excepting happy laughter and applause.

My friend was amazing. In any other moment, she is friendly and engaging, but a little on the shy side. You don’t see it when she dances. In that moment, she is beautiful, sensual, confident and happy.

That performance opened the door to discovering that each dancer has a “secret life” waiting to express itself. I saw the secret reveled in class this week. (more…)

The circle of trees outside the window

Bends and sways

To the song of the wind

And each tree dips her limbs in turn:

The first opens her arms to the horizon

Rippling like a python;

Another flutters delicate fingers in the breeze

Sculpting sensuous shapes;

The next draws circles from her lowest branches

As the circle shimmies in the breeze

And they return to a single circle,

Twisting and undulating in winter sky.