I have a poetry reading with 100 Poets for Change tonight at 7p.m.:
Red Rover Reading Series Outer Space Studio: 1474 N Milwaukee Ave, Chicago, Illinois 60622.
It's my first time reading in this studio and by some macabre twist of fate, I fucked up my knee at the yoga studio on Thursday trying to get into an uncompromising pigeon pose. The venue is three flights up, but I am still going and taking my son. I will just do some poetic penance on the way up for procrastinating on the poem.
Anyway, I was going to read two pieces, starting with the first narrative poem I published "Jesucristo Santificanos", but the reading is only three minutes long.
I wrote a whole new piece: “True Faith in Unity”. You see, the theme is "Sign of the Times" www.youtube.com/watch?v=8EdxM72EZ94 by Prince, which is a bitter sweet sad song. If you haven't heard it, the song is deep. With Trump in office, I am sure many poets will focus on the Trump-post apocalypse. I decided to focus on hope and vision.
My son is going to help me perform a small part of it from the audience because I included my children and their voices in it.
Way below is the draft. I will post it in the Poetry Section when I am done tinkering with it. Wish me luck!
Oh wait, I was watching Ted Talks to inspire me. And I caught this good one on writing daemons by Elizabeth Gilbert. Yes, I read the book: www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius
She talks about the writing daemon, and frankly my writing daemon, I hope you get off your ass and come back. I will start showing up to work on my novel and whatever other creative project needs to be done daily. Let's work together again, but don't clutter my mind with bullshit. (Watch the video and that rant will make more sense.)
Reinvigorate your writing daemon without booze. #Resist
“True Faith in Unity”
by Dr. Maria J. Estrada
People say those in power will always eat a gluttonous feast of misery and profit.
The poor will always get poorer.
They will be with us in the shanties of San Luis Rio Colorado, Sonora
Where indias sell harsh mint chicls and Spiderman keychains to American tourists.
In the Gaslight District of San Diego, Califas
Bleeding cardboard casitas and moldy sleeping bags of shame flap in the dry wind street
Under Chicago’s viaducts, drivers sometimes share a look of meaningful sadness—between texts—maybe throw pocket change at single mother and prisoner toddler, in her tent.
The rich will forever gorge on the fruits of that Puritan zeal, anointed by years of
Misogony, for money
tu bien sabes.
Y toda mi pobre gente? [ME1]
Que se chinguen!
Dreamers? Que se chinguen!
In fact, already rounding up criminals forever nationally tattooed gangeros.
Unions preaching that loving proletarian-arm in-arm, solidarity forever?
Que se chinguen!
Y Texas, Florida, Mexico,
Commonwealth like Colony. Like a Tourist Hacienda.
You asking for some sustenance? Quieren pan?
Necesitas agua? Some Aquafina in crystalline bottles?
Te hace falta la luz for the hospital? Para vivir?
I look to my children, who fill me with so much esperanza, [ME2] and I a wonder at their different celestial dreams.
Seven year old son, prays every day, “Dear God, Please make Trump a better man.”
My heart laughs amazed at his Faith.
My two year old hija so sweet, powerfully determined prays, for her friends, the scared,
Los zoo animals, her light-up shoes.
She knows nothing of Twitter terrorist threats, fake nuclear news against North Korea, China,
the selected Middle East.
Sure, let’s pray for our enemies.
Let’s also pray for what could be
Where abundance that is now
The technological splendor that is now
Will be shared gratis y sin verguenza.
Unashamed and free for all to have
And my children and your children and
—We won’t have to pray for their scraps anymore.
[ME1]Circle arm motion to include all.
[ME2]Point at Antonio.