the lighthouse built in 1874 and lit the same year stood like a resplendent bride against the blue and lavender aging father sky giving her away the edge was just there one four inch move and then
the back story:
i would gulp my chocolate milk shake with my little fat legs dangling from the counter stools peering down at the green and white checker board linoleum floor
an hour before the reason:
with the wind blowing in my ear i catch a few notes of “House of the Rising Sun” emanating from somewhere in the bowels of the tightly knit drunken biker crowd
trigger A:
child-hood memories float slowly into my head as i breathe deeply the Pall Mall smoke wafts by intermingled with the sea weedy odor from below the cliff
the back story’s back:
my mind wandered again into my mother’s ghost i loved studying her design patterns thousands of silk spools and the sequins and crystals God’s firmament in my mother’s house
smiling at Dr. Pang:
i loved to listen to my mother talk in that sophisticated German accent for most of my life she was as far away from me as the horizon i was looking at now
good Samaritan getting complicated:
a scratchy voice tore at the rice paper breeze midway he turned back to look at me and blew me a kiss as he melted into the small crowd
flat lips move at Dr. Pang:
my mother whipped me with yellow nylon rope every time she struck me on the legs thighs or torso the rope would welt up my skin and leave a red hot sting i could move but i didn’t
trigger B:
later that rainy night i awoke in the lobby from a very young age i discovered that an aching soul however would need a stronger analgesic
eclipsed mental decomposure:
i squeezed the memory out of my mind and as i removed my fingers from my eyelids a most beautiful black canopy covered the sky as diamond stars throbbed simultaneously i focused and marveled at such beauty it still causes such wonder in me to remember the night that the moon ate the dark
Dr. Pang concerned at the options:
for years i only spoke if spoken to and i kept my answers to only seven words or less i counted them i laugh about it now i was like Coppola’s Kilgore surfing through my own metaphoric napalm bombs
breakthrough perhaps:
she cut me up and sewed me back together again in her way the welts on my body were the fibers of strength that have helped me endure physical pain her harsh words were the sleeves and pant legs covering me protecting me from infinite poisonous tongues her rejection and unfair judgments were the thread holding me together when life’s sharp scissors cut into me
dear Mother and mothers and women and sisters and lovers and fighters and peacekeepers and spreaders of malice
to one and all rejoice in the day where the light began rejoice that we don’t know where we began because if we did i wouldn’t have the strength to stop myself from self destruction you mother the sacred mysticism
to all my sisters thank you for the pain for the wisdom for the guidance for the strength for the courage
to all those brothers who were teachers who were lovers who were predators who were violent who were kind who were fathers who were gentle who were respectful of the Flower
let us all rejoice that our first home is forever blessed let us rejoice and be thankful to our Higher Power She is where creation began and she is spirit woman
let us rejoice oh brothers that Adam did not have to endure the pain birthing us one nation under Earth one nation under us one nation under God is one nation under uterUs
let’s rejoice in our ability to recognize the importance of women of sisters of mothers of lovers of everyone in the light of being
let us rejoice that a woman created our body our arms our legs let us rejoice that in the concept of universal wisdom and teachings it is interjected with feminine living and guidance to balance which could be self and Universal deterioration
to all the feminists to all the sisters the women who seek to tear down as men do know that you are loved know that you are valued in all equality to all my human race that was begat from a woman’s place remember you have the power to choose to do the right thing
to all my sisters around the world cradling babies feeding them from garbage feeding them from their heart to the last bloody drop hear me and feel me i am here i can feel you i can sense you i am of you
your logic is your heart your will your inheritance your love never be tamed
-to all the women in the world young old new gone stay strong with love and respect
four tribes meet and they have been for longer than i can ever know
one Meso one Afro one Europe one Orient peoples beautiful all
same hearts one dream different strokes same same same
the bridge is there she lays on her mighty back we cross not just concrete slabs but worlds too
colors flavors scents labor dignity and the human ego of course
united by segregation of their color segregated from each other by being throw an occasional bone starving of their soul
but upon closer honest sober observation on days of rainbows i can see where the tears are stitched to form the Nation where i stand
we are Los Angeles
riots marches torn down houses strikes children centers Lakers unity churches merchants Mexican chop suey Columbian Korean fusion Woody’s ribs Lupe’s tacos Italian house Red Hot Chili Peppers surfers boarders models ballers
the four directions on the 4th street bridge and what it’s come to be and what we’ve become by it is the rainbow children of our Lady
so before the Hall keepers House gablers blues reds and judge and juries request your seats mind and remember
Porciuncula and her kids do lead and ever will this vast kaleidoscope table
words less spoken 