I Will Look Up To You

by Damani Gabriel Lopez 7/21/2012

For his mother Julia Lopez on her 50th Birthday

Before it all, there is a feeling

Something that the beating in your chest

Synchronizes to

Something that makes your eyes glisten

Your pupils eager to learn

When the world offers you its body

Can’t you hear the angels celebrating?

Sounds like kisses from your mother

Your father’s vibrato resonating

In the pockets of your existence

Each as warm as a hug from the womb

But what is life without that

What is life, without my mom

I wish to look up to you,

Coming from the mouth of

A four year old boy

Fresh as soap

Standing in the shower

Tears falling with water

Dripping from the tangle of

His curly hair

 He learned that day,

As each second splashed on the floor,

That you can do things in ways

You’d never expect

 She came into the room

“Mommy, why won’t u dry me?”

“Monkey! You stood here so long,

you dried yourself!”

I wish to look up to you,

Even now as I’ve grown taller

And my assumption that you were a loving giant

Has settled into my imagination,

I know that you will always tower over me

 You teach me that I will always be growing

That when I feel I don’t fit in with the world

You show it to me at a different angle

Showing me that there is always a place to be yourself

I wish to look up to,

Coming from the tongue of an elderly man

His granddaughter on his lap

Telling her stories of her great-grandmother

How she accomplished the impossible

All while keeping a smile on her face

And her heart on her sleeve

That when someone mentioned Julia,

Their day didn’t seem so dark anymore

That when Julia walked in the room,

They remembered what love was

And he’ll smile at how much his granddaughter

Reminds him of her

Sweet dreams sunshine,

You’ve outshined the stars today

And you will everyday

Thanks for brightening up my life,

And guiding the way

I will always look up to you

Later-24 Days

6:59 AM I wake up to start the routine, getting ready to wake up, getting ready to get ready to go to work. 7:55 AM I have a few minutes before I absolutely must slide out of bed, push myself to move in order to be on time. 30 minutes is the absolute least amount of time to be able to make believe like I am making the bed, the least amount of effort, a shake of the comforter, up in the air, floats cumbersome, landing on the bed, covering the majority with few adjustments. Smoothe it out to cover the pillows, the corners and my old plush stuffed monkey. This constitutes the one act of leaving things cleaned up when I leave the house. I grab my towel and head down the hallway to the bathroom, to take a shower. I am painfully aware that I now have 27 minutes to pee and shit, I look forward to sitting on my new toilet seat, good quality. It took me two years to realize the landlord was not going to replace it and that I had to buy a new one, spend 21 dollars and 52 cents, because I deserved to pee on a seat without a crack that pinches my ass if I sit with my weight slightly to the left! 27 minutes to clean my body, arms first, neck, shoulders, breasts, belly, belly button. Gotta get in the creases as I have gained a considerable, perverse unhealthy upsetting amount of weight. Legs, feet, coochie and booty last, brush my teeth-yes, in the shower- pat dry as my 7th grade gym teacher, Mr. Piccinini always said is the best way to dry up. Hang up the towel. Stand in from of the sink, look in the mirror at my tired eyes, ask myself every morning, who am I? Looking like Mami, more and more, as the days go by. Apply deodor-ant, left armpit, right armpit, moisturize with another new lotion that I hope will keep my skin soft and hydrated, apply to face in an upward motion, make believe it will make a difference as the creases get deeper and the wrinkles get wrinkle-lier. Elbows, upper arm flabs, shoulders, stomach, backside-afraid those hair bumps will never smooth out-legs and heals only if I haven't stepped on the floor, which leaves residue and feels nasty on my hands. If I am in the mood, apply eye liner or tweeze out chin hairs or pluck an unruly hair embedded in the corners of my upper and lower lips! I try not to skip any of these steps in caring for my body, what may appear pedestrian, took me 3 years of therapy to create a routine of caring for myself, starting with making sure I bathe and groom on a daily basis, as to not fall into a slump and a slippery slide back down into the black hole that once provided comport and protection from the evils of my past lives. 8:21AM I have to put some pep in my step. I can't miss my Dunkin Donuts run; medium iced coffee, extra extra whole milk, 4 splendas and a bacon egg and cheese on a cinnamon raisin bagel or breakfast wrap or old fashioned donut. What to wear? Decide grey or black work slacks, print or black top to camouflage my chichos, lumps, and bumps, or a skirt with a loose fitting top. Shoes for comfort if I have meetings and need to move back and forth from the Kimmel or our admin offices two blocks down the street or heels if I will be at my desk all day. 8:29 AM gotta get outta here! Purse, car/house keys, open the door, cell phone...where is it? Not in my purse! Run to my bedroom at the end of the hallway, unplug, back down the hallway, open Damani's bedroom door, he's had it closed for the past few years now, wake him up to say goodbye, see if he needs anything or remind him of a task he's been forgetting to do for the past month, then luv you have a good day call me with anything or i'll call you later. Down the rest of the hallway, hand on doorknob, open the door, bells ring as they hit up against the door. 


6:59 AM I wake up to start the routine, getting ready to wake up, getting ready to get ready to go to work. Work? It has a different look these days.  

Game of Light in Shadows

                                                                                       image by Juan Sanchez

what is this blood, colonialist 

trying to bring me down

it is a part of me yet

it resists me

as part of 

my mother is waiting

for me to discover...
her, myself

for me to close down

the house of slaves

I built on every port

ancient and new

past and present

all the same

my children toiling

forbidden to read

forbidden to know

the glory of the word

the word from all around

360 degrees

forbidden to breathe

instead...

a day

of

mono

syllabic

sounds

a day 

to bring

them

down

unfamiliar sounds

bring them down

cut

their feet

no where to grow

stumped

they dream

of being

precious

again

being who they are

sitiing in a room

with no paper

to write on

no pencils

to create

to create

beauty words

words to document

beauty lives

beauty sounds

goosebumps of joy

feet full of sweet meat

brown caramel toes

to feel to walk to dance

with story, with purpose

with history with pain

My mother is waiting

for me

me,

in a house

of slaves

a house

modern and pristine

lux with distraction

things things

none of which

belong to me

all past my arms reach

a game of light in shadows

an unforgiving illusion

"La Oveja Negra"

48"x60"

Mixed Media Collograph print on arches paper

by Julia Lopez
Photo by Tony Rocco

"Graciela"

Excerpt

written by Julia Lopez

Scene 4

Martina

(After Singing Crisitina Aguilera’s“Beautiful”)

Stupid. (Confronting the audience)

Do you know who I am? I am la oveja negra, the black sheep of the family. Ah ha! I know some Spanish. O v e j a negra. Your misguided, misunderstood, sometimes clandestine, pitiful negrita. Not your little black lovely lovely one. No, the negra nobody wants because she’s bad and she’s too black. Wears black clothes, has black shiny finger nails, listens to black music, talks black talk, curses in black, she says fuck you, fuck this, I don’t give a fuck, and she won’t tell what she really means.

(She pauses and finds the scar on the back side of her right arm.)

See this scar…11 black stitches…it took 11. trying to shock I threw myself out of a window…after he… punched me in the head. No. He chased me down the hallway into Nina’s room. She and mom were on the bed, huddled together, holding each other and the wall, for dear life. I couldn’t get the window open. I swear he was in the kitchen looking for a knife. Seriously I thought he was going to…the window was jammed, it seemed like it. Manny looked like one of those evil looking medieval gargoyle beasts perched at the tops of the castle entryways. They were supposed to scare off the evil spirits. I was the evil one? I slammed my wrist through the window pain then thoughtlessly pulled it back into my body. That was a mistake. (Looking at arm)

Everything turned black that day…She walks with a black cloud around her head. Covers all her flesh in black. She has black scars, black scratches on her neck, black bruises on her belly, and has a black crooked walk.

(Martina finds a miniature black box in her pocket. She examines it and smiles with irony. She then recites from Emily Dickinson Collected Poems number XI (Barnes and Noble Books)

“Much madness is divinist sense

to a discerning eye;

Much sense the starkest madness.

‘T is the majority

in this as all prevails.

Assent, and you are sane;

Demur,-you’re straightway dangerous,

And handled with a chain.

love poem

                                                                                 LA, 2010

I can see    
the stars
the sky is dark
and if I just
face forward
it would be
just you and me


sound of your water
pushing up against me
pushing up
against the
sand and earth


It rained
while we were
eating
the sand is wet
I can
see you
moving swaying
hitting up
against me
my ears are happy
to see you
hear you again


at nite
you are more
alive
more you


not may witnesses
onlookers
pushing you
making noise
too new
too unnatural
modern sounds
your sound
is a million years
old


the darkeness

helps me
remember
you are rough
sometimes
unpredictable
all times
I think I know you
then you change
why do I bother
to leave you
to say goodbye...
just keep
coming back
same circle
and
always sad
when it ends


I keep trying
to run away
from you from me
I love you


every one of us
our own path...
yours is everlasting
you are always in
front of the
moon
in front of me

Smart Head

Smart head
beat down
starts young






you can't understand
the pain inside
all alone in a crowd
the brain moves
to different places
a zillion thoughts
competing for
one-spaces, the
hands get lost
don't know where
to stand
the eyes close
light too strong
too brite too dark
cant compete
smart head
it used to be
smart head
smart head
used to be
you loved me
loved me
smart head
beat down
starts young
you can't understand
the wire crossed
left right
never to meet
meet too much
in between me
and you
a zillion tears
don't know why
com.
   .
   .
not working
not working
trying too hard
to explain what
goes on in my brain
a zillion...
electric
competing
freezing
seizing
all reasons
to help
me move forward
you gotta focus
they say
focusfocusfocus
its easy, here
are a zillion
ways to organize
your self
more electric
shock thought
running bouncing
running through
my twisted fingers
pain shoots
up down
arms and legs
tense
with the trying
smart head
hurts
beat down
starts young
you cant understand
the pain inside
all alone
in the crowd
smart head
sometimes
i wish
for stupid
slow
oblivious
not caring
empty
no conscious
ness
unknowing
where
easy hard \
doesn't exist\
it is
thats all
all
straight forward
                  smart head
                  beat down
                  starts young
                  the pain inside
                  can't hide
                  from myself
                  smart head
                  head
                  wins

ReVisit

Carlos And What Happens When Flying JL
10/12/09

Draft 2-today

what can be given
that would be enough
you showed your self
released your you
for one moment
un momento
pueda que sea suficiente
para tener esperanza
tener fe en el amor
que tienes adentro
en el amor
sin condiciones
eres tu
un momento

14 dias de ser
No el que
That blurs reality
With the drugs of the colonizers;
Alcohol relentless
Relentless doubt
The trick that lands
Us in a cage
A delirious fist
That lands in the gut of
A police…man
The cop el policia
Que representa
Todo que no funciona
En tu vida
En su familia
Te conozco
Sin saber
Tu historia
un pedacito de tu cuento

Con tus ojos
Plucked cejas
Un abrazo
Eres mi hermano
Mi hijo
Conozco tu dolor
Tu deseo
De conectarse
Con otro, otra
Sin prejuicio
De ser aceptado
Reconciendo las ternura
De tu viaje
Tu sonrisa
Brazos abiertos
No queria dejarte
solo
you and Juarez
on my skin
still