Chills and Shivers

Anzaldua has this quote about mestiza consciousness that always sends chills and shivers down my spine. So I thought I would share.

On that day I say, “Yes all you people wound us when you reject us. Rejection strips us of self-worth; our vulnerability exposes us to shame. It is our innate identity you find wanting. We are ashamed that we need your good opinion, that we need your acceptance. We can no longer camouflage our needs, can no longer let defenses and fences sprout around us. We can no longer withdraw. To rage and look upon you with contempt is to rage and be contemptuous of ourselves. We can no longer blame you, nor disown the white parts, the male parts, the pathological parts, the queer parts, these vulnerable parts. Here we are weaponless with open arms, with only our magic. Let’s try it our way, the mestiza way, the Chicana way, the woman way” (Anzaldua 1987/1999, p.110).

Also, this poem written many moons ago by Misha Cahnmann absolutely stayed with me. So I share.

Driving Through North Philly

I see them. The shoes

on Eighth Street—there must be 

thirty pair perched upside down. 

An uneven silhouette of sneakers 

slung over electric wire; 

the lightness soaked out of them, 

except for the eager cleats, 

less familiar with the whims of weather.

Here a boy doesn’t give up shoes 

unless they give up on him; 

a face bruised with September 

and measured kicks through corn chip bags 

crushed in the side-pockets of this city.

I think of other reasons for these pairs in flight: 

maybe a test of gravity, feet got too big, 

or a protest against restrictions 

on tilted chairs, names gouged on desktops, 

on-time, straight lines in the yard.

For weeks I wonder until I stop 

to ask a kid from the neighborhood. 

We study each other: a black boy, 

backpack over left shoulder, pants big enough 

for two of him, and a white woman dressed like a teacher 

with notepad and loopy earrings. “Because it’s fun, Miss,” 

he says, as if the answer were scrawled on the wall 

behind me in oversized bubble letters. 

And then, “So they remember you when you’re gone.”

I think of the thirteen apartments I’ve lived in 

over the last nine years and how I’ve never left anything behind. 

I look at the newest pair, think how impractical 

to let color fade, perfectly good and out of reach, 

an empty walk on sky.

“I done it lots a’times, Miss,” he says with a grin. 

I consider how little I know about joy. 

What it’s like to throw something up in the air 

that’s important, that weighs something, that takes you places— 

and not wait for it to come down.

Both of the pieces just remind me of the value of accepting, going with the flow, letting things be, and finding joy even when things might appear bleak. I wanted to remind myself of that today. I hope everyone reading this will find their own inspiration.