madame zenobia's

1. i have an older sister who passed away. her name is elrica marie, and she's buried in the national cemetery in chattanooga, tn. we share the same middle name, and our first names aren't that far apart. when i moved to chattanooga, my mom said: "now you're sister doesn't have to be alone."

2. i love long road trips. i don't mind syr to orl...love playing dj and cutting the music up...by the time i've arrived at my destination, my voice is gone.

3. i wanted to be a marine biologist...found another career path but my love for the ocean remains...

4. i'm shy...very awkward in social settings...have a hard time meeting new people. i just never know what to say.

5. i'm afraid of the dark. i still sleep with a light on...i hate a dark house.

now i'm tagging...
http://jenwingard.wordpress.com/
http://www.mywordsarebetter.blogspot.com/
http://krawson.livejournal.com/

three is all i got.

poem of the day
(i don't know if it's really a poem, but it is the result of a writing exercise.)

no title
me

gray streets cuts thru the hills and create a labyrinth
if you aren’t careful, you could easily get lost on the gray streets
among the gray headstones

evergreen grass on the hills is always well manicured
plastic flowers are gaudy at plot #34
understated at plot #890
and missing from plot #72
every time I visit, the wind is blowing
only enough to rustle trees
but not enough to mess up my hair
they know: messy hair makes me uncomfortable

the black rod iron fence, although slotted
seems to do well to keep sound out
broad street the entrance
market street to the left
cars zooming, only stopping at the light
i’ve been stopped at that light
at the intersection of market and broad
but very rarely look left

I only see the cemetery when I’m looking for it

And the cars that drive thru
On the gray streets that cut thru the hills
Are quiet, too
Muffled tires seems respectful of the dead
Or it could be that I’m thinking about Elrica
Thinking about my mother, a young filipina woman who lost her first child
And was too far from San Fernando to get any comfort from her mother, my lola
Thinking about my father, a big black man who had married this young filipina woman and took her away from tart mangoes and santol and monsoons
Who brought her to Chattanooga, Tennessee
Where nobody is welcomed
brown, black, or white
and asked her to bury her first there

I always have to look for Elrica
I can tell the difference in the curve of the hill
Can chart the placement of the other headstones
and recognize the tall oak that shadows it all
I can never decide:
gerber daisies or the floral assortment on sale at Bi-Lo

Elrica Marie Norris
18 months
The National Cemetery
Chattanooga, Tennessee
In the old south
Where time passed over
In a large cemetery
Where time waits
For more plastic flowers
And crocodile tears