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December 29, 2006
the brookneal entry: the word became flesh
that was the title of sunday's lesson...yup, had to go to sunday school on Christmas Eve and 6am service on Christmas Morning...that's how we get down in brookneal, virginia...
i made the 9-hour drive (81 south to 64 east to 29 south to 501 south)to visit the family for Christmas. my grandparents live on a stretch of highway bordered on both sides by open land. every few miles, a house, a gas station, a volunteer fire department, a fruit stand, a church, a cluster of trailers would appear and then disappear in my rear-view mirror. then more highway and more highway and the constant hum of tires on the road. i left syr early morning because i didn't wanna be driving 501 at nite--those two-lane highways make me nervous. but i made it all the way there and all the way back...safely, soundly, sanely (?). the morning that i departed, my grandfather prayed for traveling mercies for me.
and the word became flesh...i've been thinking a lot about that in the context of sunday school, my diss prospectus, my family, and the rest of the world. to make something real thru the utterance of my (are they really mine?) words. i'm trying to make something real with this diss project, i know. that's the goal, and i guess that's the frustration and the pressure. i've been advised to just write the damn thing and "stop trippin" and i've been trying to do a bit here and a bit there. and now it's time to get on it...making the word flesh.
when i visit my grandparents, i feel at home and alienated simultaneously. my family is very conventional and conservative, and i am neither. but we don't have any of those ugly family scenes where we're arguing about politics, religion, or any thing like that over rice pudding (which was the bomb) and chittlins (also the bomb). the closest we came was a heated discussion with my uncle about whether or not racial profiling was fair. i'm so different and often wonder how did i get here? where did i come from? but i'm here, and they love me. they don't get me, but they love me nevertheless. actually, let me take that back. they get that i'm me, and that's all-right.
Christmas Eve service was just wanted i needed. i didn't even mind Christmas Morning service @ 6am--meaning we had to be at church @ 6am, not getting up @ 6am. i was determined to get to church on time on Christmas Morning because we were late for sunday school, and my grandfather did make mention of that fact during service. i won't try and write how and what i felt during service. i'm not that great of a writer just yet. i can say that my soul was satisfied.
my cousin sang a solo on sunday. now before service, i was just thinking about this song and how i would like to hear it. my best friend, when we used to live together, would sing this song in the shower whenever she was feeling down. i would sit and listen by the bathroom door and feel better. when i heard the first note, i started crying and kept crying until he was done. i'm not sure of the artist, but here are the lyrics...
why should i feel discouraged
and why should the shadows come
and why should my heart be lonely
lone for my heavenly home
when Jesus is my portion
a constant friend is He
His eye is on the sparrow
and i know He watches me
i sing because i'm happy
i sing because i'm free
His eye is on the sparrow
and i know He watches me
blessed and happy holidays and a safe and peaceful new year to all...
Posted by emnorris at 11:24 PM | Comments (0)
December 17, 2006
e/words (a certain kind of blue)
hooks
strips of brown flesh hang
from stainless steel hooks
left in the sun to toughen like leather straps
her exposed tissue succulent and soft
as she had always been, mostly vulnerable
but she hadn’t asked for any of it
and had grown tired of her brown flesh
peeled away from its frame
by policies and protocols
designed for soul-less bodies who do not cast shadows
she had been filleted well before that summer night
his knife slid swiftly through her muscles—she died on a city street
countless rains can never wash blood off sidewalks
off his, their, our hands
she tried to untether from the machine
her fingers tender from hook pricks
for every hook loosened, another dug deeper
until her pain became an after thought
that she was only reminded of it when she walked in the sun or cried salty tears
the machine is always there
and it drove down the street that night
and it looked for violations
and it found her
and pulled tightly on the line
Posted by emnorris at 02:11 AM | Comments (0)