- "When they bombed
Hiroshima, the explosion formed a mini-supernova, so every living animal,
human or plant that received direct contact with the rays from that sun was
instantly turned to ash.
And what was left of the city
soon followed. The long-lasting damage of nuclear radiation caused an entire
city and its population to turn into powder.
When I was
born, my mom says I looked around the whole hospital room with a stare that
said, "This? I've done this before." She says I have old
eyes.
When my Grandpa Genji died, I was only five years
old, but I took my mom by the hand and told her, "Don't worry, he'll
come back as a baby."
And yet, for someone who's
apparently done this already, I still haven't figured anything out yet.
My knees still buckle every time I get on a stage. My
self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry, and it
still always tastes funny in my mouth.
But in
Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only a wristwatch or a
diary page. So no matter that I have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, I
keep trying, hoping that one day I'll write a poem I can be proud to let sit
in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed.
My
parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story God
told Sarah she could do something impossible and she laughed, because the
first Sarah, she didn't know what to do with impossible.
And me? Well, neither do I, but I see the impossible
every day. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto
others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you're
speaking, they aren't just waiting for their turn to talk -- they hear you.
They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It's what
I strive for every time I open my mouth -- that impossible connection.
There's this piece of wall in Hiroshima that was
completely burnt black by the radiation. But on the front step, a person who
was sitting there blocked the rays from hitting the stone. The only thing
left now is a permanent shadow of positive light. After the A bomb,
specialists said it would take 75 years for the radiation damaged soil of
Hiroshima City to ever grow anything again. But that spring, there were new
buds popping up from the earth.
When I meet you, in that
moment, I'm no longer a part of your future. I start quickly becoming part of
your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get
to share mine. And that is the greatest present of all.
So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I'll
probably laugh at you. I don't know if I can change the world yet, because I
don't know that much about it -- and I don't know that much about
reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I
forget what century I'm in.
This isn't my first time
here. This isn't my last time here. These aren't the last words I'll share.
But just in case, I'm trying my hardest to get it right
this time around."
- "If I should have a
daughter, instead of "Mom", she's gonna call me "Point B."
Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can
always find her way to me. And I'm going to paint the solar system on the
back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can
say "Oh, I know that like the back of my
hand."
She's gonna learn that this life will hit
you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the
stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind
your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that
cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that
Wonder-woman isn't coming, I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to
wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your
fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want
to heal. Believe me, I've tried.
And "Baby,"
I'll tell her, "don't keep your nose up in the air like that, I know
that trick, you're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back
to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to
see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first
place to see if you can change him."
But I know that
she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate
and rain boats nearby, cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't
fix. Okay, there's a few heartbreaks chocolate can't fix. But that's
what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you
let it.
I want her to see the world through the
underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the
galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that's how my
mom taught me. That there'll be days like this, "There'll be days like
this" my momma said, "when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only
blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and
the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your
boots will fill with rain and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment
and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say 'thank
you,' cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean
refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it's sent
away.
You will put the 'wind' in win some lose some,
you will put the 'star'0.
in starting over and over, and no matter how many
land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this
funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to
over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world
is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick
your tongue out and taste it.
"Baby," I'll tell
her, "remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are
the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for
more."
Remember that good things come in threes and so
do bad things and always apologize when you've done something wrong but
don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop
shining.
Your voice is small but don't ever stop
singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under
your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and
defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
- "People used to tell me that I had
beautiful hands
told me so often, in fact, that one day I started
to believe them until I asked my photographer father, "Hey daddy could I be
a hand model"
To which he said no way,
I dont remember the reason he gave me and I wouldve been upset,
But there were far too many stuffed animals to
hold
too many homework assignment to write,
too many
boys to wave at
too many years to grow,
We
used to have a game, my dad and I about holding hands cus we held hands everywhere, and every time either he or I would whisper a great
big number to the other, pretending that we
were keeping track of how many times we had held hands that we were sure,
this one had to be 8 million 2 thousand 7 hundred and fifty
three.
Hands learn more than minds do,
hands
learn how to hold other hands,
how to grip pencils and mold
poetry,
how to tickle pianos and dribble a basketball,
and grip the handles of a bicycle
how to hold old
people, and touch babies ,
I love hands like I love people,
They're the maps and compasses in which we navigate our
way through life, some people read palms to tell your future,
But I read hands to tell your past,
each
scar marks the story worth telling,
each calloused palm,
each cracked knuckle is a missed punch
or years in a
factory,
Now I've seen middle eastern hands clenched in
middle eastern fists pounding against each other like war drums, each country
sees theyre fists as warriors and others as
enemies.
Even if fists alone are only hands. But this is
not about politics, no hands arent about politics, this is a poem about love,
and fingers. Fingers interlock like a beautiful zipper of prayer.
One time I grabbed my dads hands so that our fingers
interlocked perfectly but he changed positions, saying no that hand hold is
for your mom.
Kids high five, but grown ups, we learn
how to shake hands, you need a firm hand shake, but dont hold on too tight,
but dont let go too soon, but dont hold down for too long,
But hands are not about politics, when did it become so
complicated. I always thought its simple.
The other day
my dad looked at my hands, as if seeing them for the first time, and with
laughter behind his eye lids, with all the seriousness a man of his humor
could muster, he said you know you got nice hands, you could've been a hand
model, and before the laughter can escape me, I shake my head at him, and
squeeze his hand, 8 million 2 thousand 7hundred and fifty four.
