Saturday, February 4, 2012

day 196

(my brand new performance piece!! enjoy!!!)

There is war in my blood.
Between my heart and my genes
Whenever I try to picture
What my culture should really look like.

It has made me vain.

But I tell myself its acceptable
To stare at my reflection
As often as I can
Just in case I suddenly figure out
How my roots became so tangled.

Spending birthday wishes on
Answers to how I should behave as a young woman
Wearing so much ethnic make up
Before I was even allowed to wear lipstick
But this is when I let my lips stick together
Always nodded yes
Or no
To my elders
Not even knowing what they were asking me.

It kills me. Like
When new lovers started asking
What is your ethnic origin?
I swear I was doomed to walk this Earth
In circles
Because I can only state countries
Which seem as distant as distance can
While my remains tongue lightyears
Away from such foreign languages.

Some days, I begin to wonder, to myself,
What kissing trees did my parents
And my parents parents
Rendezvous under
And how many wars did they have to fight
Just to stay in love

How many cases of Romeo and Juliet is in my blood?

I've been having nightmares lately.

I’m beginning to see little martial artists
Playing Chinese checkers
On busy market sidewalks
And they’re walking

VIETNAM! they’re heading for Vietnam

And my grandmother’s army is over there
Wearing pretty ao dais
And smiles that just kill you
And they’re walking
Left left left right over there, they’re
Chanting- in some kind of broken tongued English
And remember, no matter where you go, there you are.

And they tell me to repeat them
But I stutter. Even though we’re finally speaking the same language
And remember..... no matter where.. you go, there you .....are

Like I'm learning these dialects for the first time again
DOES ANYONE HEAR HOW quiet my heartbeat is

And a French man in a coffee shop spots my grandmother
And they’re walking.
Under a kissing tree made to sound off bombs.
This is a Romeo and Juliet story.
Right in my veins.

Creating a soul made to love royal ballets
And I meet her, for the very first time.
She sweetly says Jum reap sour
What is your ethnic origin?

And I tell her what I’ve always wanted to tell everyone:
How everything alive in me feels dead
But she tells me what I always hear

You must have a lot of love in your blood.

I wake up.

There is a lot of blood in my love,
Especially when the wars begin.

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