Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Living Breathing Poetry
I needed to pick up a few things at the store. I knew, when I thought about it, that this would be the perfect way in which to live out a little poem.
I walked to the store, a poem in itself in my mostly white neighborhood. Maybe I'd get something to eat at the white normative restaurant just down the street from where I live. OK, OK, OK...this has to be done delicately.
I sifted through my books before I left having, unfortunately, left my current book at work. Ah! I found it, "Anarchism." A copy of essays from Emma Goldman.
I walked down the street and I thought of a co-worker who tells me I walk like I'm looking for a fight. As I head down the streets of this white neighborhood, I don't smile.
I get into the store, throw my book into the basket and head for my first product, a beer. Not just any beer, a damned good beer. Over to over the counter pharmaceuticals section for a bottle of alcohol. Up to customer service to check out, but not before asking for a package of pipe cleaners.
The counter help is a beautiful old woman. She just let her long hair down in wonderful wavy streaks of black and white. She is short, and sweet, and grandma looking. I set my other purchases on the counter as well as my book.
She rings up my stuff and asks, "are you purchasing the book."
"Nope," I say. "That's my book. You guys wouldn't be selling that kind of book here."
She looks at the cover as I continue to work the debit card machine.
"You're probably right," she said, and I crack a half smile, the first in this little journey.
She bags up my items and as she is placing the receipt in the bag, she says, "that's an interesting combination of things." My body straightened up proundly. I grabbed my bag in one hand and my book in the other and gave this beautiful woman a big smile.
"Thank you," I said, and headed for the door.
I walked to the store, a poem in itself in my mostly white neighborhood. Maybe I'd get something to eat at the white normative restaurant just down the street from where I live. OK, OK, OK...this has to be done delicately.
I sifted through my books before I left having, unfortunately, left my current book at work. Ah! I found it, "Anarchism." A copy of essays from Emma Goldman.
I walked down the street and I thought of a co-worker who tells me I walk like I'm looking for a fight. As I head down the streets of this white neighborhood, I don't smile.
I get into the store, throw my book into the basket and head for my first product, a beer. Not just any beer, a damned good beer. Over to over the counter pharmaceuticals section for a bottle of alcohol. Up to customer service to check out, but not before asking for a package of pipe cleaners.
The counter help is a beautiful old woman. She just let her long hair down in wonderful wavy streaks of black and white. She is short, and sweet, and grandma looking. I set my other purchases on the counter as well as my book.
She rings up my stuff and asks, "are you purchasing the book."
"Nope," I say. "That's my book. You guys wouldn't be selling that kind of book here."
She looks at the cover as I continue to work the debit card machine.
"You're probably right," she said, and I crack a half smile, the first in this little journey.
She bags up my items and as she is placing the receipt in the bag, she says, "that's an interesting combination of things." My body straightened up proundly. I grabbed my bag in one hand and my book in the other and gave this beautiful woman a big smile.
"Thank you," I said, and headed for the door.
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