"Manhandled"

I grew up hearing the term "manhandled" to refer to improperly or roughly handling something or groping another person. I never doubted the veracity or thought of the sexist undertones of this phrase until a few nights ago.
I was out with friends and started getting antsy. I needed to move. I went over to a place I usually dance at with another jittery friend. We skipped the line and snuck in a window on the side of the building and it was on.
Dancing was fun but soon I got tired of my limited dance square and decided to try another place. I popped over to a smaller less crowded bar. In it I found better music and a smaller crowd. Perfect.
I noticed a friend and started dancing with her group. My hips swayed and bobbed as I let loose all my stress and energy.
At first a kind of timid bespectacled girl latched on to me. She was sweet and occasionally put her arm around my neck to draw me closer. Harmless attention. Then I felt a person bump up close to me from behind. I expected the assuming impertinent move came from a man.
At first it seemed that way as a muscular figure in a ball cap appeared in the corner of my eye. I backed away and the new girl assured me, "It's not sexual, it's just dancing."I didn't want to be rude and I thought well, I dance with friends that are girls all the time. What's the difference?
Slowly fun dancing turned to her grabbing my ass. I was startled but responded by moving her hand and expressing my dislike of this advance. Some how to her that meant touch me more. I stopped focusing for one second and found myself hoisted by my ass onto this woman in midair. As if I being small was a child she could pick up however and whenever she pleased. I told her to put me down and pushed on her shoulder only to realize how feeble I was in comparison.
She said "Come on dance!"I said "No!" and crossed my arms and went limp until she let me down. When my feet touched the floor once again I flew to a guy friend I saw, and wrapped my arms around him shaking. The girl came and tried to apologize to me but it was too late. She had disrespected my body and I was scared of her.
I could still feel where her hand had touched my bare ass ( I was wearing a dress). While I walked home alone I had a realization. All my life I had attributed perversion and sexual aggression to solely men. Bad men perhaps, but men alone.
That night I realized disrespecting and taking advantage of there people belongs to no gender. Any time a stronger or more powerful person forces a weaker person to do something it is wrong. "Manhandling" can be done by all mankind. When the strong threaten the weak, no matter their gender, they become the aggressor.

For my wandering friend

One day we'll walk
these streets again
like we once did
when you told me
of the girl you had loved
You wove your story
and soon enough
I wove mine too
until one day our weaving
became interspersed, intertwined

For now you need to unravel
to spread your threads
and gather new colors
wrapping in and out
of iridescent beads

But I know
one day we'll walk again
excited, inspired, yet content
speaking in feverish circles and swirls
as our feet squash crunching leaves.

Warm Brick Wall

Dear friend
You are a warm brick wall
On a breezy spring night...

Una mancha

Una mancha

Dejaste una mancha

en la colcha de mi cama

a veces no la veo

roja e irregular en contraste

con el verde

La descubrí después

de nuestra ruptura

no lo entendí

hasta qué recordé 

el corazón que dibujé 

en tu pecho 

PUBLISHED SON!

HOLD THE PHONE.... MY POETRY HAS BEEN PUBLISHED ONLINE!
http://www.revistacronopio.com/?tag=sydney-louise-clifton

http://www.revistacronopio.com/?p=12159

Don't let go

if i had a time machine
i'd go back and close my mouth
i'd take your hand and kiss you strong
and never let your fingers go

Mi hoja

Mi lindo
sales de mi como
una hoja llevada por el viento...

the rain

the rain

            As a young girl and a teenager I had a very romantic view of the world. Partly caused I’m sure by the copious amount of Disney movies and musicals I gobbled up at home. In high school I imagined my future romances with all the lovely trappings of the romances and romantic comedies I filled my brain up with. The strongest image and dream for me was to have my first kiss in the rain. You know one of those Darcy declaring his love moments but with an earlier happy ending and mutual profession of love. In fact I intimated this fantasy to the first boy I dated. And we waited and waited for that sublime moment to seal our mutual affection with a dramatic magical kiss. Every time it rained we would both text each other “it’s raining” but he never got to me in time.

            Today I instituted change in my life. I cut all my hair off and ran my hands through my Mia Farrow pixie and felt strong. I dressed for class in a big sweater and combat boots and left sans umbrella. After teaching my students and enjoying our lesson I looked outside at the torrential downpour, which had begun. I walked with a student talking for a while, then finally was able to walk alone blasting my music in my ears. The rain poured and I took off my sweater to further protect my backpack from water damage. The drops rolled down my face, in my eyes, to my chest. I did not have a moment where I danced or met my true love. I didn’t kiss any sweet but shy boy who was perfect for me. I walked alone my head held high and my shoulders back. I enjoyed nature’s baptism. I felt washed anew. Reborn. Strong. Free. My life is not what that little girl or teenager expected or hoped for. But not all fairy tales have princes and not all need them. Sometimes a happy ending is a girl standing tall as she walks through the rain.

Etching memories

Please stay a little longer

I am etching you

Into my memory 

Every smirking boyish smile

All the chocolate warmth 

That swirls in your eyes

The lilt of your voice

As you tell a story 

And the geometry of your lips

Just sit a little longer 

It's almost done 

A painting of my friend Jordan Reyes

Night Wanderer

Night Wanderer

            She lay still next to him; his warm long body nestled between the lavender sheets. His soft calm breaths fill the room. She rests her head upon his chest but her eyes will not yield as she tries to join him in peaceful dreams. She gets up quickly bouncing like a sparrow across the bed to the freedom of the carpet. Blue and deep it swirls like an ocean she must cross. She pulls on a long sweater and walks languidly to the next room guided by a stream of orange that spills through the window onto the floor. Without thought she pries open a rickety blind and looks at the fuzzy halo that lights the night. Her mind bathed in colors.

Explosions

Explosions

He spoke to her in explosions. His words like crazy firecrackers popping around the room. “Wanna go bowling with me?” “Wanna go grocery shopping with me?” She knew very little about this boy except that he mispronounced her name and made strange comments about her paintings. She was always so startled she loudly squeaked back “No!”. One day she waited locked out of a building, freezing. As she stood up to leave who should walk up but him. Her hair freshly cut and her body adorned in a black leather jacket, he looked right at her. His face slipped into a Cheshire cat smile and he purred, “I like your hair”. She stammered an awkward thank you and followed him into the building; they had never been alone together. She began to get out her supplies to begin to paint; the building was so silent. He said nothing, wouldn’t even look at her. She watched him walk into the bathroom and shut the door. Then she waited and waited. Twenty minutes later, he came out.