Cave in the Marrow

OK

so I closed my eyes

and I went right into it

I took a deep breath

B R E A T H E.......

IN

WHOOOOSH

OUT

and all I could feel

was this

intense burning painpainpain

and still with

my eyes closed

I thought I could

visualize the meat

yes, the meat

the blood

the muscles,

the traffic inside my veins

the throbbing of the

cellular structure

going about its business

of keeping me alive

and in the meat

was my resistance

yes, tough meaty, jerky style

resistance

and then I saw it

the meat

wrapped around

my thigh bone

the one that was giving

me such a hard time

and guess what

I had to breathe again

in ......

out ........

in ......

out.........

even slower

than before

in ........

out......

holding on to my brown

skin over this

goddamn stubborn thigh

fleshy leg

with muscles over bones

and then it happened

I understood

that I was to go down

deeper into the tissues

and laugh at my jerky, meaty resistance

and when I did

I found

there was a message written

for my eyes only

on the bone

I thought was being pierced

with crazy pain

a message that in my mind’s eye

said

Welcome

Please take off your shoes

which I had already done

how silly I thought

and of course that

is what the mind does

notice things and

silly thoughts

and you keep

breathing and the sign said

or maybe it was the yoga instructor

who said this

RELAX

and BREATHE

WHICH I DID!!

And it was still there

my awareness that

there was something I

was either doing or not

doing about this

muscle/bone

stretching connection

yoga, unity, mind-body-spirit  thing

because I still couldn’t get as far as I wanted

and so I continued

breathing as I

looked about at the rest

of my body which

by now was getting hotter

and more resistant

to this awkward

posture I was in

Sitting on my butt

bent over at the

waist,

trying, but not too hard

because we don’t do that at Kripalu

to reach my toes

Head to knee

and of course

BREATHING.....

and hurting

until I got it

I didn’t have to

bend so far

I didn’t have to

strain

I didn’t have to hurt

I could pull back

and breathe some more

which I did

and that’s when I

saw that I’d gone from

the mind to the body

to the cave of the marrow

to the bone

and when I got there

I felt only one big thing

FEAR

So I breathed some more

and then I realized

that the

cave to the marrow was

holding something

that  I

was not prepared

to confront

the depth of

how much I

have hated this body

and that’s when all

hell broke loose

meaning there

was fire in that

meat and those

bones and it was

coming from my breath and my heart

and I stayed with it

until I could feel, I mean really feel like 

I had burnt off some part

of that thing, that hateful thing

that by now

looked like

a Darth Vadar ish

parasite

that I was determined

to love to death

by drowning it in the

thunderstorm of

my tears of

exhaustion

over how long I’d held

that hatred and that pain

that I found as I sat

and breathed in compassion

and breathed out fear

deep in the cave of

the marrow of my spirited bones

Anniversary

it’s the anniversary today of my

throwing your ring away

amd  my surrendering to

the decision to finally let you go

it’s the anniversary of so many

precious and painful moments I remember

of us together or apart

it’s the anniversary of that

firey moment in my

tiny kitchen on a

freezing New Year’s Day

when my eyes locked into your stare

as I clutched at my cup of cider

and chatted with you about nothing

as I played the  hostess

and shyly let you follow me like an adorable pup

begging for my touch and a gentle hug

and it’s the anniversary of our

first little breakup (of more to come)

and my days of crazy thinking

that if I just kissed a few other people

I’d forget the way you’d broken my heart

of course

we know what happened

as my fragile will gave way 7 weeks later

to your  plaintive cry :

“please oh please don’t leave me yet,

it’s your birthday

and a great time for making up”

and it’s also the anniversary

just a wisp of a year

after having been lovers

of immersing myself in the fantasy

that one day you and

I would truly work it out

and today still another year later

it’s the second day of a year

of knowing

that love is not about going crazy

or constantly breaking up

and that  forever as a lover

the memory of you

and your traitorous charm

are happily erased from my own precious life

yes, it’s the third anniversary of

my chance encounter

with a woman whose passion

wouldn’t let me go

and whose fear fought my

ever coming back 

oh how painfully sweet

I remember how we danced,

and made love

how we fed, and yes,

tortured each other

and how glad  I am to leave behind

the memories of

my hypnotic love

for your smile,

your wit and

your sneaking bittersweet charm

happy anniversary

dear memory

it was six months of passion and laughter

and two years of sobbing as

I crawled back to my own life

happy anniversary, love

I miss you

and then when I think about it

I don’t.

Bombs Dropping

On homes and children

And veiled wives

Lives shattered

And animals running

Scared

And I sit here in

Flannel pajamas

And contemplate turning

On the sad news

Or not

Feeling like I can do

Nothing

But pray

That the men in power

Who think they have

My approval will wake up

In some moment

In the middle of

Biting into their

Morning toast

And realize that bombs

Dropping cannot be

The answer to violence

When violent thoughts

And actions

Often have

A cause

In hurt and misunderstanding

By people

Like you and I

Who go about their lives

Working and wanting

And trying to have

A good life

Doing it of course

According

To their own damn rules

And not yours or mine.

Bombs dropping

Like tears from

The sky

Shattering the peaceful

Existence of

Farmers and goats

And sheep

And little children

Who won’t understand

What it means to be

Labeled

Criminal

By thoughts

Cultivated in fear

And ignorance

To be thought of

As a weed that

Must be killed

Or rained upon

By a shower of lethal

Bombs

Dropping

From an angry sky

By arrogant fools

Who think THIS

Will preserve our

Sense of patriotism

And courage

And THIS

Will bring back

The gluttonous

Times of eating

That good ‘ol

American pie.

Oak Park, IL 2001 

Windswept Vulnerability

[for writers' eyes]

There I did it

I dropped the letter in the mailbox

with my latest writings

to you

my friend

and my best

critic

the one I trust

because you generally say

such nice things about what I do

There I did it

I wrote about my mother

and cried at the end of it all

But truthfully

the vulnerability I just shared with myself

this past week,

and that I exposed in the rooms

with others

who don’t really know my name

and really don’t really care about me

that vulnerability doesn’t feel as bad

as the one I’m feeling now

the one that is being windswept

by the carriers’ bags,

the wings of the steel eagles

that is making its way

across Ole’ Miss

and plains

and mountains

and deserts

down to your street

and your doorstep

and your hands

and your caring eyes

yes the very eyes that

I know I can look into

and see loving

friendship

Ahhhhhh!

This exposure feels

so strange

I’m standing naked in

a line of girls taking a shower

in the mountains

I’m running through one of my own

dreams

the ones that I wake up sweating from

because I believed that I was

naked

head to toe

and everyone saw every

tiny ugly mole

and every crevice and wrinkle

on my usually

carefully

protected

covered body

That is how I feel

about sending you these writings

I feel naked and exposed and

ohsovunerable that I can

barely spit out the aawwwouuch!!

at the thought

that you might

read what I wrote

and you might

not understand it

or you’ll read it at a different pace

the one that I didn’t intend

the one that belongs after all

to the reader

the one I have to let go of

because after all that is

the writer’s task

to be in the middle of the

word, thought, letter, key, dot, comma and space

in the breath, the idea, the image, the feeling and the

connecting line of brain/heart/body power

that gives the things she writes about

LIFE

So dear, make me feel

better

tell me when you read it

that you liked it even if you didn’t

No, that’s not it

Don’t tell me you didn’t like it

even if it’s not the truth

no, wait a minute

cover me up with

a blanket of hugs and kisses

and then tell me the truth

the whole truth and nothing but it

and then tell me whatever

you read, felt, thought, believed

learned or didn’t learn

or what you wanted to know more

about what I wrote

and what I sent to you

today when

I put those pieces of

white paper with

printed words

that came from my heart

and that healed me from my hurt

and that I just had to put to paper

and that I just had to send you

because I trust you goddammit

even if I I get so darn afraid

and windswept and wobbly in

all of myself

because of this

awesome feeling of

vulnerability.

Weenie Power

What would it be like
to really tell you to your face
how enraged I finally am at you
and your fellow weenies
but especially you
in your representative capacity
as the head of this
institution
of petrified attitudes
for all the ways in which
you contributed to
the devastating loss
of my academic dreams?


What would you say if
I suddenly appeared
out of nowhere
minutes after you’d just
finished brushing your teeth
and were still adjusting
the collar of your shirt
and pulling on your tie
my presence seeming like
the fulfillment
of a nightmare
of meeting up with
a VERY ANGRY WOMAN
who with raging fire
spewing from my eyes
my pores
my hands like
laser swords
aimed at your
groin and shouting
You !
Hey you!
wearing that
cloth of power
Yeah you!
with the
stinking cigar
and the
vest decorated
with the nails
left over from
sealing my
professional coffin?

Yes, what would
you do if
you understood
that you’d buried
my spirit alive
and that
I’ve come back
from the land of
those presumed
a fatality
under one of the
rails of the tenure-track
and that it is burning
a set of footprints
on your doormat
as I await the
moment of
seeing you
buckle
just for a second
and reach for your
weenie whistle
and the aid of
your subjects
those marzipan soldiers
who confused
the Tin Man
for a leader
and like frightened roaches
are scurrying off
to other corners
under the
flashing lights
of the public’s scrutiny?

What would you do
Oh gracious leader
with your Cheshire cat smile
what would you do
if you understood
finally
that sandwiched between
my rage and my anger
there is an old wound
now covered up with scars
and that
I’ve just come back
to caution you
stay out of the way
of the healed warrior
who has reclaimed her power

I tell you what
don’t tell me what you’d do
I don’t really care
what’s more important
is that in this mind’s eye
I’ve got a six shooter
on my hip
we’re on a dirt street
in front of that shameful parlor
they call a learned hall of legal education
and you’ve got one too
but it’s me and my target-practiced
fury against you
and your
little weenie
power

June 1998, Kripalu,
Lenox, MASS.

SISTER FARM SERIES 2000

Tentative Tree/Dominic/Serenidad 

Tentative Tree

Yoga 

high up

at dawn 

standing in the 

Asana of Tree

and seeing the 

tops of cedar elm

out the window

Grateful 

for the miracle

of being alive 

healthy

strong

enough 

to stand with

one leg up

like a flamingo

arms outstretched to 

the open hill country

fingertips reaching 

for the heavens above

feelings 

emerge at the edges

of an imperfect stance

and from my current life station

un/employed 

and swaying to the 

windy currents of desire

and expectations

jobless yet with 

so much to do 

in that posture of 

willingness 

if nothing else

to hold me up

along with strength from the love 

and kindness of friends

who embrace 

my tired limbs.

7/21/00-SisterFarm

Boerne, TX

DOMINIC AT 4:16 AM

I’m in the middle of 

A really good dream 

Don’t you understand?

Sleeping in the nun’s room

And tossing with 

Menopausal fury

And then you come along

With a plaintive

MEOOWWW!!!

And my right hand reaches out 

to pet thick

fur and rub grateful

purring head

hoping

it’s enough to calm 

you for another hour

or so because

right now 

you darn

sweet cat

I’m too dead tired

to drag myself 

to the kitchen

and check out 

the finicky condition

of water, bowl or 

needy disposition

that brings you

into Act 1, Scene 2

of my nightly melodrama

the stories of my life

pulled out from under

the pillow of my aging 

desperation 

and replayed for the 

hundredth time again

and now that I think 

of it

your MEOWWW

came along

just at the right 

time. 

Boerne, TX – 7/21/00   

SERENITY/SERENIDAD

It is simple

Es sencillo

Dormir bien bajo las estrellitas 

A good sleep

under 

a canopy of stars

Respirando  los aires del campo noche y día 

Breathing warm earthen-scented air

at the day’s beginning

and in the middle of 

a chirping filled country night

La barriga llena de frutas, hierbas y verduras 

A belly filled with

fresh herbs, fruits 

and vegetables

Gifts from the loving hands

of talented gardeners

women graced with living

the feminine principle 

Regalos de las jardineras de la Diosa 

Viviendo bajo el orden natural y feminino

Dándole á  y recibiendo de

 la  tierra bondadosa

of giving and receiving from

the land 

Trabajando y enriqueciendo

Los terrenos con las aguitas

 y el sudor

de una cara sonriente

toiling and feeding the roots

with moisture from 

drip drip dripping waters

and the gently falling 

sweat of the happy brow. 

7/23/00 

Boerne, TX  

Prayer for Cada Dia

Everyday
I shall write about
this piercing terror
that needles through every
single pore of my skin


I sit at the computer
staring at lace curtains
late summer greenleaves
dampened trunks of
a giant cedar elm
and Southern pecan
after a drenching
thunderstorm


I thirst for a stream of
delicious words
honeyed by the warmth
of my faith
that I can travel inside
the mind of the Goddesses
Gaia, Athena, Isis,
Kali, Artemis and Guadalupe


I am at the tip of their strong
fingers, or they are coming
through the endpoints of mine
I am light on my strikes
to this molded plastic
they call a link to
humanity
the computer
my friend
sometimes
my enemy
the tool I use to
travel light years
in a moment of brilliantly colored
fantasy and thought

Come forth oh ladies of mystery!
come forth
through these muscled
hands that love to dig
the earth of my family’s
history and
find sad bones
tortured memories
salty braids of love lost
and hope betrayed
sugar rocks
and chocolate wheels
corn husks
blankets of coarse thread
clay bean pots
frijoles calientitos
and somber images
of el Sagrado Corazon
and La Virgen and her
Ninõ Jesús
burning candles
ancient ghosts
that made us laugh
and rosaries for
the dead

Come forth and show me
what I forget I already know
about what makes
me brown marimacha
special and not

Abrázame Diosa
Hold me Goddess
in your rebozo of
wisdom and light

Help me write
a word, a story that
will forever connect me
to those women I loved
and have now buried

to my cocinera, my cook
my tejera, my  seamstress
to my Abuela la jardinera
y a la maestra de mis
malas maneras

Yes, cada dia
everyday
I shall write
and remember
that the piercing terror
is a gift and a door
to las memorias
to unrelenting
word and prayer
to a rosary of love
and as many legends,
myths and old viejas’ tales

Yes, everyday
I shall remember
and be grateful
that I can remember
and weep and tell the stories
that make them
mis Diosas
and my written fragments
a way for me to feel
and never to forget.

Elvia Arriola, Austin, Texas, 1999.

The Alley

Strolling the alley
Of a run down working-class
Black, Latino and poor white
Neighborhood in DeKalb
I felt the air
Of an approaching springtime
A breeze gently swirled
Dead brown leaves that
Had been buried for weeks
Under blankets of snow

A green and purple shoot
Pushing through the warming
Ground
Reminded me
Of past Lenten seasons
Anticipation of Easter
Priests in purple vestments
The irises I would gift Abuelita
As her “flores favoritas”
And the aroma of baking
Bread pudding she called
“Capirotada”

Turning the corner
A brown family walked by
We all approached downtown
And the old railroad crossing
And then I wondered
How many changes had come
And gone in this little town
And old row of houses
New about a hundred years ago
How many trains had passed
Through these prairies
And the farms and the cornfields
Of northern Illinois
When did the first Mexicanos arrive
With their families to pick
The crops for the white farmers
And how did they end up
My neighbors in this little row
Of humble casitas near
The railroad tracks?
When did la frontera
Move so far north
To Chicagolands
Bringing with it
Men, women and children
Who walk by
Hablando español
Averting the gaze of an assimilated
Or anglicized eye?
How do they make barrio
And comunidad
And survive the icy
Cold whiteness of these
Midwestern plains?

E.Arriola, DeKalb, IL 3/18/02

Yoga's Divine Stretch

I thought of the divine
as possibly resting within me
and saw a flower of compassion
deep purple, pink, throbbing in its glory

I dared to consider
that my soul is illuminated
by a spark
of that energy we call God(dess)

Upon further consideration
of the divine in me
I saw lightning bolts
labelled joy, freedom
and an awesome love
for everything alive
that can make a rock weep
and clouds dance in delight

When I paused to reflect
how I might teach others
that our spirits, minds and bodies
in union
recreate the wisdom
that gave us the
star-studded heavens

I rejoiced

As I witnessed
the strength it takes
to whisper our hurts
into a pillow we have drenched
with our tears
or the courage it takes
to share them as we weep
and bathe the shoulders
of a comforting friend

And I owned the
courage it has taken
to stand tall when
I understood that
not everyone liked
but many more have loved
me

When I could envision
the wardrobe of my
leap of faith as I emerged
from this dungeon of despair
I saw pearl-capped mountains
holding me up tall and proud
warrior’s armor polished
with ruby red breath
I wore emerald green trees
and sapphire laced blankets
for a child’s pose

I saw the union of
my body with spirit and
a restless mind

I saw my off-the-mat-yoga
as a dreamer’s
notion of what it
means to express
being both human and divine.