waiting to be discovered

I come back, back to myself
my ears lost in my hair
skin in hide and seek

while waiting for the rain
while making some tea
I am owed

after I leave I wait to arrive

an endless innovation 

of grief, of joy 

loneliness is only an ongoing

connection with time

strange at its best

I learn how to speak to myself 

in courageous tenderness

and enact rest

________________________

Pic: The kandi bracelet Nu made me and Tiggy-Winkle (after Beatrix Potter) the fidget hedgehog KPB crocheted for me. They look like they could be friends and live together!

"do your job" / Karma

SO many of my friends showed up outside Rep. Tom Barrett's office today to protest. Titled, "Musk or Us," the protest was was supposed to get Barrett to fight back. So many people kept asking me to go to this one--I know a lot of very committed people! 

I had to keep saying no, because I had committed to coaching students in Baltimore working on their Baldwin Prize essays via Zoom. As it turned out, their heating went out and school was (and meetings were) canceled. But other related meetings took their place. Reportedly, there's another protest on Monday and I could go to that.

SD and AH sent a video of themselves chanting "Do Your Job!" and it occurred to me that basically it was a call for Barrett to perform his duty, his karma. Which made me wonder again how karma became shorthand for revenge or payback. Of course things get lost in translation, and "karma is a bitch" and "karma is a cat" are catchy sayings but distort Hindu philosophy. One of those chai-tea things that seems impossible to correct at this point.

But Rep. Barrett should do his job, his karma; he should do the right thing.

Pic: SD and AH sent me a picture of the crowd outside Rep. Tom Barrett's office. 

steps to space

I am five and a "flower girl."

In the nativity play. 

(It must be one of the roles they give out when the real parts are gone quipped someone recently.

It's probably true.)

I have a new dress with flowers on it. I have flowers in my hair. I am so excited. 

My mother wants to know if she can help me rehearse "my steps." She means my choreography/step-by-step moves on stage. 

I have no idea what she means. 

(I have nothing to do in the play. I merely stand in a line with the other bit players and throw a flower or two out of my basket.)

It becomes a small "thing." 

Do you know your steps? she keeps asking. 

I have no idea how to respond.

I have a brainwave and tell her that I can't say them but I can draw it for her. 

She's confused. But ok. 

We find some paper and crayons.

I proudly draw her a series of descending interconnected "Ls" to make a picture of stairs...  they begin and end in emptiness.

*

At is nearly five. This child is my life.

It is summer, my favorite time of the year. 

At is an easy, happy child. We've spent hours cuddled up,  painting, reading, exploring in the community garden...

In this moment, At's health status terrifies me. "Failure to Thrive" a medical resident said with a smile once. (I know they were smiling because they'd solved the mystery diagnosis and not because my child might not live, still...) "Failure to Thrive" makes mealtimes and food intake strenuous and stressful. 

It is summer, my favorite time of the year. 

It is summer and At has no school.

I am in grad school. I am newly widowed. I have spent the day parenting alone. 

I owe my advisor a dissertation chapter, I owe a colleague a book review, I owe the IRS what seems a lot of money.

It's finally 7 pm and I put At to bed. After reading and singing and talking (At has always LOVED to talk), it's 8 pm and I'm getting ready to slip out of At's tiny bed. 

"Stay!" At says. Hopeful eyes, cheeky smile.

And I (will forever regret that I) said the tired thing in my head. "I have to go, Kanna... I need to make some space for me." 

"Wait-wait!" the lonely child says--tiny, triumphant hands eagerly sweeping up books and stuffies to make room, "I'll make more space for you!"  

____________________________

Pic: Rainbow-tunnel-carwash. Stuck there, it seemed both grim and hopeful at the same time. 

my tiny domestic tragedies

Big A seemed a bit better yesterday. But he didn't think so. I think he likes being taken care of. It makes me think of my hero, June Jordan, saying "None of us has known enough tenderness" and how Big A is usually the one taking care of people. Today A says he's better... but not well. Tomorrow he's scheduled to work. He plans to go for it despite my misgivings. 

Last year, when he ended up in the hospital for a week it was because of complications from the long Covid he got when he went to help out in NYC at the peak of the pandemic in May 2020 (way before any vaccine). So this third round of Covid terrifies me on a deep level--I keep imagining the effects lingering on even after things seem normal.

In the hits keep coming department: Nu's extensive filling came out, they slipped and fell on the ice, and their phone stopped working. Guess which thing made them cry? I'll have to get things fixed for my baby tomorrow.

This piece by Mhawish "I Spoke With 20 People in Gaza After the Ceasefire. My Heart Broke 20 Times" is as heartbreaking as it sounds, and is searingly poetic and will live inside me forever. This is massacre delicately uncovered to help us understand how excruciating the human loss in *each* of the hundreds of thousands reported dead, injured, and bereaved. How domestic tragedies multiply into humanitarian disgrace...

Pic: It's still icy, but there was some fresh snow, which made it easier to walk on and brilliant blue skies and sunshine. Max, Huck, and I are easily pleased, I guess.

things I did I can be proud of

I called my political representatives about the government coup by Musk. I used 5calls.org and it's really easy as they hook you up with the relevant reps and provide a script if you want to use it.  

I tried something new... I applied to a medical  humanities conference over the weekend, and... I got accepted! I think I can use professional development funds to attend this one. (This reminds me that I ought to submit poems to journals. Some poems got picked up by anthologies last year, but I didn't actually send out any all last year. That's terrible. I shouldn't be so afraid of rejection that I never get accepted!)

I tidied my closet... and everything looks so bright and boutique-y. I catch myself going in there like a dork just to look at it. 

I got so many recommendation letters for students and support letters for colleagues done. I was talking to Big A about how I spend too much time on these when the prevailing advice is to get them done as quickly as possible. Reason #457865 to love him, he said of course it makes sense for me to do things in a way that leaves me feeling satisfied. (People depend on these things; I never feel like I can just dash them off.) 

Pic: A sord (I had to look it up) of mallards on a floe on the Red Cedar.

things I was told this week

Nu's pneumonia came up when I dropped in on the girlfriends yesterday. As I was wondering if I should be around other people, DV, who was such a rock when Nu was in distress, told me that the CDC has changed its recommendations for the pneumococcal vaccine, lowering the age recommendation. I'm getting it. 

As I was dropping Nu off for driving practice this morning, I told them I'm very self-conscious as I drive up to their instructor's car, making sure to keep my hands in the 10-2 position and all that. And Nu told me that actually, now you're supposed to keep your hands in the 9-3 position because of the possibility of airbag injury! And also that perhaps I should drive badly, as it might be helpful. The instructor would cut them some extra slack because they'd be like, Whoa! That kid has a terrible role model. Thanks, Nu.

A person I love love love dearly told me that they're separating from their partner. Twenty plus years ago, when we were all in grad school, they'd brought this person to my Thanksgiving table as a friend. And in a phone call later that week I'd said to them that it seemed like the other person wanted to be more than friends. They got married a few days after Big A and I did. My person has supported their soon-to-be-ex emotionally and financially for nearly two decades and this just fits the overall trend and it sucks and I am heartsick. 

While I was coordinating a welcome gift drop-off for a cousin's new baby, I casually asked my aunt what new adventures she and her husband had been up to since they were now empty nesters... and she told me she'd just divorced him. I wasn't expecting this for all the obvious reasons, but also because they had had an arranged marriage, and I think this is the first divorce in that generation on my side of the family. This is huge and liberating--I'm so happy people are looking out for their happiness without letting tradition and fear of scandal get in the way. 

At did a class on inoculation for other organizers in their old bedroom before family dinner this evening. When I was dropping them off at their place, At told me that in every class, they mention how I talked to one of their Indian coworkers in Telugu and how that helped build a connection. Aw! I feel like a small part of labor history!

Pic: The Red Cedar in spate. (Just past the stadium.)

missing, mixed up, and meandering

Thank you to everyone who sent good wishes to my missing students in Gaza. I hope it's just that they're goofing off. Also, can you imagine signing up for something like "Literature Survey 2: Romanticism to Post-Modernism," while being bombed and displaced? (I can't.)

I've been thinking about them all day and then those thoughts get mixed up with how much I love my human kids and my canine kids (I don't think I'll ever recover from losing Scout). And then about how when the kids were younger they'd get jealous because they could tell I loved my students. It's no secret that students matter a great deal to me and for the time they are in my care, I love them dearly and consider it an honor when I get to continue to be in their lives as a mentor and get to see their new jobs, and weddings and kids and reinventions. Someday, I'll be like Mr. Chips, my kids just lists of all the young people who have meant so much to me.

(And lately, as I get older, I feel waves of affection for young people in general. Babies and toddlers and little kids and tweens and teens obviously. But also random young people. Like the other day, I passed these two young women with their bags of Trader Joe's groceries and two-buck Chucks under their arms and just... I don't know... could see the evening they'd planned for themselves and was just overcome and hoped they'd have the best time.)

This is why I can't understand how we're going about our lives while children are being killed in the most gruesome ways. When there is so much visual evidence of it happening every day. 

Apparently, there's a video on the news now showing children being burned alive in a hospital. Children. Being burned. While alive. In a hospital. Every detail is a new level of hell. 

A whole year ago, I was horrified and the horrors have just kept multiplying and spreading. At the time, I quoted James Baldwin, "The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this is incapable of morality." And I love the strength and conviction of Baldwin's statement and simultaneously feel so helpless about getting my government (that could end this horror with a single phone call) to acknowledge it. I feel like a character from The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas protecting sanity and the status quo.

(In the meantime, I better go to bed, so I can do ok for my students who can show up. One of them wrote last week, "This class is my all-time favorite class if I could take this class over and over again I would. Everyday is a favorite moment." [unedited] I mean it sounds a bit Groundhog Day, but little did they know when they wrote that, that it would give me a reason to show up this week.)

the one with a gun

We'll be telling this story at dinner parties forever. 

Big A and I were on our usual walk to Sparty through the MSU campus when a car careened around the bend and barely screeched to a halt at the stop sign. There were a lot of student-pedestrians around and I have a big mouth on me, so I yelled out, "Slow down!" I guess someone in the car had a big mouth too, because they yelled out, "Boo, Bitch!" This upset Big A who took off running after their car, and they sped off. 

Except they looped around and screeched to a halt next to us again. And three of them (two of them sans shirts) got out of the car. As they got closer: Big A asked for an apology; I told them they were going to hurt someone if they didn't slow down; they accused us of looking at them (which we had been). Then the older guy in his twenties said he was going to get his gun, and... reached between the car seats, got his gun, and tucked it into the waistband of his shorts. I thought I was going to burst into giggles at that point, because this very white guy with a gun kept advancing on Big A, liberally using the N-word, and telling him to get "stepping to it." And then everyone was just staring at each other--we didn't want to get shot, and they didn't want to shoot us, I guess? We told them it wasn't right, I threw in a final instruction to slow down for good measure, we said we were walking away, and so we did.

They took off in the opposite direction... but then they looped around again and pulled up about ten feet ahead of us. That's when I pulled out my phone and called 911. And they took off again, this time for real, when they saw me dialing. And we never saw them again. But we did have to wait for campus police to show up and make a formal report. And then we stayed on the lookout on our way home and snuck our way through the woods just in case their car was still around somewhere, laughing with the adrenalin of it all.

Big A is nice because, I asked, and he said that I hadn't escalated when I yelled at them to slow down--I was doing the right thing and speaking up. I am not so nice, because I told him that I didn't need my honor protected just because some rando called me a bitch, and that he should not have escalated by running after them yelling "What did you call my wife?" etc. Anyway, it was an unlooked-for Saturday adventure.

Pic: Brilliant sky, brilliant Red Cedar--the view from the bridge shortly before it all went down.

Friday vibe

This week seems to have gone by in a rush, but today went quietly. Today is Ganesha Chaturthi, but everyone had work/school so we'll celebrate properly on Sunday.

I worked with my serious independent studies students and took meetings and sat on committee meetings... and yet somehow managed to miss the English department meeting (new time)! It was embarrassing, but my colleagues were very kind about it.

At the end of the day, I printed out the flyer for the book from the publisher's website and plugged my forthcoming publication to the marketing team. My voice has been hoarse for a week, and a former student at the event thought it was hilarious and kept pretending it was because I'd been partying too hard. If only.

Back home, Nu was partying hard--they were out to the football game, senior paint party, and dinner with friends, so Big A and I fed Max and Huckie and made ourselves dinner. I made a very pretty matchstick salad of peppers, carrots, cucumbers, basil, and mint as a bed for the dumplings Big A was frying up. We missed Nu, but I guess this is us on the reg from next year. 

One of the girlfriends sent me a picture of the game, and Nu was in it! I shared it on family chat and claimed I had spies everywhere, but Nu was unfazed and rolled their eyes. When Nu got home at midnight, they shared a compliment they'd been hugging to themselves all day. Their English teacher had told them that they saved Nu's work to read last because it always gave them something to think about. Aw!

Pic: I took some new colleagues an "office-warming" gift. The "ribbons" are in our college's signature plaid and are actually shoelaces.

American Empire

[If you're riding a high from the DNC, please skip this post. 

I'm a bit demoralized from the bread-and-circuses model. I want to hear more about childcare, labor, healthcare, paid family leave, housing, etc. and less about "lethal fighting forces." I can't stop thinking how according to the Department of Housing and Urban Development, it would cost $20 billion to end homelessness in the United States and we sent that much just this week to an ally who will use it to bomb civilians in Gaza.]

Morning   I thought UAW (United Auto Workers) leadership stated it succinctly, "If we want peace, if we want real democracy, and if we want to win this election, the Democratic Party must allow a Palestinian American speaker to be heard from the DNC stage tonight."

I spent hours calling representatives and helping friends call their representatives to get at least two minutes for Rep. Ruwa Romman of Georgia to speak from the main stage on behalf of Palestinian Americans. In her vetted speech, she would have endorsed Harris-Walz and encouraged uncommitted voters to unite behind them. But none of that happened. This was an immense opportunity for goodwill squandered by the Harris-Walz camp.

Afternoon A colleague I hadn't seen all summer asked me if I was excited Kamala Harris is a presidential nominee. I must have looked blank because he clarified, "She's an Indian woman!" This no doubt comes from a well-meaning place, but I probably have more in common with her Marxist professor father than with someone who was a D.A. 

And also, I wondered if it would be rude if I in turn asked him if he was excited because Trump is a presidential nominee as they're both white men.

Evening   Snippets from the Democratic National Convention.

"I will ensure America always has the most lethal fighting force..." (Kamala Harris) 

"U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" (crowd)

"So they put a rifle in my hand/sent me off to a foreign land/to go and kill the yellow man" (Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the U.S.A." plays overhead) [Why do people think this is a patriotic song to play at conventions?!]

six on Sunday

1. The girlfriends and I were supposed to see It Ends With Us this weekend. I'd even persevered through the book with its weird use of language.  (Although I've since learned that the author didn't get to go to college and has written several novels anyway--so you go, Colleen Hoover!) But all the mean girl drama around the movie's release soured it for me. So I bailed and then everyone else bailed as well. NGL, I really wasn't looking forward to seeing DV enacted on the big screen.

2. Wouldn't you know it, as women began to call for justice, instead of demanding justice alongside them, Indian men got all defensive and started to protest that it was "not all men." The awesome comeback has been "perhaps not all men, but it is ALWAYS men." Word.

3. We got a new mattress and when we were cutting it out of its plastic packaging this morning, I accidentally nicked it with the box cutter. I apologized so much... and Big A was so... magnanimous telling me not to worry about it. Later as we set it up, I realized his side had three or four nicks. Dude!? Why didn't you say something? 

4. There was a Not Another Bomb gathering this afternoon downtown calling for an arms embargo. I think there would have been more people there if not for the rain. There is an online petition circulating as well.

5. I thought I'd use the summer to fix my broken sleep habits, but I've been going to bed later and later and usually at 4 am. It'll be a relief to revert to going to bed at 2 am now that I'm back to work tomorrow. And as LV just texted to say, "Nerdy admission of the day: I’m kinda excited to see everyone tomorrow." Same!!

6. Pic: LB wanted to try my Evening in India menu, so I scooped a couple of tablespoons of each dish into the tiny jars I bought long ago for food prep but never got around to using. And then all 12 jars nestled perfectly in the crate my tomatoes came home in. I just feel so happy about how this turned out.

snapshots

3:30 am: Big A and I get to bed and wish we didn't have to go to work in the morning. Not because we're getting to bed late, but because he's working in Milwaukee for the next three days and I won't be around to say goodbye when he leaves.

5:30-ish am: I wake from a nightmare in which I'm in my modeling days and the make-up artist is someone who appears to be a 14-year-old child. They somehow manage to fix my hair so it looks both straight and frizzy and when I demur, they threaten to call their dad.

6:55 am: I'm finishing up breakfast chores and Nu asks me if I could drop them at the school bus stop because it's drizzling and they just blow-dried their hair. Umbrellas and raincoats are too cumbersome to carry around at school (their locker is too far away from their classrooms).

8:30-ish am: I'm crying in the car because today's Story Corps was terrifying and beautiful.

9:15 am onwards: all my favorite work people are gathered to clap for a colleague who has just taught the last class of their career as they walk out of their classroom. Does anyplace else do this? The consensus is "no." I think this is a lovely tradition. Bonus: I get to have little chats with all my favorite people.

10:00 am-ish: I walk AK back to her building and we take in the Gaza exhibit the YDSA has put up.

WORK WORK WORK WORK 

Noon-ish: Two colleagues pop by my office to strategize some advocacy work. We're drinking tea and spilling all kinds of tea.

WORK WORK WORK WORK 

5:00-ish: Mostly work although there is some surreptitious texting during the meeting where I say goodbye to Big A and check in on Nu and then JD and LK are texting about "feeling a breakdown coming on" and how their "soul has left the building."

5:30-ish: I leave the meeting with SD for a work dinner. It's lovely to see all the wonderful work people have been doing. One of my favorite people who now works at the University of Michigan is visiting and has a beautiful handwritten letter for me.

7:00-ish: I'm on my way home and chatting to my mom.

8:00-ish: I get home. Big A has left for Wisconsin, Nu is out with friends, Max and Huckie are so happy to see me. 

The day is almost over for me at this point. The puppies and I share a banana--our evening treat--and then snuggle up on the couch. I finish up the book I'm reading and listen to music while I wait for Nu to get home. Their deadline is midnight.

Pic: YDSA's informational Gaza exhibit. I assumed that the rain had done some damage, but it seems some of the uprooted flags were human mischief. 

company song*

the glasses fall
they bleed their wine 
our stories agree
on paths of memory

we're at last call 

see banter and comfort 

touch everyone

and as we're nearly done 

I thank you, all

you aimed for music 

told the song

of where we may belong 

-----------------

*Note: A ditty Nu helped me make as we put away last night's party. 

Pic: A handsome frog sunning himself at our pond. No kisses or crown needed.

Farewell, 2022

A good last day with two long walks with LB and BSL to round off the year. 

A raucous dinner time with Scout and Huck underfoot, and Nu, At, and Big A at the counter for parathas--the person waiting for me to finish the next paratha were in charge of running a round of Truth or Dare. Some calls to grandparents, the traditional new year presents (calendars and something inspiring), a few eps of Joe Pera... and then At was off to a show with friends, Nu was on with friends online, and I joined PM's write-in for the new year on Slack (where I started and abandoned a poem based on PM's prompt). 

And then, as Big A, Scout and Huck napped inches away from me, it was 2023. 

disappearance

you know something/ I don't
the turn into spring, into fall 
a new war... an old messiah 
the budding preceding it all

I try to remind you of love 
in the face of opening loss
we know life keeps taking 

uprooting even... thoughts

placebo

the ceremony of each day grows hostile 
like a needle in my veins 
going under the shape of my resistance
and landscapes of hunger

I've been told to take each day at a time 
I abandon months in a gulp 
but the best minutes become sustenance
still so modest, but medicinal

so it's universal

new nothings are of the highest order
metaphor is a dark mass of wire
feel the kiss of prepositions
--they're infinite

we inhale before the contented sigh
and embrace like we're a whole
orbit full of revelations,
even in rearview