Answers to the Q&A

• How did you figure out what your practice would be?
I’m not really into making visual art; I’m more of a words person. So, I chose poetry.

• Did you find yourself thinking about or noticing things regarding your practice throughout the weeks?
I did. Taking the class helped me be more mindful throughout my day. As a consequence, my ability to “notice” and “be aware” was enhanced.

• What are your rules? Have they evolved?
The hardest rule to learn was that there are no rules. I found myself wanting to produce a polished, finished poem everyday. Well, that’s just not realistic. Some days I would write stream-of-consciousness pages. Some days I would just think about stuff. Some days I wouldn’t do a darn thing! But participating in the class helped me assume an “inner position” of intentionality. And that’s the most important “practice” of all!

• What helped you keep doing it?
I really loved showing up in class each week and sharing with the other participants. It was also helpful to contribute regularly to the class blog.

• What hindered you? And how do you deal with it?
Pure, unadulterated laziness! Most of the time, I dealt with it by giving in to it.

• Did you write about your creative practice, take notes, journal?
I didn’t journal about it specifically. But, often the class-time sharing helped me become aware of some particular awareness or life lesson I was learning, and I certainly journaled about this in the broader context of my life.

• Are you documenting your progress? How?
Yes—through posting on the class blog.

• What advice would you offer others interested in a creative practice?
I think it’s vital to interact and share with other people during the process. This opens you up to a lot of possibilities you don’t see just working on your own.

• Have you noticed any changes, awarenesses, in the quality of your life since you’ve started your practice?
I have! I know what it is to experience an inner awareness, and I know what it is to experience an outer awareness. However, I don’t think I really had much experience in meshing the two. The daily creative practice is the space where that happens.

• How does your original intention for the practice compare to where you are now?
I came in thinking more about the product than the process. Now, the product doesn’t really matter, but engaging in the process is where the gold is found.

• Are you having fun yet? Do you think you’ll continue?
I am having fun! I do think I will continue to reconcile my inner and outer worlds through poetry.

Sights of Summer

Lithe ladies draped in airy sundresses
parading along city boulevards
enchanting male onlookers

A large, well endowed black woman
strolling down the sidewalk
cell phone tucked in her cleavage

A little Asian girl happily waving her
half-eaten chocolate-covered vanilla ice cream on a stick and
delighting her father and groups of passersby while
flashing her wide chocolate-covered smile

The warm summer air
frees us to relax, live
and be

A Sound Community

Red styrofoam tambourine
sand and rocks running through
paper towel rolls
car keys jostling
shells clanging in the homemade breeze

Millions of pieces of pink glitter, shaken
masking tape screeches and scratches while
peeled back again and again

A long stick with strings for bass plucking
two primitives, primed for mating
the soft shush of a brush against a coarsely woven basket

Sounds

The sounds mate and
birth rhythms that
shake and clang and tear into
the beat of each heart until
nine hearts beat as one

Safari on Halsted

When I open the door of a cab
I simply don't expect to be surprised
time and time again it's the
same ole same ole
black or grey vinyl interior

Today when I opened the door to get in
I was attacked
by the leopard-print cloth covering
the two front bucket seats and
the whole of the back seat and even
a leopard print pillow resting under the back windshield

Hearing African natives drumming in my mind
I smiled inside and said,
"Hey, why not?" as I
safaried to my next appointment

The Pencil

Tried starting to write with two pens but
both crapped out on me

Saw a pencil on the desk but
pooh-poohed it and
walked to the drawer to get a new pen

But then I thought again about the pencil and
memories wafted into my mind, like

using the same one the first nine weeks of fifth grade and
taking my end-of-term exams with a two-inch nub, counting the eraser

selling them as a fundraiser for middle school student council
for ten cents a pop

tickling then scratching my ear with the tip
when bored in class

I like writing with the pencil because
I can feel and hear the words being created on the paper
and the words themselves seem safer, more inviting to read, like

will you be my friend
then two boxes drawn underneath with the words
"yes" and "no"

Bernard

Parents going away for a long weekend
taking doggie-sister Bianca with them
"Will you stop in to give Bernard some love
while we're away?"

I creak open the door
paws bound over the wood floor
to greet me

I turn on a couple of lamps
and take my seat on the sofa
with no cat small talk
Bernard hops up to join me

He doesn't really like to be held
doesn't like to sit on my lap
but he does like to be near enough
to have his head always within reach of my hand

I hold my hand near his head and he
"tells" me what to do

Rub the top now
behind my ears now
scratch the middle part of my nose now
under my chin now
at the tippy tip tip under my chin

Enough of that for a moment

Bernard paces back and forth a couple of times
walking over my lap on each pass
modestly gurgling purrs soak in the attention

We repeat the rubbing and scratching
a few more times then up from the sofa I go
check on the food and water

Good to go for today, buddy

I head for the door and receive a fast
kitty tackle around my calf
claws protruding enough to make his presence felt
but not hurt

The door creaks open
we share a look of goodbye
and I close the door behind me where
love was shown
both ways

Lightness

Diddily daddily
biddily baddily
bounce we go

Giddily gaddily
fiddily faddily
tap your toe

Sashay and sway
toward the goal

Diddily daddily
biddily baddily
away we go

Fog

The thick low clouds
roll in off the lake
leaving the skin on my face
cold and damp

At the end of the pier
I look out onto the water
my sight goes only a few feet as
sea gulls disappear into the thick haze

Turning toward shore
I can make out the vague forms of trees,
and the dulled street lights
lead me back home

Baby's Momma

In years past
she was his friend
then his lover

Never legitimized
their union produced a son
and soon they fell out of favor

He doesn't speak her name
refers to her as his BM--
baby's momma

Sitting With Mary

Sitting in a narrow Pilsen courtyard
between the mottled brick walls of two buildings

Birds chirp overhead
in leafy branches and
on electrical wires swagging
gently in the breeze

Bells clang on the
ice cream push-cart as
local women greet one another,
their chattering punctuated by
cackling laughter

The Sears (now Willis) Tower soars
above the more modest ambitions
of this south-side neighborhood
where a woman tends the flowers
on her balcony

Young teen girls scatter
attired in their white dresses, some with veils but
all newly married brides of Christ

The Mother of the Groom stands
at the edge of the courtyard
keeping a watchful eye on it all

Active but still
Still but active

In limbo
be
wait
notice

Like her

Lush

It's mid-May
air still quite cool
walking down the sidewalk toward home
leafy trees with full boughs
some with limbs weighed down by cherry blossoms

Green grass so high it sways in the breeze while
tulips stand guard like miniature sentinels

A million and one places on earth I could be right now
but I am here
now
in this place

and it is lush

Ten Cheaty Zins

The ten bottles of wine
sat on the shelf
awaiting their victims

Dick and Jane strode
down the aisles of Binny's
looking for the perfect
wine for their upcoming soiree

How 'bout a case of merlot, Jane?

Too dry, Dick.

Hmmph.

How 'bout a case of pinot noir, Dick?

Too smokey, Jane.

Hmmph.

They came upon the case of 7 Deadly Zins

Purrrrrfect, they said in unison.

Back home, just before their guests arrived
they popped open the case of wine
and were horrified to find not twelve
but only ten bottles

Ten cheaty zins if you ask me, said Dick.

Jane agreed.

(So what would you come up with using all the letters from shane tytenicz!?!)

Weekend Mornings

The sun wakes me at around seven I blink then
realize I don’t have to be anywhere so
I roll over onto my side and
pull the covers up under my chin and

Drift back down into sleep but
not a deep sleep more
like a doze, in and out and
in and out ‘til

An hour or two later I finally come completely awake and
stretch and yawn eventually
throwing off the covers I place
my feet on the cold floor rising
stiff-legged I walk to the toilet to relieve myself

Ahhh

Washing my hands I look at the mirror staring
into my brown eyes and
see that they’re clear; I’m still alive so
I lower my head in satisfaction and

Walk to the laundry basket and
pull out a pair of dirty jeans and a wrinkled-up sweatshirt then
slip on my deck shoes
grab a jacket and some cash and my keys and

Go down the stairs and out onto the quiet sidewalk that
leads me a few blocks to the bakery where I
buy the fresh pastry and piping hot cup of joe which

I carry back to my place settling
into my favorite chair I
enjoy the sweet cinnamon twist and bitter coffee

waiting for the day to unfold

Asian Cabbie

Cab outside my building
Halsted and Armitage, please

Asian driver
looks straight ahead

No smile

Accelerating and braking
every few feet
lurching my stomach into
the front seat

It just doesn’t have to be this way

Hope I never ride with him again

Cab outside my building
Halsted and Armitage, please

Asian kamikaze driver

Dammit!

Looks straight ahead

No smile; me neither

Accelerating and braking
every few feet
lurching my stomach into
the front seat

Why does he have to drive like this!

I will never ride with him again!

Cab outside my building
Halsted and Armitage, please

Asian kamikaze driver

Oh, no no no!

I open the door
Step to the curb

And my stomach is soothed

Tough Tulips

A couple of hot days and
the jonquils are toast but
the tulips are hangin' tough and
so am I

And No Wave Goodbye

First day in Chi Town
just off the plane from O’Hare
from Brazil
water taxi from Madison Street to Michigan Avenue

Heavy set woman with perfect tan
solid black tank- top dress
long leopard-print scarf
tied around thick neck and
tastefully draped down front and back and dark
Jackie ‘O-bug-eyed glasses

Chatty and alone taking
pictures of buildings lining the river

Would you like me to take one of you?

Oh, would you?
with glee

Snap. How’s that one?

Oh, take more; don’t stop!

Snap snap…snap snap snap

Oh, I don’t usually have pictures with me in them!
Here’s my stop; the perfect place for a drink.

And no wave goodbye

You Lucky

The mom drags the little boy
by his shirt at the shoulder she
grasps a black leather belt
looped

ready to inflict

“Get cho ass in the house
boy
You lucky I didn’t push yo
mutha-fuckin’ ass out in
front of traffic.”

In the house
the tender flesh and
the tender heart

bruise and bleed

The hours
days
months
years
slowly pass by

Calluses form and become hard as
stone protecting the still-tender
heart that beats inside

and lives.