I will admit to taking a measure of pleasure from watching the trouncing Sarah Palin is experiencing these days. I can’t help it, I feel no sympathy for her. Seeing hypocrisy being deconstructed in such a public manner is one of my favorite pastimes. The Barracuda liked it while she was dishing it out, dividing the country between real and fake Americans.
Live by thew sword…
[I was my grandmother’s favorite. Sometimes it was cruel, but she made it claer to everyone that I was her heart. Everytime she saw me, it was all hugs and presents — secretly handed folded crips bills, a toy, a bicycle. My grandmother worked her fingers to the bone in the garment industry, exploited by heartless men who paid her by the piece. She would bring bags of work home and cut lace by the miles. She always had something for me, even if she didn’t have fr the rest of the grandchildren. I was her fair-haiered boy. My paternal grandmother died when my father was a mere boy, but his sister, my aunt, was a surrogate grandmother for me. And here too, I was her favorite. Both women knew pain. The pain of arthritis, of hands broken down by years of hard, relentless work. My aunt was a washerwoman, whose hands were stripped of skin from the harsh chemicals of her trade. Both women knew pain, both worked hard, were poor, but they always seemed to have enough for me. It was only when I grew older I realized the tremendous sacrifce a bicycle or a brand new pair of shoes meant to them. They gave and never asked for anything in return, except perhaps that I be a good boy and do well in school… ] -=[ Song of the Self: The Grandmother ]=-
— Alma Luz Villanueva
Surrounded by my children, am
I am the void.
I am the womb of remembrance.
I am the flowering darkness.
I am the flower, first flesh.
Utter darkness I inhabit —
There, I watch creation unfold —
There, I know we begin and end —
Again. In this darkness, I am
Turning, turning toward a birth:
My own — a newborn grandmother
Am I, suckling light. Rainbow
Serpent covers me, head to foot,
In endless circles — covers me,
That I may live forever, in this
Form or another. The skin she
Leaves behind glitters with
The question, with the answer,
With the promise:
“Do you remember yourself?”
“I am always woman.”
“Flesh is flower, forever.”
I enter darkness, to enter birth,
To wear the Rainbow, to hear her
Hissing loudly, clearly, in my
Inner ear: love.
I am spiraling, I am spinning,
I am singing this Grandmother’s Song.
I am remembering forever, where we