Carlita's Way

I'm a woman. I'm from the South. I read a lot of books. I watch a lot of movies. I observe a lot of shit... then write about it.

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My mother is beautiful and my grandmother is beautiful and I’m beautiful. You see that beauty as it finally is even though no one wants to see it as it is in a black woman in America, not a hoochie, not a ho, not a mammy, not a dyke, not a cliche, just a woman. A lot of women. Real women doing what they can, making art where they can, making their lives mean something where they can. And there’s so much music in it, too, and beauty and love, and as you go from image to image and hear our voices and know our story you know there’s a power here, a power that can’t be denied. As you look at your beautiful, beautiful faces, there’s no getting around it. There is something here that can’t be denied.
Martha Southgate, Third Girl From the Left

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If you ask me where I come from, I have to converse with broken things, with utensils bitter to excess, with great beasts frequently rotted, and with my anguished heart.
Pablo Neruda, There is No Oblivion {Sonata}, as translated by Donald D. Walsh

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I love the beauty and imagery that one can create with just a few simple words and when I can’t find my own, I borrow someone else’s:

… I didn’t fall in love with him. Falling is a process and what happened to me wasn’t a process. It wasn’t sequential or gradual. It wasn’t falling… A sea change. Transubstantiation. One minute, I was a woman not in love… and the next minute, I was a woman in love. Bones, blood, skin, every cell changed over into something new… His eyes. His mouth. His shoulders inside his shirt. I’d never wanted to touch someone so much, and at the same time, I didn’t want to touch him at all. In love, I grew large, boundless. I was not contained between my hat and boots. I rose up. I embraced him. I surrounded him… Out the window, mountains submerged, subtle and ocean-colored. I sat in one seat. He sat in the other. And I held him all the way home. - Marisa de los Santos, Love Walked In.

How beautiful is that?

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She was…And she was not.She walkedClumsilyOn chipped concrete sidewalksPraying not to be noticed in the wrong wayAnd failing miserablyAlways waitingFor the one dayHe would see her…She was…To him she existedOnly in parallel universesThat stroll in and out of Our psychesFaintPeekingVagueAn afterthought…And she was not.

She was…
And she was not.

She walked
On chipped concrete sidewalks
Praying not to be noticed in the wrong way
And failing miserably
Always waiting
For the one day
He would see her…

She was…

To him she existed
Only in parallel universes
That stroll in and out of
Our psyches
An afterthought…

And she was not.