There is something incredibly wonderful about watching one of your friends dance, especially if their body\’s motion creates poetry amidst extensions that are riddled with fire! That is exactly how I feel when I watch Casandra Rojas dance — her body is the ink that moves and flows on the page with raw expression. Cas\’ dance I must admit rivals her emotive and honest poetry. I missed Cas\’ birthday last month this post honours the work that she wields via her very powerful sword! ❤ Thank you so much Cas for furnishing me with wonderfully lush work!
HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY CAS!!!! I hope this year is filled with endless possibilities.
To all the men who have gifted me,
(or any other human for that matter),
their last breath of love,
their flickering light of hope,
their strength,
their kindness,
their fury,
their lightning,
their humble help,
their trembling hand,
their protection.
For the men who held me in their most nurturing embrace,
put down their shield and sword, and bared themselves,
fed me, before they touched their plate,
blanketed me with their warmth
because
they knew what it was to be left out in the cold…
they knew that I am only a woman… just as unholy as him…
I am more than grateful,
some fathers of their own children, adored,
(even when some are missed, even when some are gone),
some fathers of themselves, and me, and their friends…
some fatherless brothers that life gave me without hesitation,
so we could learn to parent ourselves…
all gifts in the life of a woman whose courage
is heavily founded on the men she has encountered.
Thank you,
for teaching me courage,
for encouraging me to be better,
for not judging my mistakes,
for showing me redemption,
for the time to understand you,
and for taking the time to understand me.
Happy Father\’s Day.
I was once mistaken for a devil
by an angel
he shot me at close range
I didn\’t flinch
as the heart shaped bullet bit through skin
chewing through my chest at full speed
nearly sucking the life right out of me
it left a trail of fire as it fled past my spine
(exit wounds are more painful than you\’d think)
It left a valentine burn
I played it cool, calm and collected
the color flushing from his face
there was no blood in the wound
he released the one in the chamber
hoping to see a stream of red velvet
ammunition all wasted
screaming in despair
furious with my unchanging demeanor
his eyes engulfed by flames
if it wasn\’t for the tears that fell like lucifer
from his heavenly stare
if it wasn\’t for the way he cursed my name
as he demonized my essence
I would have thought the devil
was him.
We take off
through snow-covered roads
gazing at candy-colored hills
singing
a countdown
a breakdown
a ruptured freedom
and our lungs fill
with hope
with the unspoken
with emotions
with love
and pain
and we rage
we rebel
we pray to live another day
as we navigate through orange fog
through a golden daze
and
we bring our ancestors with us
because it is their
faith that has kept us
safe
although
we seem lost
screaming lyrics to tunes
that say it better than we ever can
and isn\’t that what they are for
we know where we are going
we just have a different sense of direction
of location
of stability
and we don\’t look at the rear view mirror
as we speed off
we save that for the decades to come
that last glimpse
of the east coast
of the back roads
that we learned to trace
with our eyes closed
that lead us here or there
drove us away
our shiny toy gun hearts
playing Russian roulette
pumping leaded blood and oxygen
through bullet bloodstream
amber
is the color we bleed
making memories attuned
to our destination
our destiny still unwritten
crossroads yet to find us
as we ride around
chasing the horizon
and its setting moon
leaving a rising sun and tire marks behind
on a pavement too wobbly to hold us
and our time machine car
with its music too loud
and a slightly cracked windshield
and we are slightly older now
still the same yet somehow changed
in ways we can\’t explain
…
but there will always be
a highway
a road
a path
a song
that takes me back
to us
…
to
snow-covered roads
candy-colored hills
the backs roads of the east coast
the rising sun and the tire marks
in a rear view mirror glimpse
of a setting moon through a cracked windshield
and our time machine…
© Casandra Rojas
CCIQ Press 