I have to ask my
husband first. It seems a curse;
is the best excuse.
THE SPACES BETWEEN
Words on the page matter not at all.
It is the space between the words
where mystery dwells.
I fist my hand around the pen,
my defending weapon of choice,
while I struggle with stories to tell.
I do not explore the words;
but, the spaces between and aside
while I open my self wide.
We may read the words together,
and search the space between words
hand in hand, eye to eye, heart to heart.
No hate can break the bond of words,
shared in the spaces between, apart.
And, then, we can know all there is to know
as we join our empty spaces
deep and dark, side by side.
Reach for the stars if you will.
I prefer to explore one another
between the the words of languages
unknown, unable to be spoken.
None of what is written matters at all.
It is the space between words
where love rises and falls.
Hate cannot find its way in the dark.
But, love can.
Love carries its own light within
the spaces between the words.
Love glows in the dark.
Filed under POETRY
NO WORDS
My words are in hiding.
They went south
on orders by an enemy
in a language unknown
on internet connections silenced
on phones which could not be charged
written on leaflets
dropped from the sky
with the dumb bombs
which destroyed the words
where I reside
in hopeless desires
for peace, at first;
now, simply, not to die.
My words and I moved south
to promised safety.
My words and I could not speak
of what we saw
along the way
south,
leaning on false promises.
Still, my words must hide
in shelters bombed
despite the promise
despite the effort
carrying my words
which are my children,
silent, on my back.
Trapped, my words and I
with nowhere to go.
Without hope.
No one speaks words;
Only the bombs may speak,
with a language of their own.
A language no one understands.
One no one ever wants to hear.
My words hide here.
Filed under POETRY
HAIKU FUNDAMENTALLY TRUE
No confessional
can hold the sins of men done
in God’s Holy Name.
Right-wing Pharisees
roam the halls of governments
exercising hate.
They lie to themselves
stealing freedom’s greatest truths
to lie to us, too.
Money flows and fills
pockets-to-let to control
greed’s supremacy.
Unregulated
democracy fails to be
free for you and me.
Fascism now reigns
in God’s name, on lips profane
from pulpits and schools.
Separation fails
to protect laws, or faiths,
when religion rules.
Time to drive out the
money-changers from temples
of government, now.
We cannot allow
such hate and such harm to be
offered in our name.
Such Offertory
should be left at the altar,
not legislatures.
LOVE ‘EM OR HATE ‘EM
I have seen this hate before. I could not understand it then.I do not understand it now. When my mother lay dying it became clear to me that the only measure of a life is the ability to love. A body shriveled by cancer’s reach into every cell, wracked by pain, realizing death is near holds onto love, not life. Death’s grip is too fierce to break. But, the only thing death cannot destroy is love. I saw it in my dying mother’s eyes, reflected in my own. That love binds us still. It always will. So, no, I do not understand the need to hold onto hate when love is so much stronger. Love reveals our strength to us; hate, our weakness. Love displays our courage; hate, our cowardice. So, no, I do not understand hate.
As child of Italian immigrants, growing up in the 1950’s, in a neighborhood populated by two German immigrant families, dozens of Italian immigrants and a few Irish immigrants, I learned my place. Venturing too far away from the four block area adjacent to the railroad tracks we inhabited brought me to the Appalachian whites nearby, who could not afford to live anywhere else, so had to live near the despised and hated immigrants. Our Catholicism, a commonality of each immigrant group, did not endear us to “Americani”, either. We learned to ignore their taunts and sneers, threats and minor assaults with whatever weapon they wielded…a switch from a shrub, a golf ball, a pitched badminton racket, a rock. We were careful to avoid the “hoods” carrying switch blades. Skinned knees caused while running to escape and falling, split lips or bruises were not uncommon. To be clear, not all of those “Americani” participated in bully tactics; but, too few fully embraced us, and none defended us. I have seen this hate before. I have felt this hate before.
My parents explained that hate is not universal. Only cowards and ignorant fools cling to hate. Most people know how to love. Thus, we were admonished to never hate anyone. Stay strong. Show love no matter what. Be brave. Never start a fight; but, never run from one. Stand up to bullies. They are weak, fearful cowards and will back down. Hate is not endemic to white people, nor to any group. But, within every group there are cowards…bold, brassy, loud and stupid cowards. We held our ground at the playground. We ignored the jokes and jibes. We ducked the projectiles. We moved forward when told to get back, staring with fierce determination to continue to swing, to play ball, to run races. We seldom allowed hate to stop our games and ruin our fun. I learned to withhold my smirk when I saw the bully fall back and slink away. I learned to love despite the hate directed my way. I invited the bully to stay and play. Some did. Thus, we broke the force that would have driven us away from enjoying our childhood. We grew strong, fearless and full of hope for better days.
The recent anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy brought back these childhood memories. When the announcement of his death came over our PA system every class adjourned to the chapel at our Catholic high school. We prayed the rosary together. We prayed for comfort, peace and love in our country. Then, we were sent home to grieve with our families. I gathered my books, not knowing what to expect next, and when school might resume. Across the street was a public junior high school. As I walked by on my way home, clad in my school uniform identifying me as a Catholic, one by one, several public school students shouted at me, “We finally killed him!” “He got what was coming to all you filthy Catholics !” “ This is what happens to Catholics who don’t know their place.” I remember these taunts and all the others. They are tattooed on my heart and on my brain. I even can feel the look of confusion on my puckered brow, wondering how these young kids could hold so much hate for their own president, and for me, a total stranger who had done them no harm. How could they so dishonor the wonderful country we shared, and its democratic principles. No one is more aware of or more grateful for American principles than immigrants are. These long-time inhabitants seemed not to recognize such values at all.
That was then. This is now. Ignorant people still cling to their hate. But the indifference to the haters, the lack of comment rebuking haters which I expected but sadly never heard led to this day. Now, hate is fueled by the right wing of the Republican Party, and not condemned by its members. Worse, its chosen presidential candidate, whose first election succeeded because of, if not regardless of, his hate-spewed speech and hate-filled acts toward people of color, women and non-Christians is further encouraged to continue hate-filled policies and practices which will kill our democracy as surely as it killed Medgar Evers, Emmett Till, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Robert Kennedy. I have seen this hate before. I did understand it then. I do not understand it now.
I always knew I became a lawyer to stand in the way of those who blocked programs, policies and practices which honor diversity and seek justice for all. I would be in position where such efforts could be implemented and enforced. Only now, do I understand it was my armor to protect that child in me who still believes that good can prevail once we are willing to stand up to bullies; whether that bully is a landlord, bank, or company. The law is the bulwark against hate and harm, against greed and abuse of power. Now, I watch my beloved Law and its Courts undermined by those bullies by Republicans in state legislatures and the U.S.Congress, by Republican governors and secretaries of state and states attorneys general who support a bully as their fund-raising cheer-leader to cover their own dark deeds. The alternatives are not to choose between two evils; but, to choose good over evil. To choose love over hate. I watch the silent white supremacists alongside them allow them free rein. People of Color, Native Americans, immigrants have always known the Law favored the wealthy and powerful, majority of them white men. Now, we all recognize the system that has been in place for so long. As a nation we are reaping what we allowed to be sown. I still do not understand the hate that has allowed this to go on for so long. But, I will still fight such hate with love; until my dying breath…then beyond.
I know how to survive bullies. I am not worried for myself. I watch my country try to survive the bullies, those they eat dinner with at their private clubs who are shocked by what they see…what the oppressed have always seen. Yet, they stay silent or act entertained. Or worse yet, they choose to ignore what they have not wanted to notice. It is my countrymen whom I hope will uphold its constitution, its citizens I hope will stand up to bullies and vote them out of office before it is too late. The power of bullies’ wealth can be overcome by our numbers, if we vote. That is a big if. Mobilize, register, transport and assist voters to the polls. Write Letters to the Editors. Speak out on social media to friends and family. Meet your neighbors and recruit their support for the efforts it will take to stay the course of a democratic republic. I do not understand the hate. I never will. It does not matter. What matters is I will not allow hate to rule my country, nor anyone in it. I choose love, a love embodied in a country which puts no man above the law, and believes all men are created equal, with unalienable rights. I took an oath to uphold the constitution. I took an oath to love.
Filed under COMMENTARY, POLITICS
THE SQUIRRELS AND I
Squirrels multiply fast around here,
as fast as they run about the yard.
Three new nests in the Linden tree
have appeared,
Hidden by dense leaves
out of view.
The sun hides too.
Her light is now hidden by clouds.
She has stopped dancing amid shadows.
Like the squirrels I am too proud
to simply sit and wait for sun
to show her face.
Without sun
we barely know our place
in this darkened, cooling space.
We no longer dig and play
in garden beds anchored in clay.
The squirrels have stopped their foray
for bulbs planted a month ago,
ceased moving them to a new place
or worse, chewing or eating them first.
The squirrels, and I are nearly as dormant
as the perennials, and as scattered.
My body yearns to find its way,
to dig and plant, to weed and hoe.
It no longer drops onto the garden bench
to rest and watch the birds and bees.
I drop onto my nested couch instead.
The squirrels and I have grown
too cold, too weary
amid days as dark as night.
The squirrels and I have become too quiet.
Sun’s warming disposition
no longer lightens nor warms us.
Birds no longer join us in chorus
as we hummed alongside the busy bees.
Neither of us are ready
for the coming deep-freeze.
We squirrel away.
I on my Netflix couch;
the squirrels find their own
entertainment and playful connection
I remain ignorant of those;
and, so, I and cannot mention
what keeps them tight inside.
My own tightness will not subside
no matter how hard I try.
I cannot blame the sun.
She still hangs overhead.
Like the squirrels and I
she has decided to hide.
Filed under POETRY
DARKER DAYS
I no longer wait through the night for sun to rise.
Darkness diverts stray thoughts and lets my mind play.
Flowers have taught me to wave away sunny days
whose glare overcomes the true color of all it covers.
Flowers’ colors are brighter on cloudy days
when sun’s harshest, boldest gaze
is tempered by drifting clouds and shade.
The sun arouses, but not always in positive ways.
Passion and love arouse in darkness, under cover,
preparing us to live together on sun-filled days
which can overheat our passion with a challenging gaze,
and guns drawn out in furious blaze.
Night brings safety after those last shots are fired
into the night to hold it at bay, for those who tire
of being alone, hopeless and afraid; whose souls require
less sun to stimulate their hate and more cool nights
to bed down and draw covers over their endless fright.
I welcome the night which offers respite and insight.
I welcome dreams which bring truth and understanding alight.
If only we could recall our dreams in daylight,
perhaps we could create world where justice and mercy prevails
and all are treated right.
On the the hotter, brighter days ahead I fear we may fail,
holding on to what we cannot truly see in such bright daylight.
In such over-heated light true color is lost to our sight
distorting our view of all that is true.
Shoving microphones and spotlights on our frailty
too often distorts our reality
until we no longer can recall the truths learned on darkest days.
I no longer wish the darkness of night away.
I see all more clearly in the muted light of night
than ever I can see in brightest daylight.
I no longer wait through the night for sun to rise.
Darker days are here to no one’s surprise.
They may bring the only way we can survive.
Filed under POETRY
KEEP BREATHING
The world is wider than I recall
and emptier than it should be.
Where have so many millions gone?
Covid took too many from me.
Now, As I venture forth again
I note the changes new to me:
Fewer check out lines open
where I can chat with clerks
who may offer the only conversation
I shall have that day.
Longer waits in self-check-out lines,
for coffee, burgers, groceries, medications,
buses and airlines.
Play dates carefully screened and often up-ended
by bouts of surprise illness, unintended.
Careful scrutiny of each gathering attended
by risk-takers and isolaters frustrated
and ready to accept the fate
breathing without masks indicates.
The pace of life becomes a distraction.
Forward process toward goals proceeds
in fits and starts reducing our momentum.
It amazes me how well we all cope
with uncertain patterns not before seen,
futures unknown yet still filled with hope.
The one thing which has not changed
is our determination to remain the same,
to keep on the path to parts unknown,
to find an adventure far from home,
to explore new people, places and things.
We are still alive. We bravely take wing.
There is life to live and love to give.
There is love to receive and life to accept.
We constantly find faith deep within
that joy is still ours, if we only give in
to the need to connect with others
and breathe life in.
annarino writes 
2024 NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION
A new year begins with hope and praise for new beginnings. New year’s resolutions? I still wonder what I shall be when I grow up. It becomes harder with age to grow up. Angela and Angelo who brought me into world, parented me through life, showing me the way to be better and stronger, have been dead many years. The aunts and uncles who shepherded me through trials and struggles are also gone from the sight of those of my family still alive. Even my older brother Angelo and several lovable cousins have died. Childhood friends, too, have accepted their mortality and left me behind.
Who is left to help me grow up? To remind me how to behave myself, and direct my steps of exploration? Too few for one as strong-willed as I. I find myself more child-like and childish than ever. Perhaps I do it deliberately so that I may hear my Mother’s chiding tone in my head as she shares her exasperation over my antics,. Her words have taken up permanent residence in my brain. She comments on everything I do, still. It is a mystery to me, one I endure willingly, now.
I fought that constant harangue and meddlesome interference while she lived. All the older Italian women, family and friends, had no qualms about meddling in my life. I laugh now, at their efforts, with some stirring of guilt. It was a hopeless task, and I made certain they knew it as I laughed in their faces. Who is laughing now? I hope they are. I hope I can still make them smile. I only wanted to watch their determined faces break into smiles as they hit me with a rolled-up newspaper and shook their heads. Oh, yes, they operated as a gang. When my mother’s singular efforts seemed to get nowhere, she called in the troops. They would descend on my latest apartment, in the latest city I had moved to, to take the latest job. I was supposed to remain at home, or live next door with a husband, or at least within a few blocks of Mom. I never did. When I was about 35 years old she asked her sister, “ She is not coming home, is she?” Aunt Millie disclosed this to me long after Mom had died. Aunt Millie kept Mom with me all those years after her death. Now, Aunt Millie is also dead to this world. But, she and mom, and all those other Italian women who mothered me will always be alive in my head and my heart. One day, I will be grown up enough to join them. I dread that newspaper. My guess is they still keep it at-the-ready.
Dad lives in my head and heart, too; along with uncles, brothers and older male cousins who formed a protective barrier around me sight unseen. I seldom hear their words. What I hear is their laughter. I see their smiles and watch them quietly hand me a baseball, fishing pole, chocolate milk shake, deck of cards, rake, electrical tape, cement tool. And best of all, their grins. They stood behind the women who were intent on “setting me straight” with grins on their faces and laughter in their eyes. They redirected my thoughts from my transgressions, as I watched them with great delight. Probably, they smiled and smirked because I had taken the focus of the women off their own antics, temporarily relieving them of the women’s attention.
I felt more kinship with them. I wanted their freedom. The women were content to stay in their place. I wanted to go find my place, separate and apart. I wanted the right to control every choice. I did not want to “ask my husband” before I took a step. I wanted to go farther and wider than our insular neighborhood of people and ideas, which seemed enough to satisfy those I knew. I am still searching for that place. I seek a place where freedom of thought and affection expand rather than contract. Often, but not always, like E.T. and all travelers, I simply want to “go home.” So, I do.
I travel through memories tough and sweet back to the South side, just beyond the railroad tracks where Italian immigrant families had settled down. Eventually, most of the children of those families left the neighborhood, as did I. But, I truly still live there no matter my current address. There are no dead parents, no dead aunts and uncles, no dead cousins, no dead brother or dead friends there. All those I love still live there.
Aging brains do not become forgetful. Aging brains simply choose to remember all that once was alive, all those whom they loved. Aging brains hold memory alive with a strength no young brain can comprehend. We do it out of love, not loss. We have lost no ability to remember. We simply choose to remember what we chose to love.
So, here is my New Year’s resolution; I shall love all that is new, and all I can remember from what is old. I shall continue trying to grow up. I shall look for new paths, new journeys of discovery. I may appear to move more slowly than I did last year. I am carrying more baggage with me. I am carrying more of those who died and can no longer physically walk beside me. I love this journey. I am in no hurry to end it. However, I may have to take more stops along the way. The journey of life may seem slower when young. But, it is not. The young simply have fewer bags to carry. They only imagine they go faster, because they go lighter. I may be old now, but I feel light, too. Those whom I carry share their lightness of spirit with me. Someday, I shall become as light a spirit as they.
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Filed under COMMENTARY, FAMILY STORIES
Tagged as aging, childhood, Death, growing up, happy new year, Italian family, journeys, love, memory, Memory loss, new year resolutions