On my birthday my friend and fellow poet David Delisca wrote me these lines. Sometimes friends and poets are like life rafts, they help you stay afloat with their words. I read over this poem (not just when I need an ego boots!) but at moments of self doubt when I need to remind myself that I’m on the right path.
We are her spectators
The loud fans in the nosebleed sections, knowing that the faintness of their cheers at any given moment can inspire an amazing play by the hometown hero.
Our verbal athlete helps us in sending our insecurities to play away games as we settle in our re-claimed bodily homes.
So we root for her, “go in, poet” as the melodic staffs of her voice parts our minds open like the Red Sea.
The spinning axis of the wheels of blackness waiting to be touched by the caressing hands of her words that holds us upright. Right into the acknowledgement our existence.
Our chiropractor that heals us all; The ones who have had their back against jagged walls, the ones who’ve had back stabbed via the hugs of those who imposed our trust, the ones whose backs bends so far to dodge the judgemental hostilities. She has been the chiropractor that has eased the aches and pains. She got our backs and we got hers.
If a situation calls for one foot in the grave and another foot on a banana peel, we let go and fall backwards because we trust her words to bring us out of our cementaries.
The conductor to our last train of thought as it departs across our bedroom ceilings and arrives in our dreams. The engine that told us that we could. The shoulda, coulda, wouldas have found it’s buddha tranquility in our cranial temples.
Her words are so fast and powerful, you can witness the internal pinball as it sways her hips as she gathers those words. She has balance. She wraps her balance with the shawl of grace.
So, if she can do all that.
It’s evident she can conquer space and travel around the sun on a yearly basis. A constant revolution.
She is Lishai.