Homing Myself

Got everyone off
to Tita Moo’s
stopped at Figueroa Produce
for a few days of groceries
answered some emails and posted on Facebook
while uploading videos to YouTube,
grabbed keys to garage
and scanned the dim shelves for
“Emergency Writing Box 1”
spot it
open to find and grab
Children’s, Writer’s and Illustrator’s Market Guide
Over-sized, Velásquez Spanish and English Dictionary (Bastard, I was looking for you)
but
don’t find Clarissa
get a hold of “Emergency Writing Box 2”
and find a treasure chest
grab
Walt Whitman
Anne Lamott
Jimmy (los dos, Baca y Baldwin)
Sandra
and a handful of Alice
and, of course,
Natalie, who publishes in Shambala
pero todavía no encuentro a Clarissa
“¡Loba! ¿Cabrona, dónde andas?”
No more “Emergency Writing Boxes”
to go through
and I realize that I can’t leave the garage
without Clarissa
and then I spot her
reach over boxes, spilling over with baby stuff,
old picture frames, papers (all my papers)
and then climb over a shovel and the barbeque
to touch the dust jacket of
“Women who Run with the Wolves”
got it
can now begin my journey home…

The MRI – where all are equal!

Onto the hard slab

foam ear plugs in

strap your head in

and put the

Silence of the Lambs

face cage on

“Are you claustrophobic?”

the Filipino technician asks

I am

I answer, “No”

and begin to chant

Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo

under my breath

so that I don’t start thrashing

in the tube they’re sliding me into

“You’ll hear knocking and like a jack hammer sound,”

he says

“there’s a microphone in the tube, call me for anything”.

Monster machine begins.

I chant to keep my breath steady.

rhythm stick taps

somebody’s knocking at the door

somebody’s ringing the bell

then

the jack hammer

chant stronger

suddenly nose itches

and I want to cough

I remember him saying

“Don’t move your head.”

I chant the itch and cough away.

It’s over.

“That’s an ugly machine,” I say.

Head still strapped down.

“Yeah, but it gets good images.”

“There has to be a quieter machine! We can’t be in the 21^st centurty with that loud machine.”

“It’s the magnets. They’re banging together to alter your molecules.”

WTF? I didn’t give permission for this fucker machine to alter my damn brain molecules.

“Yeah, well, I bet rich people have a quiet machine and don’t have to go through this poor person’s contraption.”

“No dear. If they’re gonna have an MRI. They have to use this exact same machine and put up with that noise.”

“So, you’re saying we’re all equal in the MRI?”

“Yes.”

“O.k.. I like it!”

Para mis Ancestros

tus huellas

me guían

a mi razón 

por estar en esta planeta

no les voy a 

desilusionar

gracias por su gran ejemplo y esfuerzo