visual poetry, letterpress, the written word, multimedia
recent:
excited to have poems featured below at alma mater's milk gallery as a part of an exhibit featuring other amazing artists! the theme is: "abolition: imagining how we get free."
book your appointment in February 2021!
*bonus* my letterpress poem will be for sale there as well! :-)
letterpress:
this poem was written in 2020.
this is my first letterpress poem, i'm grateful to Write253 for working with me on the design.
letterpress print made during the letterpress festival, Tacoma Wayzgoose! a collaboration with the amazingly talented visual artist, Saiyare Refaei. Thank you to Springtide Press for their help as well :-)
other colors not pictured: green, white, blue.
photos credit: tacoma wayzgoose, Saiyare Refaei
the written word:
on washing machines
the wish wash of washing machines
is a sound i won't cease to hear
on the hilltop, in grandmother's house
all my clothes are hand me downs
my clothes have been piling for weeks
same scent, still me
grandmother tells me
you better get up now
better come finish what you started
better not cry now, put them nilla wafers down
the wish wash of washing machines
is a sound i won't cease to hear
sunday eve now
the kids got to eat
dad has to work
the coins i have saved
i take to oxi & his cousin hammer
the rest will have to wait
till saturday
cuz it ain’t safe
to be black
during the week
laps
been fighting with our fists up
generational trauma won’t let up
flower baths, hot tea
ain’t self care
for the dehumanized, you see
subliminal messages
yes, here, evergreen trees
still gotta carry batons
labor, perform
in a stomach that only weeps
self-care, how do we take care
those who caretake, can’t take care
oppression, subconscious
an ocean, forever lost in
flower baths, hot tea
ain’t self care
for the dehumanized, you see
will you speak, tongue to rhythm
does your fist even make a beat
for black & brown & in-between
you can name streets on fire
but can't name yourself
you can name streets on fire
but can't name trauma
flower baths, hot tea
ain’t self care
for the dehumanized, you see
no grandfather’s cabin
for us to retreat
no lounge chair
for daisies to engulf me
our knuckles been swollen
awareness, your privilege
trying to live
is our existence
as your hands submerge in bubble baths
and your knees shake from yoga poses
freedom will come from those
who put awareness to action
make living a sanction
we are defining the times
we are living in
dams
beaver teaches us
yet we seldom listen
eyes retreat
hearts harden
if only we
could reimagine
self and earth
earth and self
could we dare to live
like the beaver
to build, collect, pull
like the beaver
where food access
wasn’t a luxury
basic necessities
didn’t need authority
shelters for souls
houseless, not homeless
if we are life
and life is us
can we stop living
as though
there’s only one of us
multimedia:
audio/video version of laps:
soundcloud: a piece i did on soundcloud called "new 400" - we've experienced 400 years of systemic racism, what can the next 400 look like? linked here
"black like me," - a short film
won "best overall film" at hilltop street fair film competition
showcased: Grand Cinema 253 Film Competition, Vision Fest hosted by Seattle Young People's Project