poetry

I Like to Keep My Mind Beautiful. {poetry}

 

I have always appreciated the visible cynic. Or at least the one that looks that way when you read the book by the cover.

I’ve appreciated these people because they’re very much my flip side, and so I always assumed there was a lot to learn.

When you’re a person who has been pulled so strongly by the current of your emotions most of your life, you begin to wonder sometimes if there’s another way. Sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of immense fatigue, sometimes out of being pummeled by your heart being broken one too many times; on the convex side, the highs can feel exhilarating and exhausting.

So these people, who seem to do it another way, have always been interesting to me.

Living in New York City for many years, I was granted access to many folks who seemed hard on the exterior. Big black rubbery beetle-shell warrior suits around their hearts. The woman who this poem is based off, for example, was a real person.

She was referred to as “The Warden” on our street in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, a rambling street of first generation Chinese families, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Blacks, Whites. She was this intense Chinese grandmother, who truly seemed like she was about to cluck at anyone at any given moment on any given day.

She walked slowly, she made direct eye contact, she had no qualms whatsoever about the visibility of her gaze. She was watching you. She didn’t care that you knew.

I wrote this poem, more or less stream of consciousness (as is my style) directly after an event that happened in my life that changed it forever. One of those things you don’t know if you’ll bounce back from. I guess I was looking to her for answers, and the answer I found, was that all hearts beat. And mine would again too.

***

There was
a Chinese woman I knew.

She kept her lips tight.
She’d swallow them
If she could.

Always sucking inward at
the constant threat of lemon.

Her eyes said everything,
So what business
Did her mouth have
At speaking?

She used to cluck at everyone.

Pace the stoop
of her front yard,
Scratch the pavement
With her clogs.

Step. Dot. Dip.

Kept her sunglasses on.

She’s remembering
Being a little girl,
Watching the chickens
being raised
At home.

Watching baby chicks hatch,
Even loving the shells
they cracked out of.

When she sees me,
Her eyes flicker.

There is a moment
Where the lips she’s been sucking
Make a play at being human again.

She’s cursed before
How warm-blooded I am.

I’ve cursed before
How curs’ed she seems.

But my eyes flicker too,
Over seeing her,
Because my eyes
Say everything too.

And in that we are partners.

Our eyes roll to the sky
In unison.

She likes to keep
Her mind beautiful.

You’d believe it if you saw it.

How both our eyes
Roll to the sky.
Robin egg blue.

***

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Brittany Connors

Brittany Connors

Brittany Connors is an actress, writer, and general life enthusiast based out of NYC. She is a lover of story, text, and all of the various expressions we find to make sense of ourselves and the world around us. She believes all expression is a celebration of this breathtaking existence.
Brittany Connors