putting myself out there
I wrote this poem six years ago. It’s in response to the way male medical professionals have treated women both here and abroad for centuries. I confront the icon of the stork, which has characterized birth in so many ways. It’s a cheap substitute that covers up the realities that surround birth. He represents the voice of critics that have shamed women for their bodies and birth experiences. I am involved in development work and have seen the brazen and cruel way in which women are treated around the world, especially if they are poor. My own birth experiences reflected the same treatment. This is for the ones whose journey to motherhood was not instagram perfect.
Driving through the high desert is my favorite place in the world to decompress. I come out here when a decision feels hazy or when my heart feels heavy. Tonight it was the latter. The road out here is endless and gives you the space to think, something a bedroom can’t compete with.
Contrary to popular opinion, Americans are not the most well-respected foreigners abroad. Being a “USA”, according to my entry documents, Hong Kong was less than impressed with the super-charged culture clash that comes with a twenty-something-year-old American discovering herself in such an environment. I worked hard to disprove some of these notions by partaking in local rituals and learning what I could of the language. I greeted the elders and showed my respect as best I could. In the end, I really couldn’t take the American out of the girl, as it were.
Musings from an Insomniac
It has always started with the birds. As far back as I can remember, the birds have been the soundtrack to my surrender, the inevitability of the dawn. I wrestle with trying to shut them out as much as I wrestle with the idea of getting out of bed and taking a brisk walk around my sleepy neighborhood.