Shanti's Journal

waterfront
she called me Cyndi.
she had burrs on her wrist and a rag in her hand which smelled of solvents.
her two front teeth were missing and she probably didn't even know where (who) she was.

"Cyndi. you're Cyndi. I know you're Cyndi because of your beads."

i tried telling her that i didn't have beads, but she kept clutching at her chest and warning me that the police were not nice and to watch out because they were going to steal my beads.
"the beads. they're going to take your beads."
i reached over and tried to take the burs away so she wouldn't scratch her face with them. I think she thought i was trying to steal her rag and pulled her hand away. I wanted to take it and throw it away, but she would only get another one.

she told me of the police;
"they have red brims and rounded caps.
Cyndi, I know you're Cyndi. Because of the beads. Watch out for the police with the red brims and round caps. watch out for the police. they'll take your beads. the beads."

i pictured siobhan's necklace made of rainbow-patterned beads and a silver metal dream-catcher, grasped tightly in her hand. It makes me want to carry said things around with me, tucked tightly in my pocketbag for themwhoneedmore.
Years ago I had a dream catcher and I loved its significance until i Learned about "indians." until i was old enough to be taught things about them from my parents, friends and the world.
I was not born with these thoughts, one day i just kinda had them, and now i'm working with all my might to get them gone.
many things.
ageism.
racism.
even sexism.
all engrained into me.
it all washes over me and into me and through me and although i Know, with all of me that these things are wrong and i can reason my way out, they are still alive and strong, screaming in back of my mind.
Hopefully i can bury them in the oceans of Columbia.

Current Mood: reminiscent
Current Music: tires on wet streets

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