Poem #120 of 365

He told me to “get off the computer,
it's late” and I reply that I have to stay on,
cuz “this is when I do my best writing."

Out of the corner of my left eye, he
is moving about the house,
to the kitchen, opening and
closing various doors. After a yawn
emits, he speaks again, with a wave,

"I’m going to sleep now,
cuz that’s when I do my best kayaking."

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #119 of 365

I've walked into so many houses
in the middle of the night,
shown a bed and blanket,
clock and light.

Last night it happened again.

Two new people waited for me
at one in the morning. When my
bus showed at the Greyhound
station in McAllen, they pushed
forward shyly but smiling

and I knew I would make them
my friends. I love these awkward,
sudden meetings where I am touring
artist in a strange new place, with
no choice but to trust and welcome
the moment. And to open this heart
of mine, no need for hinges cuz
it has no door, and hug new people
and fall deeply deeply in love.

Until I'm gone again.

But things appear when you need them,
like beds and wake-up calls and fatty
funny cats. They make me feel at home
and wistful, like how could I ever want to
leave this home?

Dear Emmy was so kind to me, and right
on-point to make things good. I saw the
teacher and the wife and the writer in her,
in one inhalation of her aura and I wanted
always only great things for her.

When I told her that I wanted to contribute
to the local economy, and could we stop
at a liquor store, she agreed it was a good plan.
I pointed to a word she'd never read before,
it said a name and "liquor store". Bleary-eyed
from little sleep and too much public attention,
I fantasized aloud: "sometimes at liquor stores,
they have wine tastings, maybe there'll be one
here." And Emmy turned the wheel and nodded,
she's still learning the twists of my logic.

And, of course, it had to be, as I know I willed
it, there was a beautiful woman at a portable
bar offering free shots of top-label tequila.

I sang a poem for my second shot, and Emmy
marveled at my gumption. In twenty years, she'll
be poem-packin' with loaded heat of risk and rhyme.
But tonight, I was the drunk example of what
a lone Tejana woman poeta on the road could be.

Fearless, thirsty, with lyrical nerve, and a damn
big heart for the big wow now.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #118 of 365

The seagull in the Wal-Mart parking lot
was a bit confused. Over the sea of
suvs and shopping carts, it could
spot no fish to eat.

But we found good food just two
blocks away. The best Thai lunch
I'd had in years, in a strip mall
spot with Buddha shrines and
chubby cooks with dainty smiles.

And bottomless oceans of Thai iced tea.

I could feel the currents swell within
my belly after drinking so much,
and waddled like a beachfront
bird to one of those cars gleaming
like motored minnows in the sunlit
salty afternoon.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #117 of 365

Kingsville is a place of pigs,
the revved up kind like the javelina
haunting the night
as it crosses the main road.

Kingsville is a place of Kings,
with power for the few and
good jobs for the many as
long as you toe the many lines
that twist in the county dirt.

Kingsville is a place of history,
the town of Irma Rangel and
Carmen Lomas Garza and Desperate
Eva Longoria--just to name a few.

Kingsville is a town of masks,
the ones you wear to get
high status and the ones on
Brenda's trees that stare down the fakes.


(with thanks to Marco and Brenda--and little Maya--for sharing their stories and knowledge of Kingsville with me)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #116 of 365

The country kids have no
limits when they get
behind the wheel. They
are not bound to squares
on a city Mapsco page.

When a country kid is sixteen
with a license, it's like a racehorse
has run off from the race
and the tourney prize. All that
matters is the spree.

A rural road, whether Texas red dirt or
halved with yellow lines, is a lengthy
bullsnake daring kids to cruise
all crazy, copulate in May.

I've met those country kids, the
ones who school in Kingsville,
live in Ricardo, shop in Corpus.
They have cat eyes at night,
as they sneak through darkness
to wet county pleasures and
the allure of acceleration.

No city limits can restrict,
no high gas prices
deter them from their teen
ambition to get some
gritty mileage on their souls.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #115 of 365

My heroes have always
been little girls

the ones who have to
put themselves to bed
cuz their mamas passed
out stoned on the couch

the ones with hands
clenched between their knees
at the counseling sessions
cuz the perpetrators got off
for doing as they pleased

the ones who scream and cry
and throw teddy bears
at their very daddys
cuz he can't seem to stop
plowing his wife with fists

the ones who read books
at the dinner tables
while the grownups yak
cuz they've got their own
little girl thoughts to think

the ones who reach
for me and give me hugs
at the end of our first
night to meet
cuz they recognize
the survivor
little girl in me


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

I am a recipient of a Puffin Foundation 2007 grant award for She: Bike/Spoke/Love !!

hella busy this month and the last.

just got another grant, yesterday, from the Puffin Foundation, in support of my upcoming spoken word bicycle theater play SHE: BIKE/SPOKE/LOVE. (that's my big focus for the next 6 to 12 months.)

i'm incredibly surprised that i'm typing this at 7:35 a.m. damn phone rang, and woke me. gonna mess w/ my schedule and biorhythms today, it is.

tomorrow i fly out to Kingsville (TX A&M) for a 3-day artist/writer residency at the university. will be lecturing, performing, and leading 2 workshops with high school students in the nearby community.

over the weekend, i'll roadtrip to McAllen for my first ever visit to the Valley. such a mythical, legendary place, it seems. will be there to promote and celebrate HECHO EN TEJAS with a reading at a Barnes & Noble and a workshop for high school teachers in La Joya ISD--to give 'em ideas for how to use our book in their classrooms. of course, bbq and other social events are pegged for all the visiting writers (Dagoberto Gilb, Macarena Hernandez, David Garza, Erasmo Guerra, Christine Granados, Roberto Ontiveros, and several others).

Poem #114 of 365

My little audiocassette recorder
was propped on the night table,
the bedside stand. The buttons
were set on record, and the KMART
special 3-pack cassettes were
getting all used up.

I was a fifth grader in love
with KFJZ from the AM to the PM
and eventually the FM, when
they went to stereo.

The only little radio in the house,
besides daddy's transistors, was
in the other bedroom. It was a
beige, alarm clock-radio, probably
from KMART too.

I'd set my recorder up in the morning
when a new hit was destined for drive-
time play, and I never minded that the
dj banter got taped too. Edit was
a word that I had yet to hear.

I marveled at all the bands lined up in
the radio studio, waiting their turn
to play. Paul McCartney and Wings
in the wings, I could hardly believe it!
But yes I did, I truly believed that
each and every band was there at
the KFJZ station to play their song,
en vivo. Live rock and roll on my
parents' clock radio and on my
KMART cassettes for later listening.

I loved the magic of radio.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #113 of 365

the pavement gave me a penny
outside Fiesta today

and i had just left a penny
behind in the hand of the
grocery store clerk.

you can't lose for winning.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

What I Wanna Do When I Grow Up...

and get old.

Poem #112 of 365

You curled up to sleep
with the clouds during
those days you lived in the trees.
The canopy draped your every
day acts, your routine movements
and we wondered if you would
remember how to walk on
ground once you realized your
feet were for walking, not
for climbing. But you couldn't
be told nothing, and so we
focused instead on making
your life comfortable, easing
airlifts of food and water,
books and blankets up
in a basket, using
the pulley system we'd
rigged up from a diagram
you'd brought to the hardware
store. I thought about joining
you in the trees, but wanted to wait
until you actually asked me
up, which you never did, and
that's okay, cuz eventually
I surprised you with a short
visit and a promise ring, and
after that I knew there was
no forest or tree
could stop me from loving
the woman who makes me feel
like I’m walking on clouds.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #111 of 365

The pink-and-orange push-up,
a tasty sweet confection
was actually a lady dancing
on her feet. The striped
swath of scarf draped
across her shoulders
curled and lifted with every
rhythmic step.

She liked M.I.A.,
the reggaeton, the Smiths.
The dj spun these wordlessly,
fingering the taped grooves
as he'd practiced again and
again. The lady dropped
down low, she swung her hips,
she entertained a Brasilian
boy whose smile gave light
like a sliver moon.

In flashback, she recalled
the crazy swooning night,
all the stepping fools,
the coquettish Nati, the
matador Richard, the giggling
girls, toe-tapping boys.

And she also remembered
how they danced around,
between, and above
Rodrigo's neat black shoes
in hilarious tribute.

The feet should be naked
when they pray in time to music.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #110 of 365

"Listen to me, it wasn't
a possum, it was a raccoon."
Your eyes, in the dark night,
grew wide as you said "big,
it was real big."

Your fear haunts me, and I
imagine the things you do,
I do, others do, when fear
overcomes and floods
our veins, mixing with the
cheap beers and general
everyday blood of living.

I'm not bothered by raccoons,
even if they're free-ranging
on my street. They're like
the dark shadows of thought
that visit my mind, and I've
found those darknessess to
be tameable, and I let them
lurk as they like. Long as
they know who's boss.

But you, and others, I'm not
so sure how y'all stand on
shadows, cuz sometimes you
even seem afraid of your own.
So I wish a prayer or pray
a wish that you may see only
what you can handle, grip the
moment ably when it grabs
your throat.

I forget about everything,
your saucer eyes, the build-
up of worry in your face,
the musculature of fight-
or-flight, and it's the
next day or the day after
that, and I'm calmly
driving in my hood, and
I steer past a flattened
carcass, but it's not so
flat yet, so it must be
fresh kill.

And it's a raccoon, and
possibly your raccoon,
the "big" one of your
fret, but this thing
is not moving. It has
become an emblem on
the ground, like the
patches on the Boy
Scouts shirt you used
to wear. A sign of
something finished,
mission accomplished,
challenge faced. I
want that emblem, furry
and inert, dead and cold,
to be your fear done
gone. Your anxious
worry crushed to nothing
on Rosedale Street.

I wish other fears could
be so easily removed....

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #109 of 365

As the hips and buttocks sway in front of me
there is a gentle alignment of mirth with the
maximum goal of swelling smooth. And the
swills and sips have inundated, we are as one
intoxicated. Alas, the floor is soaking wet.

In one glass, we merge and blend, the great
mixed squeeze and wink. A bubble of one
in a curvy tumbler, we dance half-asleep
in the night of foam. It is one big liquid
thing, the body mass, surging and twirling,
light and low.

We might impulse as huge, the bubble
en masse and careen up to the roof. Or
we could instead blink pop our minds
and bring ourselves to stop, aware of
sticky lubricated shoes.


(watching the beautiful people dance to the music of Sleeplab at Embargo)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #108 of 365

Huff left us with the idea
that one could choose to be
a successful artist
or to be an artist successfully.
i think you have chosen (well) the latter.
and you are leaving this town,
shaking its southwesterly dust
off your shoes this week.
all your dreams and cushions, lost
keys and boyfriends,
they all must choose as well.

to be alone, successfully,
or to be successfully alone w/ you.

i think they too may choose the latter.
how can we know?
how will we tell?

all the canvases in this city cannot paint the goodbye
i want to give. you must imagine the splatters, the
Pollack pouting farewell paintspills. we’re rooting
for you, cuz we’re underground in the 817,
rooting and percolating,
awaiting our chirping emergence,
the scent-laden blossoming day.

remember to shed your skin as you leave.
Leave the discards and rejects behind.
Take only what you need. Leave us in your awake.
We will be rooting, as you can imagine.

(sayonara and come back soon to Ms. KM, who ventures to LA for a spell)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #107 of 365

Rob hands him a walking stick
and Ricardo makes it a shotgun.
Israel shouts "missile launcher,
that's what it is!"

Even a small little prop--a plastic
handle--turns into a deadly
weapon in the hands of the children.

Once, twice, three times today
a small boy under 10 has aimed
hard and intent at my face.
Isaiah makes it a bazooka, and
he waves it across the room,
making shooting gun noises.

Acting, we are only acting,
but I let myself wonder
who taught this six-year old
the word 'bazooka'.

It is five o'clock, the dead
have not been buried, and
small boys pretend to kill.


{one day after the deadly shooting attacks at Virginia Tech)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #106 of 365

All the croaked animals
today get splayed
and displayed on
city streets, backyard
lawns.

The last canary feathers
were white and
disparate, but the bird
who survived
now winces
on a distant branch
as Ted hovers with
butterfly net.

The guts of another species
make Main morbid as
one suv after the
next straddles the
flesh in mincing steps.

It's springtime, and all
is dead around me.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #105 of 365

1. Ten things I forget to do.
2. Two prayers I neglect to say.
3. Five letters I swore to write.
4. Nine lives I thought I could save.
5. Seven ways to call it quits.
6. Six people who witnessed the deed.
7. One voice that emits from the box.
8. Four corners that still remain silent.
9. Three ways to make loving hurt.
10. Eight anchors to keep me locked down.
11. Eleven lines that teeter on edge.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #104 of 365

Richard and Cheyenne
like names for
a road trip,
they strapped me
in and geared
up the steed.

Dago and Cesar,
full speed ahead,
we dovetailed
sweetly in the
midnight court
and stood airbright
with miller breath.

(celebrando HECHO EN TEJAS in the 817...!)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #103 of 365

The sirens croon as I steer towards
home, and the waters wash at the
curbs, the cement walkways. It is
as if my ears are stopped up with
fluid, I am so swollen with adrenalin
and the cars around me seem as
slow and aimless as meadow
cows. I spot a black patch in
the sky, and its bottom is
obscured by buildings to
the south. I'm sure it is the tail
of a tornado I cannot see and
towards which I am unwittingly
driving.

The rain is pelting the car, and
soon it may become hail, and
the news talk stations deny me
certainty, and the words are
cutting out. I bypass all my
plans and pitstops, cross everything
off my list to do. It only matters
that I get home, I only want to
park and breathe.

In the final mile, I feel homefree
yet a sluggish suv holds me hostage
on the road. The sky drops everything
and the car is pummeled and my
hand jerks to honk and honk. In a
panic, I yell and cuss, almost climb
a curb and scramble past. Finally,
the suv rolls away and I swim the
Buick to its block. I only want the
one thing, to stop and be safe.
To run to the house, to clutch
my cat.

At the driveway, I arrest my fear
and don't even grab my bags.
I flee to the doorway, and my
brother's hand reaches from
the porch, not to pull but to
welcome. As if to signal that
he knows my worry, feels
the storm of edge in my mind.
We rush indoors, sweaty with
rain, and throw all volumes
up to high.

We clamor for precision,
factual news, and the tv,
radio, and stereo all quell
our anxious need to know.
It is funny how we walk, in
this house during a storm,
feeling so bodily close, yet
so alone in fear. We want
to hear a voice speak with
assurance, tell us what to do.

As the winds die down, and
the roses settle on the bushes,
the volume knobs adjust and
everything gets subtle, and
the pelts reduce to drips, and
the sky opens up to blue,
and now we feel silly, sweaty,
nerve-wrack weary, but also,
finally safe.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

HECHO EN TEJAS: Palabras del Barrio - TONIGHT!

HECHO EN TEJAS (UNM Press: Albuquerque, 2007) is the first major anthology of Mexican-American literature from Texas. Our event, in Fort Worth, is scheduled for Friday, April 13th, at the Rose Marine Theater, 1440 N. Main St., from 7:30pm-9:30pm.

I became involved with this publication because Dagoberto Gilb--renowned author and creative writing instructor at Texas State University--invited me to submit some of my own poems for his consideration. He chose 2 of my poems, which are now including in the anthology. Many of us Mexican-American writers in Texas are part of an active network. We stay in touch w/ one another, offering support & collaborating in literary projects. Dago is someone I've known for many years. We've actually been to the White House together, and that's another--very interesting!--story.

I hope you can join us for the Friday, Apriil 13th event in FW. It is FREE and OPEN TO THE PUBLIC. No reservations are needed. This will DEFINITELY be a great PHOTO OPPORTUNITY as well. Copies of HECHO EN TEJAS will be for sale---30 bucks each.

Mil gracias!
Tammy
_________________________________________________________

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Tammy Gomez
Sound Culture
sound_culture@hotmail.com
817.924.9188

“Hecho en Tejas: Palabras del Barrio” to celebrate the release of new anthology of Texas Mexican literature with author readings & reception

What: Reading/performance/booksigning/reception
When: Friday, April 13th, 7:30pm - 9pm
Where: Rose Marine Theater, 1440 N. Main Street, 817.624.8333
Cost: Free admission/open to the public

HECHO EN TEJAS (UNM Press, 2007) is a groundbreaking collection of literature by Mexican-Americans in Texas which was released on February 10th of this year. Since that date, many events throughout Texas have been scheduled to celebrate and promote the book--particularly in Hispanic communities and educational institutions.

A Fort Worth literary event to celebrate HECHO EN TEJAS, is scheduled for Friday, April 13th, from 7:30-9pm, at the Rose Marine Theater.

The event, titled "HECHO EN TEJAS: Palabras del Barrio", will feature readings and performances by six authors from the anthology--including editor Dagoberto Gilb.

A video-poem by poet Tonantzin Canestaro-Garcia will be screened, and a performance by Austin musician David Garza (whose lyrics are included in the anthology), will also be offered.

Copies of HECHO EN TEJAS will be available for purchase during the reception and booksigning in the gallery.

AUTHOR/ARTIST BIOS:

There will be six authors and performers, representing HECHO EN TEJAS, in attendance at the Rose Marine Theater event:

Dagoberto Gilb (Austin) is the editor of Hecho en Tejas: An Anthology of Texas Mexican Literature. He is also the author of four books of fiction and nonfiction, including the 1994 PEN/Hemingway Award-winning The Magic of Blood, as well as The Last Known Residence of Mickey Acuña, Woodcuts of Women, and Gritos. He currently is on the faculty of the Creative Writing MFA Program at Texas State University, in San Marcos, Texas.

Macarena Hernández (Dallas) is an editorial columnist for The Dallas Morning News. She has co-produced a PBS/Frontline World documentary for PBS and written for publications such as The New York Times and The Los Angeles Times. She is a graduate of Baylor University and earned a master’s degree in journalism from the University of California at Berkeley.

Christine Granados (El Paso) is the author of the short story collection Brides and Sinners in El Chuco(2006). She works as a freelance journalist and is a recipient of the 2006 Alfredo Cisneros del Moral
Award. She earned an M.F.A. from Texas State University in San Marcos.

Tammy Gomez (Fort Worth) is a small-press publisher (Tejana Tongue Press), activist, and arts educator. A 2007 Texas Medal of Arts award nominee, she graduated from Goucher College (Maryland) in 1985. Her literary performance works include the award-winning “Maya Matematica” and “Malinchuca”.

Davíd Garza (Austin ) is a critically-acclaimed musician with a mastery of many styles and has released numerous CDs including: “This Euphoria,” “Overdub,” “The Four Track Manifesto” and “A Strange Mess of Flowers.”

José Angel Gutiérrez (Arlington), professor of Political Science at UTA, is the author of several nonfiction books, including “The Making of a Civil Rights Leader”, which is included on the New York Public Library’s list of “Books for the Teen Age 2007.”

For more information:

Dallas Morning News book review by Tom Dodge:
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/books/stories/
DN-bk_hecho_0318gl.ART.State.Bulldog.43f3b7b.html

Houston Chronicle book review:
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/life/books/reviews/4576286.html

Texas House of Representatives Declare “Hecho en Tejas” Day:
http://talbot.mrp.txstate.edu/currents/fullstory.jsp?sid=998

Texas State University - San Marcos article:
http://star.txstate.edu/content/view/2711/

Texas Observer article by HECHO EN TEJAS editor Dagoberto Gilb:
http://www.texasobserver.org/article.php?aid=2374

Newspaper Tree (El Paso) book review:
http://www.newspapertree.com/culture/1159-a-storm-made-in-tejas-
review-of-hecho-en-tejas-an-anthology-of-texas-mexican-literature

San Antonio Express-News article:
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/metro/stories/MYSA021107.14B.hecho.19dfc22.html

Poem #102 of 365

I feel so clear and rational that I begin
to reach for something to cloud my
mind: a fistful of snacks, a lager pint,
an online gossip. In that fog of chaos,
I find familiarity and uncanny shadows
which transfix and propel me.

Why is it that poet needs the confusion,
the dilemma of torment, the failing
brakes to create her edge?

I don't write from fact, I write from
feel, and that is why in order to reveal
such subtle strings I must peer inside
or out of the Pandora's Box.

BBC News will do just as well.
A night without sleep will summon the
fantasy. An eerie dog howl can mock
the sane.

Don't worry, poetry is always fictive.
The end.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #101 of 365

The alphabetic brew curled in draught
enormously full glass hedonistic
and indulgent i just keenly laughed
monitoring nuggets of peanuts quietly
resting on shelves tipsy under volumes
of waxened yellow zippers.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Featured Link on Bronmin.com in April 2007

Chicago-based poet and writer, Bronmin Shumway, has positioned XX COMMUNICATOR as the "Featured Link" on her website this month. Check it out HERE.

Uhmmmm, that photo.
Circa December 2005 or so, I would guess. We were at a Dallas law firm Christmas party and our connect was through our mutual friend Andrew Baron of ROCKETBOOM fame. An hour after that photo was snapped, I do believe I was dancing onstage with Mary Wilson of the hot little band once known as THE SUPREMES. Somewhere, someone has a photo of me doing my best Tina Turner dance impersonation....

Poem #100 of 365

I weave tender bits of straw
into my promised nest,
embed crushed tinfoil onto the rim
to reflect sunlight into eyes
of unwanted suitors.

You, above all others, insist to
visit my eggs, crowd us
in our tree perch,
and I almost consent
to let you.

At the outset, I detested
the scent of pine cones
and would have no
thing to do with nesting here,

but Mt. Sopris is where
my bluejay days need
to be lived, and so far
I'm accommodating well.

I see you watching from
the other tree, the canopy
houses so many of us,
I wonder how we can keep
our birdsongs from clashing.

Fly, fly to the upper branch,
spill down your gifts,
we still lack the red
silk yarn for this nest.


copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #99 of 365

99 artist big grants in the mail
99 artist big grants
take one down, pass it around,
98 artist big grants in the mail.

Just got a grant today,
got me a pocket full of change.

I got--two art grants to paradise!
I got--two art grants to paradise!

Songs in the key of art funding.

(me sing silly to celebrate another funding award--this time from the Puffin Foundation in Teaneck, NJ !!)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #98 of 365

The ice's melted, the snow is gone,
but i'm still confused with the
seasons as they overlap like
unstapled calendar pages
done spread across the
gummy residue of a
metereologist's lap
after coming
and coming
and coming
undone.

(disoriented in april, cuz it looks like january and the heater's on--again)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #97 of 365

Why does C take my
hand every time
as if we've never met

and why do the guys
insist on introducing
me to their pet

and when will i
resume dreaming
about the boy
who i'd hoped to forget

and who will be the
next in line to
erase all my regret?


(tonight i met a dog named Oso, and that's how this began)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #96 of 365

I spilled the loteria cards
in the smoky room
and the fruit, the heroes
and half-naked damas
cried in unison for
respect and higher
pay. I took 'em
to McFinn's and they
squandered our pesos
on bitter hot pints
and embarrassed me
with their bad broken
english and impossible
tales. They never listen,
at least not ever to me,
they are their own legends
and don't care if they're
written for later review
in the academy archives.

El Azteca con la Chalupa
straddled a Modelo and
I could never find out
how the Catrin ended
up in the folds of the
bartender's slacks. I
can't take them anywhere,
indulgent exotics as they
are. But I cannot very well
leave them behind, detach
from their births and beginnings
as they show me my futures
and pendings.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #95 of 365

Cuando me cuentas tus cuentos,
me haces reir, sentir como nina
aprendiendo y apagando.

Turn off, turn on.
Like a light.

Las botas, las camisas
ahi tirados como basura
esos son resos antes que irnos.

We stay, we go.
Like a blight.

La medicina rezvala sobre tu lengua
y quiero oirte todo el dia
contando y hablando.

Flick up, flick down.
Like a tongue.

Me fije que no somos chavos
pero en este momento
el orgullo y placer que compartamos
nos hecha mas joven.

Grey hair, white hair.
Like the young.


(Thanks to Rick L for the crazy fun border tales.)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #94 of 365

She said, do it.
I looked around the room
as if for assonance
or confirmation
of her impulse.
Of course, the
room just vibrated
and the walls
spoke our echoed
secrets, but
nothing related
to Richard.

This was between
me and her.
Her painted finger
and matching lips
broadcast the
opportunity
louder than the
blurriest of
roadside signs,
the kind you
meekly obey,
turning off at
the exit, buying
a requisite coffee,
kolache, wax candle.

She made me feel
like that, pushed
to comply. The
butt and the button
made a connection,
the flash went off
and the end of
this, the whole
tail end, is proved
in the proof.

Aqui 'sta.

Bien provecho!


(silliness after hours, after Suzan-Lori Parks final show, at the F & H, with cast, crew, and our beloveds)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #93 of 365

I almost sent you an email
cuz i felt emboldened
by Tecate at 3
and my damn little
handmade journal
that Miranda gave
me in August has
gone missing, so
it's out in the world
untethered, and i
guess my gut feelings
might as well be too.

Yes, i wrote that poem
for you, in August,
in a dorm, under cover
and over whelmed,
still thinking of us.

Never has the space
between a shirt collar
and a hat intrigued
me so much. Centimeters
of tantalizing tanned
skin, as you sat
unaware. Mostly,
everyone, all of you,
are.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Norma Cantu asked me if I found my wallet in El Paso...

....and this is how I responded to her email message of concern:

No, Norma, I had to let go of it.
And leave it behind in El Paso.
It felt strange, like leaving a pet or a child,
and to act like it wasn't important anymore.

Ni modo.
I was ultra-worried about what the airport
security personnel would put me through.
I fretted all night Saturday.

But, I made it!! I highly recommend reporting
your lack of i.d. status to the airline asap (should
this ever happen to you, god forbid), which
is what I did. They noted it in my record for
my reservation with American Airlines and wished
me luck with the airport staff I'd be facing.

And, everyone was cool. Accepting. I did get
assigned for "super security" precautions---like
having my carry-on stuff evaluated and I was "wanded"
extra long. But it wasn't very invasive, actually.

I wanted to kiss the carpet at my gate, when I got the
green light to pass through.

And, I have cash now, and will replace my driver's
license, etc., in time. And, more importantly, I was
able to transition from an actually WONDERFUL
first visit to El Paso

to the harried hurried 24 hours before showtime
(the Suzan-Lori Parks plays opened tonight).

And now, I am home, and it isn't even 10 pm,
and I am floating in a beautiful reservoir of
contentment, because our first show was AMAZING
and COOL. The local theater critic was there, and
said the show was "great".

I feel relaxed, relieved, capable, and contenta.

Thanks for writing,
Thanks for caring.

I too truly enjoyed seeing and being with you---
you in your technicolor jacket.

That panel* goes down in history as one of the
best I've ever experienced--both as audience
& as participant. Thanks for all you teach me.

con un abrazote,

tammy

____________________

The "panel"* I referred to is the GENDER and WRITING panel that took place on Saturday afternoon, March 31st, as part of the Hecho En Tejas commemoration at the El Paso Public Library. The amazing writer and great-humored guy, Benjamin Alire Saenz, consented to shoot video of the panel--as long as the tape and the battery held out. Very generous of him to do this for me, actually. Unfortunately, the tape ran out before the panel ended. Que lastima. It was an incredible platica, all of us on the panel--Norma Cantu, Cecilia Balli, Alicia Gaspar de Alba, Carmen Tafolla, and me--wow, i need to transcribe the parts we caught on videotape...

Poem #92 of 365

Someday, she said, I will
string up the hallways
and you will fall and
trip you way to the
alarm clock in the
mornings.

Ain't no matter,
no way, no how,
I trip and fall
even when I'm
well-rested
and I don't
use no damn
clock either.


(sleep-deprived yet again. on deadline, and my brother's using the clock tonight.)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

Poem #91 of 365

no wallet
no worries

tacos at Chico's anyway.





(with big thanks to Dulce y Cesar who rescued me from the pits of despair after it was 100% certain that i'd lost my damn wallet in El Paso.)

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez