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Indigo Vales

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Monthly Archives: July 2020

To Whom It May Concern:

31 Friday Jul 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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dolphin, feminism, first draft, freedom of speech, old boys network, open letter, opinion, reaction, reflection, The Letter, The Rebuttal, unihemispheric, Ursula LeGuin

I’ve been pacing for days trying to sort and decide what to say, if anything at all, about “The Letter” posted in the esteemed Harper’s magazine and the “Rebuttal” that made a little splash by the unwashed masses of social media. Does anyone care what these 153 suffering signatories think? Who asked their opinion on open debate, cancel culture, justice, and fear that their powerful voices will somehow be silenced, vanished from history? Frankly, I’m more interested in reading the responses of the unwashed masses who do not have a Harper’s or a platform of any kind to share their stories of being ignored, bullied, shut out, and surely underpaid for the fruits of their sweaty, wrung-out Word documents?

Chomsky, Rushdie, Atwood and…. Rowling? Who invited her to this “mighty” list of elites where she can shore up support for her (deeply unfortunate) views on transgenderism? In this very same paragraph I must examine my prickling view of The Letter against my bristling reaction to a group of male authors who yawned and called Ursula LeGuin overrated again. On one hand I defend Ursula and her right to shine with the lofty (mostly male) Sci-Fi / Fantasy writers of our time, while the other hides my snickering at JK Rowling’s fear of being cancelled. Both women endured their lumps in the writing “community” for their perceived lack of talent and their personal views, and here I am committing the same sin. In this paragraph I must re-examine my views on true freedom of speech. I must learn how to keep writing while remembering to use my Super Girl Powers for good, not evil, to keep speaking out for inequality no matter where it is found, especially when I find it in my own pages.

My thoughts are ungelled, imperfect, unready to share and certainly without authority. They are an open letter to no one in particular, written in smeared ink, carried away on the back of a rogue dolphin. (He reminds me to write about cultural appropriation in fiction next time, knowing I have a mind full of that and plenty of space to share my unsought, frightfully overrated opinions.)

Morning, July.

20 Monday Jul 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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July, morning, poem?, thoughts

The day is long when I rise at 4 in the morning, before first light. I wake up surprised that I woke, I must have made it through the night.

I pace from window to window watching the light evolve and paint the sky,
the trees, the yellow face, now bright, of these concrete walls.
Swallows will barnstorm us soon. Tony is making homes for honey bees.
The weatherman says it’s gonna be 105 degrees and I worry about folks
in the heat without access to gatorade, a/c, ice, shade and rest. (and love.)

I am open to the idea of being patient today.
Patience feels like watching my dresses dry on the curtain rod in the bathroom, and when I do it right patience smells like a green tank top
left out in the sun to dry, softly touching me.

Will another storm awaken me tonight?

“A Small Needful Fact

17 Friday Jul 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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Eric Garner, poem, Ross Gay

Is that Eric Garner worked
for some time for the Parks and Rec.
Horticultural Department, which means,
perhaps, that with his very large hands,
perhaps, in all likelihood,
he put gently into the earth
some plants which, most likely,
some of them, in all likelihood,
continue to grow, continue
to do what such plants do, like house
and feed small and necessary creatures,
like being pleasant to touch and smell,
like converting sunlight
into food, like making it easier
for us to breathe.”

—- Ross Gay

Unauthorized People

01 Wednesday Jul 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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the road not taken has a chain link fence across that says
no trespassing
this means you
the ones who don’t pay me rent,
who don’t know the code.
i am the toll keeper,
the one that keeps you on the sidewalk
where you belong, outta my parking space
my breathing place
heathens in my empire
barbarians at the gate —
this sunshine is mine, so’s the water
and the cushy sand where our children play
but not your children because you don’t pay
rent around here

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