Leaflet No. 19 - Poem, as I.O.U.

This leaflet is a poem. Show me what it tastes like in a comment.

A note: I am releasing this poem in the middle of a continually heartbreaking time of extreme loss of life by Israeli war crimes and the complicity of the U.S government.

In addition to engaging with this piece of media (if you choose to), I hope you consider and challenge yourself to witness, learn, and act against the genocide being orchestrated in Palestine ongoing. To form ideas and imagining futures where we are individually, actively against settler colonialism and xenophobia. I am asking us, including myself, to be more human than we’ve ever been, and to ask what that really looks like in action.

We have to be present. I am personally asking for your presence with Palestine.

*please note that line-breaks are best honored on a desktop-screen-view *

To hear me read the poem aloud, to animate it, feel encouraged to press play.

Poem, as I owe you

I wish to catch y’all up, but,

to avoid owing anyone anything,

to avoid saying to you, “I honestly don’t know where to start…it’s been so long…”,

I am going to make a choice and start

with touch.

My right hand is wrapped around the bike’s rubber handlebar,

the left hand on a 6-pack

of telera rolls (acquired from Rick’s because I am craving tortas),

cradling the round end like a rugby-ball tucked in my armpit.

The central Illinois wind feels like it is eroding my knuckles.

I am about to make a left-turn signal and commit — I raise the plastic bag of rolls perpendicular to my frame. Let the weight of my left become heavy with risen flour

as I do a last check for cars in all directions. The poise and balance exercised here reminds me of how a heroine unsheathes her blade and composes herself for battle. The idea makes me laugh because

I am simply just holding bread and on my bike.

…

with sight.

We're all coated in a wandering, romantic cherry light.

I am watching almost every “Lead” in the room bachata with one another. By quick maths, it means us “Follows” are hanging out on the chairs pushed to the perimeter of the restaurant’s walls, our collective legs crossing and uncrossing in anticipation.

Watching any couple dance brings me great delight, but something in how these guys bachata in their own intimate bubbles inspires awe.

I declare my admiration to my friend, who clarifies my sentiment for me, “You like watching men dance with each other.” I nod slowly as one man steadily dips his partner.

Yes. I love seeing men dance with each other. This is an image

I will pocket for a definition of “liberation”.

…

with smell.

The kitchen sink’s soap at my new friend’s place smells just like

the kitchen sink’s soap of an old friend’s home. Another commonality:

both spaces are/were ruled—overseen, really—by two adult pet cats,

so it feels like there is a wrinkle in time in which I am experiencing another permutation of love, of sweetness, of milky jasmine

within the same life. How lucky am I!!

…

with sound.

In an auditorium, I hear poetry read aloud for the first time

in a *long* time. I let my tears seep into my face-mask.

I fill with gratitude for the reminder of how

poems offer solutions through imagination. Conjuring an answering.

In many ways, it was like hearing my mom’s voice

on the phone several weeks into my first year of college.

…

with taste.

I am at a (then) stranger’s potluck. I am offered everything in his kitchen,

it feels. Everyone is a maker tonight. Everyone helps clear the table for dessert.

Once professional chef, he is most thrilled by the Costco Tuxedo Mousse cake,

and I quickly share in the excitement. It is decadent.

The stickiness of our voices post-first-bite reveals this.

…

Lately I feel like I owe a lot of people a lot of things.

For their kindness, their time, their invitations, their attentiveness—

For their bravery, their transparency, their energy—

For their curiosity, their patience, their power.

For thinking of me, for remembering me. For loving on me!

The pressure builds up.

---

What if instead of saying “I owe you”,

we said—and truly believed— “Thank you:

I get to care for you now

and in the future (forever).”

---

I hope your day is kind to you and you are kind to you.

Warmed,

Isabel