Sunday, June 28, 2015

Need a Little Help Making the Coffee

Dear Friends,

There is a new project that I am working on and I need YOUR help. I am beginning to craft my first book of poetry! The words of poetry have been part of my life since before I can remember. My first memory of poetry is actually spoken word by none other than the supreme Maya Angelou. I was seven years old and for my birthday that year, my grandma took me to see her live. We sat in the front row with my feet dangling from the chair in awesome wonder of this incredible poet. Thinking back to that moment, I can't remember what she said, but I do know that I went home and wrote my first poem. It was about a puddle.

The subject matter of my poetry has moved beyond the weather, but it hasn't changed from what I observe each day. My poetry has shifted and changed, as I have discovered who I am as a woman and a poet. I want to continue to challenge myself with my writing and so I have decided to tackle my first book of poetry. This book will couple my love for biblical stories and spotlighting the voices of women! This book will have poems where I imagine the voices of biblical women in telling their own stories. I will base these pieces on research from the Bible, commentary from biblical scholars, and my own imagination.

I need help from YOU in choosing the women that I will spotlight in this book. Think about biblical stories of women that move you, stories that made you think, made you feel and write your top three biblical women in the comments below. I cannot promise that every woman will get into the book, but I would truly appreciate your help in compiling the voices of this book. Below I have added the two poems that sparked this idea. Thank you so much for your help!

As a slave no one asks you anything
I don’t remember the last time I was asked a question.

No asks if your feet burn
Running across blazing sand
To fetch water at the hottest part of the day,

No one is curious about how your back aches
As you rearrange skins on the tent floor,

No one wonders if your arms tire
After beating out stains from
Everyone’s clothes but your own.

And no one would ever consider to ask you
If you wanted to be taken to an old man’s tent
The smell of stale wine assaulting your senses,

No one asked if it was alright for him
To lay you on your back
Pull up your skirts &
Plunge himself into the last place that was yours

No one wondered whether a mistress should beat a pregnant woman
Assaulting the body she put in her husband’s bed
Marking a swelling belly with bruises.

No one asks if you want to get off your feet
After you can’t even seen them
Because there is a body you never asked for inside of you.

No one is curious about your comfort
When it is not your child that you drive out
Into the arms of a midwife that does not know your name.

And no one asks you if you want to hold the child
Still attached to you by a thick cord
When your mistress is there to cut it.

No one is curious if you are happy with a child
You didn’t ask for…
But for the first time it doesn’t matter
Because he has your strong hands.

But it shouldn’t come as a surprise
That in the midst of a smile
While your mistress’ belly grows

A man you met once in a tent
Would never ask you if you wanted to leave
He wouldn’t ask you if you wanted time to prepare,
There would simply be a hand pointed away &
A trudge to take with a boy who was getting to heavy to carry.

No one wonders if you make it
With a boy who is too hot and hungry
For something you don’t have.

No one is curious if it is difficult to watch
As the strong hands that grew inside of you
Become weaker
While the screams get stronger.

And no one asks if a miracle of water
Changes the past or
Makes the nightmares go away.

As a slave no one asks you anything,
But God, You asked me one question
A long time ago
And to tell the truth
That makes a difference to me.

Written by: Elyssa J. Salinas
March 21, 2015

My brothers never talk to me & sometimes I wonder if my father knows my name.
But one man knew my name.                                                                  
He asked me for a walk &
Asked me to his bed.

All night he repeated Dinah &
With my name still dripping off his palate,
I kissed his lips that tasted like curiosity.

I am a voiceless void in my family
Where my abomination lies in my body
And the only salvation has been taken from me,

By brothers who never talk to me
Afraid that I would produce impurity
Without their watchful eyes.

When my father told them,
About the man who wanted my hand
I wonder if he could even remember my name.

My body is accustomed to being in the hands of men.
But holding a dying man in my arms
Made me see my own death;

My womb will lay barren
Because of zealous brothers &
A cowardly father.

My arms will never hold a child
Looking to her face &
Seeing my own.

My lips will never call out
A name that I chose
A name that I would never forget.

Well my name is Dinah, father
And I have something to say, dear brothers

You should have killed me too,
Because I am already dead.

Written by: Elyssa J. Salinas 
March 22, 2015

1 comment:

  1. I always wonder about Orpah. Because the story of Ruth and Naomi can be so powerful but we never talk about what Orpah must have been feeling. I feel like there must be guilt and shame and pain and a myriad of other feelings.