Friday, March 20, 2009

Americas Gypsy

Do you know how happy I was when I was a gypsy? Just floating around like a foreign traveler flows through the ancient city…these cities of mystery. Enchanting opportunities at every corner where some poor Serbian beggar and I drink Slivovitch, “Zivoli!” or some opinionated Persian is making me kashk-e badenjun. What would I speak next, French…apres I ordered mon tarte e pastis and lit my imported cigarette? Or would I speak Arabic for ithnan seconds, finishing all the only words I know and then shaking my hips to prove my knowledge. Or maybe I would meet a valet, who sits outside waiting for me with a grin of gratitude as I hablo mi espanol. Por que everyone likes to hear Hola! Hola Hola J Oh….this gypsy squirming in my belly when Amr Diab comes on the air…yalla yalla Loosening me up with the waves of salsa Viejo that sweep into my lips, wrapping me with memories of my past latin lovers and churning the suavesito of my senses as I sip my mojito! And oh…my groins that pawn at the site of your majestic name…you from that country afar…with promises that keep me happy at night, even though my American hand is my only friend. Me, an American Gypsy…screaming the songs of solitude in this echo less city! My Oklahoma charm is wearing thin bc the skin of the world is coming in! And no other man loves me better than that big, fat, rough globe of you! You…LAND! You…LANGUAGE! You OLD Woman that spits out my name into every dish of ethnicity I eat! Comelo! Comelo! World, Fuck me in my eyes so that I can see your real color! Shove dirt into my mouth so that I can taste your stories. Blow your songs into my ear so hard that the melody comes out on the other side! Me…Eat me world! Fill YOU with ME! I want to feel your trees inside my knees, so much that I bleed from the seams of corporate he’s! Take me into your arms as if I was your lover and come in me so that you are me and I am you. But WHO ARE YOU? And why can’t I see you! How can you take these realistic burdens away so that no duty can block your organic play? To run along your streets, to swim in your streams, to eat with my hands on my knees. Sunburned and cold, bartering my shirts to get them sold. That freedom, that peace…but its so so so far from me. Cesaria Evora sings my woes as Willy Colon taps my toes! You men, so old, who see my rubies and my gold. You see me as this child, listening to you, filling me with your stories of survival and exile. Putting life into perspective in ways I can not even imagine…but I do, imagine…bc of you! You give me a gift of a kaleidoscope view of what family means, how music sounds, what food tastes like, what language really is and how above all else, love is all you need. What love really is??? Its is a meal prepared by the most authentic and cultured hands that create this feast of flavors and all for me!!!…arros con pollo ‘aye que rico’, foi grois avec le gout de la dieu, creole of jambalaya’s leaving tastes in my mouth for hours, chunks and chunks of kibbe and korma, the sambusas of spices pushing the limits pad se eu style! That mambo melting into my hips as I hold you, yes YOU…to tango into the night. I am yours forevermore, here I stand ready to explore…you, land. Je suis ici y toute est bein, por que you tengo mi mundo, en shallah en shallah, bi amar min allah!

1 comment:

Doing it with a smile, Mario Calderon said...

Look like you went after that as Busta would say
that "Arab Money"