Merci Pour Vous

I thank you for your wit,
I thank you for your theatricality.
I thank you for your sighs,
I thank you for your improbability.

I thank you for your unexpectedness,
I thank you for your demands.
I thank you for your fluidity,
I thank you for your compliance

to my demands,
to my boundaries,
to my absence,
to my opposing arguments
and my relief.

I thank you for your wit,
I thank you for your intelligence.
I thank you for your intentions,
your unspoken allegiance

to my line in the sand,
to my gifts at hand,
to my relevance,
to my home in your periphery
and your windows.

I thank you for this view
into the sound of your voice
as you thank me too.

— yiqi 26 nov 2015 8:15 pm

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Today is not for celebrating a history of explorers intruding upon the kingdoms of others; today is not for remembering the perseverance of people searching for a new place to worship their god in their own ways at the annihilation of others; nope, today is like any other day in which one can be reminded of how one has been altered by another person’s elation, existence, evanescence.  Today is to acknowledge the courage it takes to help someone who may loathe you with all of his consciousness but who is not too proud to refuse your assistance.


Just One Question

Would you rather be a human being who knows grand inspiration and life-altering love just once, lasting a decade?

Or be another animal that over the course of your life knows a series of human companions who demonstrates the full spectrum of concern and attention (from severe neglect to anthropomorphic doting)?

Or be a tree in the center of a community park, living through every kind of treatment bestowed upon such a life form where humans like to congregate?


Au Champs-Elysees

Another poem whose narrator eludes me, but whose voice called to me to speak for her.


Dawn marched her corduroy britches into view,
dampening my camera lens just as I snapped a shot of black smoke
serpentine and languishing,
bastardizing the blues.

Dawn shoved carrot sticks into my mouth,
glued incendiary compromises across my shoulders,
ironing on a corset made of loathing and scars.

She marked my face with a green felt pen,
she nicked my neck with a thumbtack,
folding up limb after limb of my reborn skill sets,
all bruise and no brain.

Dawn pushed me into the city streets,
I hugged the pavement under the lamps
and waited for the silence preceding the implosion,
where my name would no longer be my own
and my skin color a dead-end clue.

Dawn pressed to the left and my body moved,
she pressed to the right and my body moved,
ever deeper into the revelers and people-watchers,
the coffee drinkers and portrait makers.

She pushed me deeper into the middle
until I could see only tweed and denim,
and then the silence came.

Au Champs-Elysees, my final resting place,
a full circle now as ever before.

— yiqi 17 november 2015 8:09 am


It Must Have Been Real

I remember the way you swung the tree branches as heavy as Grandma Sand.  I remember the way you launched the spears into the woods when the leaves shook and only you could hear their trembling.  I remember the way you hoisted me over the railing when my tunic got stuck on the wire fence.  I remember the way you looked into my forehead as though you found the answer to an old riddle.  You chuckled, patted my head, and buried your spears.

I saw the way you built the cabins, each one stronger than the one preceding it.  I saw the way you planted seeds and tilled the land when the integrated clan members fled in the night.  I saw the way you saved a litter of puppies from the fire, one minute later and they’d have been turned to ash.  I saw the way you cleaned my boots because I couldn’t reach the bottoms of my soles.  I saw the way you peered into my forehead as though you found the answer to a long-forgotten question.  You crumpled up your notes, grafted new skin onto the puppies, and hurried to finish planting all of the seeds.

I heard the way you explained the difference between a square and a rectangle to future math scholars of America.  I heard the way you hummed a bluegrass dirge when you interred the bones of your birds.  I heard the way you groaned at the weight of your neighbors’ shortsightedness.  I heard the way you rejoiced at the bountiful harvest, piled high like a launchpad to the heavens.  I heard the way you besought the guardians of the sky to grant you one more day with the god of wine.  I heard the way you dove into my forehead as though you heard the answer to an unconscious prayer.  You buckled up your shoes, crafted a new chorus to that bluegrass song, and curried nuts for your other birds.

It must have been real,  I saw you.  I smelled you.  I carried your blankets and pocket watches.  It must have been real, this life you lived.  I see it even now.  It follows me around like a story left behind pretending to be a hidden track on a CD that will play after waiting twelve minutes of silence after the last song on an LP.

It must have been real, the overlap, time and space fractured long enough for me to be real to you too.  You lifted me up, cleaned up my shoes, you looked, you laughed, you plunged into my cerebral receptors and sang a happy tune.  Happier than most totally requested live chart-toppers.  My forehead is in full bloom.

This entry is somewhat inspired by reality.  My creative writing comes from an inner muse, but this piece came from somewhere new, somewhere different.  Less mind, more heart.

Adidas Will Help You Rebrand Yourself

That is, if you are a high school whose mascot is semiotically, linguistically appropriated from the iconography of Native American people.

I was over at Native News Online when I saw a teaser that “Adidas Just Did It.”  Just did what? They have committed to helping American high schools rebrand themselves.  From their news release:

adidas will offer its design resources to any high school in America that wants to change their logo or mascot from potentially harmful Native American imagery or symbolism. Additionally, the company will provide financial assistance to schools who want to change their identity to ensure the transition is not cost prohibitive…In addition, adidas will be a founding member of a coalition to look at the issue of Native imagery and mascots in sports and work to find ongoing solutions…Of the more than 27,000 high schools across the United States, approximately 2,000 of them use names that cause concern for many tribal communities. The new program will be voluntary for high schools interested in changing their identities.


I looked up thirty-four high schools in GA to see how many of them could use a make-over.  One offender out of thirty-four.

Dunwoody Wildcats
Chamblee Bulldogs

Westminster Wildcats
Woodward War Eagles
Marist War Eagles
Pace Knights
Lovett Lions
Lovejoy Wildcats
Holy Innocents Golden Bears

North Atlanta HS Warriors
North Springs Spartans
Riverwood Raiders
Decatur HS Bulldogs
Blessed Trinity Titans
St. Pius Golden Lions
Greater Atlanta Christian School Spartans
Duluth HS Wildcats
Wesleyan Wolves

Sprayberry Yellow Jackets
Pope Greyhounds
Lassiter Trojans
Marietta HS Blue Devils

Cross Keys Indians
Carrollton HS Trojans
North Clayton Eagles
Southeast Bulloch Yellow Jackets

Colquitt County Wild Piggies
Dawson County Red Devils
Laney Wildcats
Elbert County Blue Devils
Therrell HS Panthers
Towers HS Titans
Douglass HS Astros
Booker T. Washington HS Bulldogs

I did some googling and came across this article by Hayley Munguia from a year ago that takes a deeper look into the controversy of naming a sports team another people’s tribal identity.

Do you attend a high school that could use a new name?  Are you a school administrator with questions?  Send your inquiries to: