Janice Mirikitani Famous Quotes
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Bad women celebrate themselves..
We were made to believe / our faces betrayed us. / Our bodies were loud / with yellow / screaming flesh / needing to be silenced / behind barbed wire.
Healthy Choices
Hold still
Keep quiet.
Get a degree
to learn how to talk
saying nothing.
Catch a good man
by being demure.
the one your mother chooses.
Let him climb you
whenever his urge,
amidst headaches
and menstrual aches
and screaming infants.
And when he bids
quick, turn over.
Hold still.
Make your tongue
a slab of cement
a white stone etched
with your name.
Kill your stories with knives
and knitting needles
and Clorox bleach.
Hide in your mysteriousness
by saying nothing.
Starch your thoughts
with ironed shirts.
Tie your anger
with a knot in
your throat
and when he comes
without concern
swallow it.
Hold still.
Keep desire
hopeless as ice
and sleepless nights
and painful as pinched eyelid.
Keep your fingers
from the razor,
keep your longing
to sever
his condescension
safely in your douchbag.
Turn the blade
against yourself.
Don't twitch
as your slashed wrists
stain your bathroom tiles.
Disinfect with Pine Sol.
Hold still.
Keep quiet.
Keep tight your lips,
keep dead your dreams,
keep cold your heart.
Keep quiet.
And he will shout
praises
to your
perfe
I found that my wounds begin to heal when the voices of those endangered by silence are given power. The silence of hopelessness, of despair buried in the depths of poverty, violence, racism are more deadly than bullets. The gift of light, in our compassion, our listening, our works of love is the gift of life to ourselves.
Autumn comes
like a buyer of cloth,
her long fingers
touching,
turning orange,
yellow, brown.
taking what she wants,
stretching
the bone taut air.
Her skin crackles beneath
our feet.
I didn't think anyone wanted me,
bruises pulled
like a sweater around
my neck.
We talk
in the pore tightening air,
branches bare,
about the girl buried in the chill
of prewinter.
We show each other
our mutilated children
in the guise of women
as autumn plucks
at our lips.
Each color,
blue, black, ochre
popping like kisses
on the rib lined flesh,
the puberty soft things.
And we muse
how women
keep bruises
hidden
beneath dead
leaves.
