Posted in crossroads, Developmental disability, disability rights, family, from the bone, Okies, Self-advocacy

Crossroads #03 (Self-Advocacy Sunday)

A walkway leads out into a desert within pink sand, with a sign with arrows pointing both directions sideways. Letters matching the pink sand read "Crossroads."
Crossroads in the California desert.
A small area of forest in California's Siskiyou Mountain range near the Oregon border. This being the cemetery where my father was buried according to his wishes -- in just a pine box and shroud with no funeral ceremony.
Small California mountain forest cemetery that contains my father’s bones.

Dear Cheryl,

The bones of my Okie ancestors
Lie in the cemeteries
Of Wasco
Of Shafter
Of many towns
Throughout Tulare and Kern Counties
The rest of the San Joaquin Valley
Stretching back
To Oklahoma and Arkansas

A collection of Baggs gravestones from mostly San Joaquin Valley, California cemeteries.
A collection of Baggs gravestones from mostly San Joaquin Valley, California cemeteries. One (upper right) is my dad’s in the Siskiyous.

The bones of my Okie ancestors
Dance to a country beat
And my living bones
Dance in resonance
Without trying

Most people understand this
At least in part
Most people
Most people understand
The ties of blood
This kind of ancestry

Dry grass hills and trees outside Bakersfield, California. I feel these hills in my bones and there are bones in hills like these.

Even if they can’t feel their bones
Shaking the yellow-grass California hills
Bothering the roots of the lone oak trees
Living endlessly forgotten
Under converted deserts
And redwood forests
Manzanita and madrone
Mudslide and earthquake and fire

These are the bones in my life
You are most likely to understand
So they are the first I will hand you
Please think hard about them
But don’t forget
To listen in your own bones
For the song

The other song.

Spoken from the bone,
Mel

Posted in Developmental disability

Crossroads #02 (Self-Advocacy Sunday)

desert scene in pink at twilight with crossroad  road sign and a title that reads "Crossroads" in the same pink as the sand
Crossroads in the California desert.

Dear Cheryl,

We’ve never met
(We almost crossed paths in Oakland
But it doesn’t count)
And conventional wisdom
Would have it
That we could never meet

Conventional wisdom
Is why we must meet
Hence my invitation
To the crossroads
Of the borderlands
Of our native realms

I have things to tell you
That can only be told in translation
And things to hear from you
That can only be heard
At the crossing of the bones

And your death
Did kind of put an end
To any hope
Of reaching you — say —
On the phone

Spoken from the bone,
Mel

Posted in crossroads, Developmental disability, Developmental disability service system, disability rights, from the bone, Self-advocacy

Crossroads #01 (Self-Advocacy Sunday)

A walkway leads out into a desert within pink sand, with a sign with arrows pointing both directions sideways. Letters matching the pink sand read "Crossroads."
Crossroads in the California desert.

Dear Cheryl,

There is a lonely crossroad
Somewhere between here and nowhere

Where the crows wheel in circles
And call to each other
In their hidden language
But never talk to us
And never land

Where the light is always twilight
Though it range from purple to blue
And sometimes a murky greyish tan

Where a paved road with wheelchair access
Meets a dirt footpath without
Where the Country of Ideas
Borders the Country of Resonant Bones

And it is that borderland
And that crossroads
Where we must meet
We must both translate
We must both learn to listen in a foreign tongue

And as speaking to the dead
Is no problem
In this land outside of time
I have no fear
That you will stand me up
For this strange date

You’ll be too curious
You’ll begin to feel
A strange resonant song
In that part of your bones
Where your body anchors your soul
And you won’t be able to help dancing
To the tune
That already haunts your twilight dreams

So come to the crossroads of Bones and Ideas
You’ll find me there
Awaiting you
As long as it takes

Spoken from the bone,
Mel