questions from kavi

Questions from Kavi

Why does it hurt when I push on my face like this?
Why am I brown but Briam is white like you?
How come I always know where I am,
like I can always see out my eyes and feel my bones,
and I know where I am?
You have only had this body for 5 years.
You are still trying to figure it all out.
Trying to make sense of the hard parts and squishy parts
and why there are as many colors of skin as lunch boxes.
At night, just before bed is the only time quiet enough to ask these questions.
And so they flow out like rainbow colored oil streams in parking lots.
I try not to answer them. Just let you walk down the yellow lines
of existence and point at the magic of it all.
Sunrises amaze me too.
I don’t know, How do the shingles get on roofs?
Well, how do you think the people get on our TVs?
Your answers are always better than mine anyway.

Okay so, they eat a lot of sugar and then they get really hyper
and bounce through this pipe that mashes you up into colors
and then they get splattered behind the TV so we can see them…

It is hard to contain the bass beat of HELL YES,
that pounds through my chest when you discover the wonder of aliveness,
but I don’t want you to get freaked out so I say, ummm. that could be.
You are so easy to quench.
You will buy whatever the grown-ups tell you just to keep them happy.
Once when you were nervous about me leaving,
I put ten kisses in my hands and stuck them against your tiny chest and said,
Here. I put enough kisses in your heart for you to pull them out whenever you need them.
And you perked up with a smile and said, Okay, here’s ten for you too,
So you don’t get scared without me.
Now neither one of us can leave with out a handful of kisses.
So lately as the questions have been getting harder,
like Why do people get married?,
Why did you choose daddy if you don’t like him?
When Jadan touches my hair it makes me feel funny. Should I marry him?
I feel ill-equipped to respond.
You told me once that people need to clean out their junky brains
and now I am wishing I had listened, I rifle through old issues and reactions
like neon green Hard Rock shirts and big ol’ grey Nintendo boxes;
everything seems obsolete and useless.
I need to be new for you.
I need to be solid for you.
The questions aren’t getting any easier.
What happens to our bodies when we die?
And are bodies buried deep enough that tornadoes can’t get them?
And if I die will grandma take down all the pictures of me in her house?

I… just…
tell you not to worry.
And you say I can’t help but worry. I worry about everything.
My world blackens at the thought of your little body feeling anything but safe.
I say Kavi, give me your worry.
I will put it in my pocket and worry
about all these things for you so you can get some
sleep and in the morning, if you want, I’ll give it back.
Mom, you tell me, you can’t just put worry in a pocket.
My brain will still be thinking about these things.
And I watch as your innocence flutters away
on moth wings too delicate to catch.
I just say,
Baby, you chose a planet where there are no promises.
No permanence in form and no safety.
We are all wading our spoons through the milk
of this reality looking for marshmallows.
But see, worry is like is guilt and like tequila and like aspirin,
a little is helpful but a whole bottle can kill you.
It’s like taking a picture of something that never happened…
and then mashing yourself up in that color pipe and splattering
yourself inside the picture….and when you get back home you
can’t quite put yourself together the same.
Does that make sense?
And see, bodies are just the cars we are driving right now,
it’s good to take care of it and get dual side airbags if you can,
but you are either gonna crash or get too many miles
and have to trade it in for a new on anyway.
Luckily, the Universe has way better vehicles for you later.
But the good news about this earth is:
you can count on beauty way more than you can count on ugly.
Every single day that sun will rise and it will shout those
lavenders and tangerines at you until you wake up.
Everyday you will hear hip hop shaking car doors from two blocks away.
Everyday, shingles will be nailed on roofs, juice will be poured in cups,
people will touch your hair and make you feel funny,
you will raise your hand in class and have the right answer
and every night, it will get quiet.
The world will shrink down to you and me
and you will ask me questions.
You can count on joy, way more than a tornadoes pulling caskets from the ground.
But yes, some day a long, long time from now you will die.
Like 20 hundred?
Ummmm… yeah like 20 hundred.
Okay. Mom, stop talking and go to sleep.
I stroke the hair behind your ear like my mother did for me.
Each brush is a prayer
to the Silence that holds the sound of your breath,
so alive and so wise.