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Stare

He doesn’t stare at me anymore. He doesn’t stare deep into my eyes like we found a resource of love. He doesn’t stare anymore like we shared a common understanding of attraction that existed under the radar, like the slow steady hum of the refrigerator.

No, now his eyes look at me with a common look, the light snuffed out like hitting the switch just before hitting the bed after an exhausting day. His stare no loner lingers, I am part of the clean sweep of the room. He looks beyond me, his stare is non-specific. I am a blur, a tree in the background.

No, he doesn’t stare at me anymore. He packed his stare up, reserving it for distant destinations in far away places. Yes, he packed up his stare and sent it to destinations that are beyond my reach and to places where I cannot go.

Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 4/12/2009 2:37 PM | Add Comment

You Do

It’s sad when a healer loses hope. The healer is supposed to be the holder of hope for all, the one everyone believes in. “It’s a trap” she thought, “because inherent in the word is a commitment outside yourself. It is easy to give to others when you are a healer and leave yourself out of the equation.” It’s sad when a healer loses hope, when the joy leaves her yes and her smile exists to comfort another. The healer’s suicide is slow and invisible. A 1,000 comforting words that go outside her and never find their way back home to her heart. “Who heals the healer?” she cried out. Slowly, bubbling up from her heart, the words passed across smiling lips, “You do.”
Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 10/26/2008 2:38 PM | Add Comment

Change

The bus crawled towards the light as it turned red. As the doors opened to her, a brown voice reaches my ears, “You leavin’ right now?” The driver looked at the passenger standing in front of her and said, “In a minute.” The woman ran to the corner store to get change. When the light changed from red to green, I was sure the bus driver would leave her, but she didn’t. The woman came back with water and Fritos, hurrying towards the bus. As the bus moved forward, I heard myself say out loud, “Sweetness.” When the light changed, I was sure the bus driver would leave her, but she didn’t. She waited, she waited on her people.
Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 10/19/2008 2:36 PM | Add Comment

Depression

The air is so heavy, it pushes my body to the bed, ties and binds my feet. It pushes my mind to go to abandoned places destroyed by war, places driven by fear of other. Depression honors the less, puts out the fire that is the only navigation out of this dark starless night. I cannot find my way out of the night, out of the desert, out of my house, out of the nagging thoughts of less than…until I can.

Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 10/12/2008 2:25 PM | Add Comment

Letter from a Retired Activist

To Every Cause that I have Suffered for:

I know that we are supposed to meet at 5:00 at the protest, but I must tell you why I will not be there. I will not be there, because I have come to know that without prioritizing my health and healing, I will come bringing you things that do not serve you.

If I come with a cold, surely I will compromise your immune system. If I come taking responsibility for you, surely I will compromise your own capacity to trust your indwelling wisdom. If I come valuing you more than my own life, surely we will both have our potential compromised, because everyone is needed. If I come to you intoxicated with the possibility that serving you is my healing, that my healing begins and ends with you-I am heavy as you attempt to lift me to my feet. If I come to save you, because I do not trust the power of God within you, surely I have devalued you and treated you like a child and how can a child fight the wars of poverty, deforestation and health disparities? If I come bearing boxes with gifts layered in good intention tissue paper, so I can validate myself as a gift bringer, than there is no reciprocity. When there is no reciprocity, than surely the gifts are not sustainable, because you are always put in the position of a receiver and me the giver and we live, create and work in power dynamics that undercut the roots of a potentially prosperous and impactful tree.  If I come bringing the light, because I assume you don't have any or your light does not shine as brightly as mine, then we both sit in the dark and how can we see each other- our strength, our possibility in the dark?

So, my sweet cause, I am not coming to the protest, because you deserve more than a martyr, a wounded warrior. I am not coming to the protest, because there is an internal war that I must settle. I am not coming to the protest, because I need to sit still and understand what I am bringing to you and why. Don't worry love, I will not leave forever. I cannot, because I was born to serve. I am simply retiring from activism in the current incarnation. I am just looking out my window to see if there is a possibility where you and I can co-exist without you becoming my identity or a mask for a wound. Yes, I am looking for another way. Yes, I am searching my forest to know what is growing there, so that we both may get housed, fed and nurtured. When I return, I will come for you and we will dance, celebrating each other in present time.

 


Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 7/27/2008 2:42 PM | Add Comment

Distant Stare

He doesn't stare anymore. He doesn't stare deep into my eyes like he found a resource of love. He doesn't stare like we share a common understanding of attraction. After I revealed my complexity, I could no longer be a projection of his values. I could no longer be his exotic objectification of skin, lips and eyes without those pesky interferences of intelligence, heart and Spirit. No, now his eyes look at me with a common look. His eyes are dim, like the light snuffed out after hitting a switch just before falling exhausted into bed. His stare no longer lingers on me. I am part of a clean sweep of the room. He packed up his stare and looked past me to distant destinations and far away places.
Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 7/20/2008 2:31 PM | Add Comment

Chinese Herbs

He pulled out his white piece of paper and then his white medicine bottle. Asian hands pured slowly, carefully small leaves, tiny fragments of a larger plant. He poured them in a neat row as if he was a gardner ensuring that his crops would grow correctly. The bus we were riding continued to roll on as his slow, steady fingers roll the paper into a neat cigarette before sealing it with a kiss.  I turned to him and said, "Chinese herbs?" He put the back of his hand to his mouth and said, "Yeah, that's it. Medicine." I grinned and said, "Of course, what else can it be?" His body lurched forward as he attempted to contain his laughter. He put his medicine into his cigarette box with gentle hands.  As he got off the bus, I yelled to him, "Feel better!" He paused for a moment as he looked at me with confused eyes before his laughter made him fall forward onto the steps of the bus. Just as he was about to get off, he leaned back and said, "You know I will." I laughed as the door shut, the bus rolled on and we lived our separate lives in small boxes with funny cigarettes. 
Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 7/16/2008 2:00 PM | Add Comment

Empty Vessel

Perhaps I'd like to fall in love with the love that is within me

Perhaps I'd like to tell myself a new story about myself and my value

Perhaps I'd like to see for myself, use my vision for my own possibility

Perhaps I have a right to receive some of the prayers, I pray for others

Perhaps I get to have the ground under my feet for myself

Perhaps empowerment can include me

Perhaps I am more than an empty vessel 
Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 7/13/2008 1:53 PM | Add Comment

Internalized Beauty

He told me that you could eat roses. It never occurred to me to eat a rose. There we were sitting next to a vase full of roses that seemed to me untouchable in their beauty. He picked up a rose, pulled a leaf off of it and smiled as he ate it. I thought, my God, what else can one do to internalize beauty?
Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 7/6/2008 1:37 PM | Add Comment

Landing

Her life for the past few years had been like a plane waiting to land, flying in circles. So she decided to jump, to save her money and go to an unknown place without a word of Spanish in her cultural pockets. Her life for the past few years had been like a plane waiting to land, flying in circles and so she decided to ask a stranger who inhabited my body to tea. Over cups of hot comfort, we let our prayers for personal possibility rise with the sacred steam. Rich in her own possibility, I was refreshed in mine. When it was time to go, it was time to go. She hugged me hard and full- twice and nothing was empty except our cups. 

Posted by Kisha Montgomery at 6/22/2008 5:14 AM | View Comments (1) | Add Comment
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