Many Songs

Performed at the 10 Minute Play Festival 7/28/2013

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5 years. 18 housies. 14 new friends. 6 non human animals. 2 heartbreaks. Many songs. 1 death.  A memoir of 272.

I didn't have any pets as a kid.  I have been spending years of my adult life learning how to love animals.  I have spent the past five years at 272.  There is Klemmons, my best dog friend, who eats garbage and still comes over sometimes.  Sadie.  Nettle, who was a complete alien to me at first.  AND the cats...Tom, Lyra, and Lillie.  Lillie cleared up our mouse problem, but may have been a part of the reason that I decided to move.  We had a complicated door situation.  People have been asking me why I decided to move, and I can't really remember a reason.  But I feel ready.

The place to be at 272 is the kitchen.  The door is always open.  Sadie was always underfoot, except when she was outside.  She couldn't hear, and she couldn't climb stairs, but sometimes, you could catch her in the act of a quick trot with a jolly tail wag.  Crystal decided to put her down on my birthday.  She was 16 years old.  We had a funeral party for her the same day.  I had a migraine and a melt down when everyone left because I didn't want to do any of it.  But I learned that loving someone, is a willingness to clean up their piss off the floor, day after day, after day, even if you aren't their designated human.

(Song for Sadie): The gate's open.  What's it mean when the gate's open, Sadie Girl? The gate's open.  What's it mean when the gate's open Sadie Girl? Oh shit. Sadie Girl. Oh shit. Hairs of pearl, and black she wanders the streets so free.  That's what the neighbors don't want to see. Sadie Girl, oh. Sadie Girl. (End song)

I don't like too many cooks in the kitchen.  If there's one thing I don't like, it's a small group of people having to make a long chain of decisions about the smallest things.  When I have a friend over for a meal, and they want to help, I ask them to tell a story.  Hundreds of butts have sat on this kitchen bench.  Hundreds of stories.  I almost can't take it with me, because it belongs here, you know?  I don't feel like I own this thing.  How could anyone own a thing that's made of so many other things?

(Song for Amy): Lately I've been thinking, that the spices must be missing you.  The shake and dash you used to do.  To make the rice taste sweeter.  But by now the diet's stricter, and the peas they aren't exciting, so I'm writing you this love letter, wishing and inviting you to.....Meet me in the kitchen.  Sit with me awhile.  Ask me what should I do.  Tell me about your day.  Meet me in the kitchen.  I'll tell you a story.  Maybe it is boring. But maybe it's okay and we'll toast. (End Song)

 In 2009 I began to be more formally and consciously politically educated.  I have a confession to make: it was the white boys I loved who taught me about feminism.  I started having new heroes and they were real people in my Pittsburgh life.  On this bench, I talked politics for hours and hours and hours.  I learned about power.  I learned about war, and genocide, and mass incarceration.  I learned about patriarchy, domination and control, capitalism and exploitation.  I learned that stories weren't told in newspapers you could buy at the corner store.  That the stories of pain and courage, and empathy were hidden.  I listened.  And I learned.  And the stories filled me, and I became this person.  I really like this person.  I settled into becoming her.

The years past, and I kept the same small room with the window that goes out onto the roof.  I filled the walls with paper and tape, with artifacts of friendships and experiences.

2007 bike gang t-shirt (hold up shirt)
photograph of craft night ritual (hold up photo)
art from my pen pals in prison (hold up lions)
prints and posters made by friends and local artists (northstar)
things to inspire me (mirah)

and sad reminders
this one is, yes these tears, but oh theses wings.

(silent hold up of resistance of the heart against business as usual)

There were many break downs and build back ups.  I wrote a poem about how good we were at recovering.  At breaking down and building back up.  It became possible for me to throw all of my belief into our power. Even in the face of everything.  What used to take three weeks of despair to pass began to take one evening.

I sat with a stranger, Clifford, in his saddest moment.  I sat with a best friend in one of her hardest times. And I watched them transform.  You sat with me in my hardest moments.  I learned loving someone is a willingness to sit with them in their muck.

(Song for KF) : Dave's going out fishing and I think I'll go with him but I'm not going to catch anything.  Cause I don't have the poles, and I don't have the bait, and I don't have the patience to sit here and wait, I was wrong. About moving on.  I thought. I was moving on.  This city is filled with people so pretty, but I'm still in love with, your itty-bitty, snaggle tooth.  What's the use? (End song)

 I didn't think it would be true for me, but time did heal all my love wounds.  I waded through heart breaks and I became strong.  I stayed when you left.  You could not make home here.  But then I visited you.  And I saw you, and I shared your joy.  I felt alone sometimes, but I knew better.  I still had everything.  I mean, all of it, added up.  I became less afraid.  I could give more.  I met my soul people. My voice became clearer.  My heart became fuller. I loved and was loved at 272.

(Song for Fall #2): It is raining.  And my brain hurts. And my back hurts. And my heart hurts.  But I'm swaying, under an awning, with my lover. And my groceries.  I'm so hungry for nutrition, I'm on a mission, I am wishing.  To have a prolific body experience. I get delirious. Without comfort. All the ghosts inside of your body.  Move around like electricity.  I'm glad your with me, while they are searching.  For where they belong. In some organ.  And then your brain makes.  A new wrinkle.  It's so magical. The way that you flow and, I'm not planning. For the future. Cause I know life is long, I know life is long.  I'm just being, with my lovers, under the covers, I gotta SNUGGLE, fall comes in and, fall goes out again. I just want to heal and, know I'm growing. (End song)

Love Letter to Cooper Ravenstahl

This letter is written to Cooper Ravenstahl after Pittsburgh Mayor Luke Ravenstahl responded to local media that members of Pittsburgh for Trayvon had frightened his son when delivering posters of demands for justice to his house on the morning of July 18, 2013.  He said that they did not have the right to frighten his young child.  I have been comparing this right with George Zimmerman's legal murder of Trayvon Martin in my brain and wrote Cooper Ravenstahl a letter.  

Dear Cooper,

This is a love letter.  Love is something given or shared between people that helps them learn and grow. I might not ever meet you, but I want you and all other children to be loved.  I want you to be well.  I want you and all other children to be healthy, fed, safe, and strong.  I want you to be safe where you live and at school and when you are outside.  Many children are not safe right now because of white supremacy. White supremacy is very big and complicated.  It is something we have to think about and work on.  It's all the ways in which people, neighborhoods, governments, and history overlap to make it better and easier for white people to be successful and safe.  As you grow up, you be allowed to make many choices. You will be able to choose if you want to uphold white supremacy or work for justice.  You will be able to choose if you want to create and spread fear or create and spread love.  

My friends came to your house last week asking your dad to help make Pittsburgh safe for all people and children.  They are spreading love and working for justice.  Your dad said in the paper that you were afraid of them.  I am sorry that you were made afraid.  You are not alone. Here are some things that I am afraid of:

I am afraid that your dad will never tell you why my friends came to your house that morning and that he will never tell you why he didn't talk to us at his office.  That your dad will not understand or try because he doesn't have the language to talk about racism.   I'm afraid that you will not hear the word racism until you are 20 years old. That you will grow up and think it is okay for a young black person like Trayvon Martin to be killed.  That you will be like so many others, and think that Trayvon Martin's life is less than precious because he is black. I am afraid that you will be on a jury, with people who do not look like Trayvon Martin, who have never loved anyone who looks like him, and you will decide that Trayvon Martin's life is not precious.  That you will be a judge and you will believe that what is the law is correct, and that you are a steward of justice.  That you will be George Zimmerman, and that you will kill Trayvon Martin because you do not know that his life is precious.  I am afraid that you will be full of fear and that you will let it rule your life.  That you will be afraid of everyone who is not the same as you.  That you will grow up and not know who Trayvon Martin was.  

My fear is that you will perpetuate white supremacy by being a white person living in a multiracial world with our history.  I am afraid that you will not acknowledge racism.  That your job will employ you to kill black and brown people.  That your job will pay you to treat people unfairly. That your job will separate you from anyone who does not think like you.  That you will think that people who do not have a job are less then you.  Not working as hard as you.  That they aren't as precious as you. That they don't deserve all of the things that you have.  I am afraid that you will think that you do deserve all of the things that you have.  That you won't know who was here before you. That you will think that you are free and that is enough. That you won't work for justice.      

The people who came to your house are educators.  They are dancers, teachers, poets, farmers, parents and children.  They are spreading love and working for justice.  They make me believe that the future will be good for us.  That we can work together to make something happen.  Something better than this.  Something better than being afraid of each other.   

I want you to believe too.  It will be hard for you because their aren't a lot of hand holders for this journey.  It will be hard for you because many people will try to hold you back.  It will be hard for you because once you start, you have to commit for your whole life.  But I will root for you Cooper. I do not want us to be afraid.  I want us to be full of love and for that love to rule our lives.

Standing By,

Amanda