Contemplations on a Monday

In the past few days,
my grandma Betty
has been hanging around.
She has appeared in the ring
on my dresser,
in a small diner
somewhere in LA
pouring coffee,
and today as I hemmed and hawed
over how much
to spend on hair bands
she showed up to help me
with making my decision.
I went with the
multifunctional black.
Which should probably shed
some light on how
I'm getting by.
The last time
Betty and I
spent physical time
together,
we discussed a lot of things.
What her life was like in
California, the current affairs,
what we felt was important for
the country, if she ever
saw ghosts- she didn't,
but
she believed in angels,
and she believed me
when I told her
I can feel them.
I don't think
anyone in my family
has ever understood
the relationship we had
together
when no one else
was around.
Grandpa
maybe
but he went deaf
a while back
and didn't pick up
all the things
Betty and I
laid down.
She gave me her
sage advice
and when I told her
how many hours
I work a week,
she told me
I should work more.
I should be working
6 days a week.
I kinda of scoffed
at her suggestion
thinking to myself
times weren't as hard
for me
as they were
for her
back in the day.
When she visited
today, I heard
her words
again
and sighed
as I put back
the rainbow hairbands.
"Yes, Grandma,"
I muttered,
and smiled
at the next person
I saw.
She was a frog
of a woman, a
Russian old lady
with orange hair.

Before the Work Begins

I am pulled to communicate
what I saw on the streets.
Up a block I watched
the fire trucks
blare past me.
As I came apon
where they stopped
I saw
a woman
writhing
and clutching herself
on the ground,
her walking cane
laid out
alongside her.
Police surrounded her
trying to communicate
with her. They
didn't seem
like they were
having much luck.
My hand
instinctively
reached for my heart.
I pray for her,
but
I walk on by.
I do not stop to lend a hand.
I know, I know,
the police were there,
it is their job to
take care of it.
But I'm still
left feeling
saddened that I
like so many others
walked on by
as someone reached out
in physical pain,
drug induced
or not
something doesn't
sit right
in me. There is
a fidgeting
in my spiritual belief
concept. This
feels like
a moral dilemna.
Next time,
what difference
will I make?
What will I do
when pain lies
on my path.
One thing
I know
I won't continue on,
like nothing happened.
I've got
solid proof
there's not a chance.

Ding Ding!

That is the sound you will here on the sidewalks of Hollywood if I'm coming up behind you and you are hogging the sidewalk. Dear reader, you may be asking me silently in your head: "Why would you make that sound at strangers, Katrina?" Well, I don't... but the bell on my new bike does! That's right! I got it at a garage sale for 5 bucks. It is a shiny emerald green beach bike with a basket. So far I've ridden it to a vocal lesson and the post office... and back to the bike shop cause I needed a new tube for the back tire. I've named it already, it's my Emerald City. I also have a shiny helmet cause I live in an urban jungle with a bunch of crazy mofos and the last thing I want is a dent in my head. I put stickers on it. My friend Chris put pipe cleaner antenna it as well and told me not to take them off. At first I felt very ridiculous but he dared me to keep them on because I looked adorable with them. So I paired it with my super big bug-like sunglasses and happily buzzed down the street. As I figure, a few of my duties on this planet are to make people smile and feel good, so wearing curly antenna around Hollywood is within my M.O. It's made for some interesting conversations already from random positive comments on the street, to a little girl in an elevator who thought it was super cool, and the post office lady also liked the fact that a "girled up" my helmet. I've encountered some immovable frowns too, but more then anything, I feel they shouldn't take themselves so seriously.

I missed you

No more
love poems
displays of affection
no link left.
The movement
in my stomach
is unpleasant.
I am not
as cool
as I want to be,
always room for improvement.
No wonder you've been
distant.
How typically American:
drop a bomb
and walk away
like nothing happened.
I was out of the picture
after the first scene.
Everything is in
movie language
these days.
It's a theme
that won't shut up.

Win Win

The beginning
and the end
to this story
will be the same.
That's what she said.
I didn't argue-
the truth is etched
in the walls, posted
on billboards...
I would cry
if I found comfort
in it. I walk tall
I entertain
I smile
I feel good
and sometimes
I also
roll around
in my own drama
but I don't usually
make the habit
of inflicting it
apon others.
There is a
fundamental difference...
I see it, appreciate it,
cherish it, because it will
help me walk taller
and smile wider
and feel better
that I refuse
to be tangled and trapped
in to feeling guilty
for being myself
and doing my thang.