B-Sides: SHAHEEN Modern and contemporary art, Cleveland, OH
Current exhibition
B-side:
The first memory I have of my mother that I can playback in my mind like
a looping film reel /was when I was six years old / I was riding my
bike along the sidewalk in front of our house / and this big kid was
riding toward me on his 10-speed / a tall, fattish kid / he was forcing
me into a game of chicken / I was afraid of him and afraid of the cut
grooves in the grass at the edges of the sidewalk / I’d gotten my front
bike tire stuck in those grooves before and fallen over / the kid didn’t
mean to run into me but at the last second I turned into him and he
turned into me / and we both went down into the drainage ditch between
the sidewalk and the road / my legs were still caught under my bike /
when I looked up over the grassy edge of the ditch / and saw her coming /
she must have seen us from the house / the kid was getting his bike out
of the ditch / and in a flash she was on him / he was bigger than she
was / but she had him by the hair and had his head yanked down low /
bent over like that he couldn’t get his balance / and he couldn’t get
away from her / she was beating him with her other fist / her thin
forearm was like a swinging hammer handle hitting him all over / kicking
him too / and with the same ferocity / the kid was terrified, flailing,
crying, trying to get free of her / when he finally did and ran off
down the street / she got his bike the rest of the way out of the ditch /
brought it into the street and lifted it over her head and threw it
down into the asphalt / again and again / the bike clanging into the
pavement / small parts breaking off it / I was still in the ditch
watching her / seeing her slitted eyes / her crooked clenched teeth /
her deranged wrath all out of proportion to her thin body / she wanted
to kill that kid / leave nothing left of him / then she wanted to kill
his bike / and leave nothing left of it / she left the bike in the
street / got me out of the ditch and we went back into the house /
that’s all I remember / even then as a small child I felt her rage was
not attached to the kid / or what he’d done / her rage belonged to her /
it was something inside her / and when it came out it was as pure and
crystalline as the snow / her father was the same way / if he blew hard /
he buried you / like snow / or like ice skidding you out of control /
just what snow and ice does / pure like that / pure rage
The first memory I have of my mother that I can playback in my mind like
a looping film reel /was when I was six years old / I was riding my
bike along the sidewalk in front of our house / and this big kid was
riding toward me on his 10-speed / a tall, fattish kid / he was forcing
me into a game of chicken / I was afraid of him and afraid of the cut
grooves in the grass at the edges of the sidewalk / I’d gotten my front
bike tire stuck in those grooves before and fallen over / the kid didn’t
mean to run into me but at the last second I turned into him and he
turned into me / and we both went down into the drainage ditch between
the sidewalk and the road / my legs were still caught under my bike /
when I looked up over the grassy edge of the ditch / and saw her coming /
she must have seen us from the house / the kid was getting his bike out
of the ditch / and in a flash she was on him / he was bigger than she
was / but she had him by the hair and had his head yanked down low /
bent over like that he couldn’t get his balance / and he couldn’t get
away from her / she was beating him with her other fist / her thin
forearm was like a swinging hammer handle hitting him all over / kicking
him too / and with the same ferocity / the kid was terrified, flailing,
crying, trying to get free of her / when he finally did and ran off
down the street / she got his bike the rest of the way out of the ditch /
brought it into the street and lifted it over her head and threw it
down into the asphalt / again and again / the bike clanging into the
pavement / small parts breaking off it / I was still in the ditch
watching her / seeing her slitted eyes / her crooked clenched teeth /
her deranged wrath all out of proportion to her thin body / she wanted
to kill that kid / leave nothing left of him / then she wanted to kill
his bike / and leave nothing left of it / she left the bike in the
street / got me out of the ditch and we went back into the house /
that’s all I remember / even then as a small child I felt her rage was
not attached to the kid / or what he’d done / her rage belonged to her /
it was something inside her / and when it came out it was as pure and
crystalline as the snow / her father was the same way / if he blew hard /
he buried you / like snow / or like ice skidding you out of control /
just what snow and ice does / pure like that / pure rage