langston hughes made my father laugh out loud tonight

and my father doesn't laugh out loud very often. the black nativity caught him by surprise, i think. we all enjoyed it. the black church is the black church, through and through. whenever i wonder why black people in america can't let go of jesus, i remember that jesus' story is the ultimate "rags to riches" tale. he succeeded (in a way that doesn't jibe with capitalist culture's definition of success) in spite of the incredible odds of being born in a manger, no crib for a bed. all too familiar of a story for the descendants of slaves, living in a country whose dominant group too often proclaimed that there was "no room at the inn" for blacks. jesus, therefore, is very appealing.
for those of you that don't know, my father was given a promotion recently that means that he and my mother will be moving back to miami in summer 2008. there are lots of feelings around the move, for all of us, but i think i have a particular relationship to the move because miami is the last place that i truly called home. i think it will be interesting to go back because i'm pretty sure that upon my arrival i will realize that miami isn't really home anymore, and it may be almost as foreign to me as las vegas still is after almost 8 years.
one major part of my preparation for this move is that i have to "clean out" my room here in the vegas house. my mother claims i have a lot of stuff here. i couldn't disagree more, as i'm not even allowed to stay in "my" room most of the time, and am pushed around like little more than a visiting mutt. but that is another story. i started to look around tonight, and found a few precious gems of my adolescence in the process.
pictures: homecoming, junior prom, senior prom, my first ballet recital, me in my "i spent the night in bimini" nightgown, church camp.
jewelry: all those shitty little bracelets and plastic earrings you collect while you're in high school, and actually spend time at the mall.
more pictures: the march on washington for affirmative action, back in...02? sonja's bday party, same year. more shitty jewelry.
notebooks: a cuban "vidal" notebook, complete with notes from one of my classes at la universidad de la habana. and this, a weird poem that i'm not sure i wrote:

like most men who wear monstrous helmets,
the pressure it exerts is enough to convince him of its practical infinity.

her mind is a pink meshbag
filled with baby toes.

-unknown, or me.
if you've read those four lines of weirdness before, somewhere else, please share. if not, and if you happen to be an agent who thinks they're genius, drop me a line. :)

buenas noches.