Delta Women January 2013 Issue Beginning

7/29/2019 Delta Women January 2013 Issue Beginning

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FEBRUARY 2013 ISSUE


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I will try to make more choices, I will not let others

choose my way. That happens to be my new years reso-

lution.

As a woman living in a country where choices are al-

ready made for girls, Religion, Life-style, Education and

Outfit, I am proud to say that I have changed many of

my defined boundaries and I have begun a brand new

life every year.

We have a new column in the magazine called Role

Models where our readers get to introduce their favorite

woman. She can be a famous writer or a mother. As long

as she seems fantastic to our readers, we love to hear

about it.

I want to ask for a big round of applause for Ms. Kirthi

Jayakumar, our best friend here at DeltaWomen, who

has made everything much easier. Our Role Model this

month is no one but her.

Elaheh Zohrevandi - Editor Photograph by Effat Allahyari


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4/25

"Life is about laughing and living, in good and

bad times. Getting through whatever comes our

way and looking back and smiling." - Unknown.

Dear Sisters,

Before we start, let me say last year was very spe-

cial for me. I'll miss my perfect Fridays. I'll miss

my moments of laughter and music on Wednes-

days. My routine wasn't so boring like the previ-

ous years. 2012 wasnt the end of our Mother

Earth. Thousands of intellectuals said 2013

would be the beginning of a new era. Were theyright? Who will rule this era: the same actors or

fresh new ones? Will this era be an age of prosper-

ity, peace and happiness?

By Laze Lyeh Cndida

Photograph by Effat Allahyari


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I surely answer you: No. By the way, I don't like Januaries. Decembers

seem like happy endings, the "happily ever after" moment of our lives.

January is a month of dreams and hopes, a month to finally start New

Year's Resolutions! In my country, we normally say "the year begins in

March". That's the truth! Maybe the first challenges really appear inMarch. And will you continue what you started? Do you believe in every-

thing you've promised?

Last month I wrote in my Twitter page about it. "Fly Higher" spirit means

you're able to do it with limits. Even if I make up my mind and rethink

my concepts, I know that disasters happen, the Charming Prince isn't so

charming, life is cruel with us and things won't change with a blink of an

eye.

If I could think like this two (now three!) years ago, maybe I would be

stronger. In 2010, I lost a job, a boyfriend, a chance to graduate I lost

lots of things! I understood that it could happen with anyone. I should be

thankful for having the chance of growing up earlier than the usual.

I still want diploma, job and relationship, but it won't rule my life. I'm learn-

ing to live one day after another. Powerful women can't affirm their power

if they're desperate. It comes naturally, patiently. The less you expect,

the more you do, the more you gain.

It is really hard to predict our future, but the lesson you should learn,

dear sisters, is the capacity of planning your tomorrow, thanking your yes-

terday and living your today. I've never seen better solution for sadnessthan it.

Last month you read my story. Do you want to know the result of my pres-

entation? All the audience cried! I made homage to a person who loved

me during all those years she lived, my great-grandmother. I promised

her to sing on a stage when I was 5. She died after praying for me! Was

she alive, she would be 99 in April 2013. One of her last advices she told

me was: "Study, my dear, not to depend on a husband". Sincerely, I got

the message in my heart and now I transmit it by this article.

I wish for this year which began right now that you love your equal. Don't

be influenced by marketing vision of love. It's sincere, pure and powerful.

So, love your enemies. Love your life. It the door between you and the

others is too heavy to open, open it slowly! If they don't want to hear your

voice, speak louder! But understand you have limits.

One day, who knows, I want to hear your voices, personally. I don't be-

lieve in revolution made by our hands. This world is so cold, sad I am

the first to recognize we should look ourselves in the eyes to share expe-

riences. It isn't too late to practice it. It's a new age of relationships.

That's all I want to say to you. Hope you hold my hand and raise the

same flags I raise. Show me yours, too. I'm completely open to your opin-

ions this year. 2013 is the time to see my sisters flying. Everybody in the

air! See you next month.


6/25

Breath in for calamity

And out for humanity

Breath in for the melody

Breath out

Love will come in go for you

Someday you will find whats true

You can't giveup because your lazyIts up to you

I see so clearly and

I want to be

What Laugh I'd be when I was young

I gave myself a chance

To put a little hope inside this heart of mine

Becausewhen I thoughtI could barely seeBefore I broke and hit the bottom

I asked you to save me

What is happening to me

Its happening so clearly

I can be what I'll be

I'll be so free so free

By Christina Kim



7/25

In the cool under the porch, Ann made dust trails

with her plastic cowboys. They rounded up the

wild horses bedded next to the campfire. Patterns

of light, long and short, fell through the planks of

the porch, zebra striping the satiny powder where

Ann lay. The shade changed everything into onecolor, dark or light. She heard from above her the

voices of her mother and grandmother drift

down through the porch boards.

Oh, Mama, I never seem to get it right these

days. You know what he said to me? He said...

Grandmothers grunt stopped Anns mamas

shrill protest. The floorboards creaked as theirfeet shuffled and they settled.

By Nancy Williard



8/25

The shadows under the porch moved as Mama and Grandmother

rested themselves on the edge of the porch planks and shelled peas hit

the tin colander with a high regular note. Grandmothers bulk

blocked a field of sparkling sunbeams. Anns mothers shadow re-moved a ray of light filled with floating motes. Ann scooted back in

the dust and listened.

Grandmothers worn voice came with a cough of breath. Thats the

way it is, honey. Thats enough worry for anyone. Don't borrow trou-

ble. Ann squirmed deeper into the clay powder. She willed her

mother to be quiet.

But you know, I could, why Louise said the other day that she madeenough to buy a new dress and ... She paused but continued. If I

worked for the store, I might have a bit of something of my own. I

could buy things! Whats the harm?

Now you know that no real man would ever stand for that. Ann

heard the sharp change in breath with the rise in tone in her grand-

mothers reply. Grandmother gave a loud sigh and spoke with a rhyth-

mic church voice. Remember Ephesians, Wives, submit yourselves

unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. Be content with what heprovides."

But, Mama

Enough! Hell be home soon. Grandmother hissed as if Anns

daddy could hear them. Hairs rose on Ann's arm. Peas pinged faster

into the bowl.

Yes, Mama. Anns mother spoke a soft answer into the waiting air

between the two women. Ann held her breath. Her grandmother

sighed.

Now, why dont you work on the quilting? Let me show you the pat-

tern theyre using at church. Ive got it in my bag in the house, come

on now. The boards creaked and shed dust as Grandmother and

Mama went into the house.

As the voices trailed off, Ann woke up the cowboys. Now you are go-

ing to capture the fastest wild horse there is; a beautiful wild one that

runs like the wind. The white one is all alone, see, and you will have

to trick her. Watch out, white one! Dont give up! Even if they cap-ture you, kick them. Bite them!

Ann made more patterns in the dirt. The plastic cowboys rode furi-

ously after the wild white horse. They couldnt catch her. Ann was still

running with the white horse when her father came home. The porch

boards bent and the door slammed. Ann flatted into the dirt when

Daddys voice started. There was a strong song feeling to the way her

father cussed his way into the house. It sounded like a march.

Goddamn those fucking sons of bitches! If they think theyre going

to have me working under that bastard Humphrey then, goddamn

them, I aint going to! Godddamn, woman, theres not a clean glass in

this house Wheres that little baby of mine? Ann! Ann! Get in this

house, girl!

Ann heard from the kitchen window her mothers gentle weeping drift-

ing through the running water in the sink. She backed further into the

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coolness, carrying the one white horse. No one could catch her. She

would run like the wind to hide in deep purple canyons. Her shadow

would dance light on the colorless sand. Ann hummed for her mare a

swift-running brave-running song.

Ann heard her fathers heavy footsteps creak the porch boards as he

came out of the house. His voice changed into a softer, wheedling tone

as he called. Ann, girl, your daddys home. You under that damn

porch again? Honey, come on out and get cleaned up. Dont you

want to say hi to your daddy? Hes brought you something. Come

on, dumpling. Daddy loves you. Come on out of there. Ann listened

as his voice came closer to the porch. She could see his black steel

toed shoes turn and point towards her. She clenched her horse andconsidered how far she had crept back into the underporch.

Ann, honey, daddy wants to give you a present.

Last time, he brought the plastic cowboys. Maybe it was a big horse

to ride across the desert. One that would never be caught maybe he

had it. The Andersons had a horse. Maybe he had found one too.

Ann lifted into her elbows and hunched closer to the light.

What is it? Ann spoke to the black boots. Her fathers head came

upside down under the porch. His face was shadowed. His smile up-

side down was unreadable.

Its what youve always wanted. His voice slid under the dark porch.

Ann inched up closer. Show me.

His grin widened. Not till you come out.

Ann looked at the dirty white plastic horse in her hand and with gen-

tle care buried it in the cool dirt. She crept towards the daylight. Half-

way out, her father grabbed her and flung her up to the bright sun-

light, stunning her eyes with the colors of the world. Ann looked

down at his bold grin from the height of the sky. Where is it? She

asked in her small daylight voice. In a rush she was back on the

ground looking up into his disappearing smile.

You women always want something more. Arent you satisfied just to

have your daddy home? His faced closed. Aw, go help your mother.

Plunked onto the ground, Ann watched her father turn and march

and heard him goddamn into the house again. Ann dusted her dress

and ran past him into the kitchen, her face set. She stood beside her

mother at the sink and took a dish to dry and the running water cov-

ered the humming of her own song of the white beam of moonlight

following her as she raced across the barren desert astride the white

horse.

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ix

Nancys home is over 7600 feet above sea level

in the mountains of California.She rides a Harley and does Tai Chi.Nancys work has appeared in SouthernWomen's Review, Black Earth Institute, Hel-met Hair Magazine and Long Story Short.

Nancy Williard


11/25

"For All Women Raped in India"

The snow begins to leave it abode:

To assuage the turmoil of the earth.

So soft, so fluffy, where it is created.

To disturb the sleepy seeds in the warm hearth.

My mother says" Come. Touch me, I want to sense.Water of paradise, run through my veins to wake.

No one walking had your justice, your kindness,

So calmly you fall, so quietly away you walk."

The voice of the Indian girl still alive among the sand.

Whereas her body kept, you water the dead.

I long for thee: your birth in India's land.

You are the first snow, the girl's sounds you heard.

The clouds gone, the streams run, shines the sun.

Spring resurrected after drinking the snow of paradise.

The mud dried, the land cracked, the birds singing as if theywon.

'Tis the beginning . Come, Girls, rejoice everything nice.

By Moham Monifi

Artwork by Kirthi Jayakumar


12/25

I sometimes think that the family time I insist on

is in fact overrated. I know its probably just the

Sunday lunch talking but the truth is right now

Id love to be able to disappear upstairs and sub-

merge myself in a bubble bath, to feel the suds

wink across my skin and the heat of water spreadover me like melted butter on hot toast.

Nee-ow, says Benny racing around the room,

arms outstretched, an aeroplane looking for a

place to land. Crash land. Against me, it seems.

Mummeeeee, I neeeeed you, calls Sam fromsomewhere.

Victoria Slotover


13/25

Ill be there in a minute, I just need to clean up this mess, I say wip-

ing the hair out of my eyes with the back of my soapy hand.

Not in a minute, I need you now. Mummeeeeeeee.

Theres something about the way he says, Mummy, how he stretches

the word, the Screech in his voice, is there anything more irritating? I

think of writing to the government to suggest using nine year old boys

to interrogate terrorist suspects. He shouts again and I scowl at Jeff

who lounges in his chair, carefully oblivious.

My mother had an expression that Ive never really understood untilnow. My polka dot dress days have passed, she used to say as I hop-

scotched around her while she tidied up, washed up or whatever else it

was she was up to. Yet the funny thing is she always looked sorry for

me as she said it. Looking back, I think that maybe shed accepted it

for herself but knew what was in store for me.

Thumping music, though Im not sure how they can call it that, comesfrom Amandas room upstairs. Shes getting ready to go on a date.

Shes been trying to look bored all day, but Im not fooled. I recog-

nized the way she glanced at the kitchen clock all the way through

lunch, how she couldnt keep her knee from jiggling under the table

but most of all how she could hardly eat a thing.

I remember that feeling, of wanting to eat but not being able to swal-

low because my belly was so full of excitement. Of wishing the time

away so he would be here sooner. Of my legs dancing long before we

would be. The cat tangles around my ankles and as I sink my handsbelow the surface of the grimy water, I think back to another type of

tangle, long ago, when

I was someone else, somewhere else, when I still had polka dot dress

days.

Just 17 was open on my lap and my gaze flicked down to it and then

back up to the mirror as I tried to copy the models eye make up.

Somehow what looked exotic on her was a smudgy mess of blue on

me; maybe I should have tried the pink on the other page. Instead I

sprayed Charlie behind my ears and then once again to make sure it

was strong enough, I wanted him to be able to smell me from across

the room.

I believe in you The Giants sang through my brothers walls as if

serenading me. I was a believer, in those days I believed in love at first

sight, soul mates and happy endings. I didnt think beyond happily

ever after, I didnt question what came next; I dont think any of us

did. Thats the thing about polka dot dress days; theyre all about the

now, not the next.

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14/25

I heard my father open the door for my date and rushed downstairs,

fluffing up my crimped hair, before he had a chance to bombard him

with too many embarrassing questions. Bye Dad, I said hurrying out

of the house leaving the inevitable is that supposed to be a skirt?hanging in the air between us. Jeff held the car door open for me. A

bruised Honda. Racing green. I felt racy that day, pounding hearted

and out of breath, sure but unsure of myself.

The party was in town and Id worried that wed be stuck for conversa-

tion on the drive but in fact, we didnt stop talking. Our voices wove in

and out of each other without dropping a stitch. I was getting to know

someone I felt I had always known.

My memory of the party is murky though I do recall the metallic taste

of the cheap red wine that we drank out of paper cups, the couples

snugging on the sofas, the girls smoking in the kitchen and the music

beating so loudly it reverberated in me. Love Shack is a little place

Lets dance, he said pulling me close. I remember that, his hands

working down my back, my skin fluttering under his touch. Where we

can get together... He kissed me. Lets get out of here, he said and we

did.

Jeff grunts in his chair, hes fallen asleep with his stomachs hanging

out. Where are my tongs? Im going to be late! shouts Amanda either

to herself or to us, Im not quite sure.

Sam hits Benny and makes him cry. The dog throws her head back to

the ceiling and howls, she doesnt like to be left out. The cat walks

along the windowsill knocking over the bottle tree that I helped Benny

plant this morning and it splinters to the floor. I close my eyes and ex-hale slowly. Deep breaths my mother used to say. Im not quite sure

why, they dont seem to solve anything. The children are still fighting,

the dogs still yowling.

Amanda comes down the stairs; I can smell her perfume from here. I

start to say something about it being too strong and then stop myself.

She wants him to smell her from across the room. These days they

wear their hair straight and their eye shadow is rarely bright blue, but

theyre still mini skirted. I open my mouth to say, its a bit short isntit? since her father is snoring and unable to do so himself, but again I

stop myself. You look lovely, darling, I say instead. She isnt listening

though, a car has beeped outside and she runs to the door before I can

get there first. I want to tell someone that things change yet nothing

changes, but theres no-one here to listen. Instead I tell the cat that my

polka dot dress days have passed.

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xiv

Victoria Slotover writes fiction for Mumsense Magazine.Her short stories have been published on The Writers Hub,Short Fiction Collective and in the Ham & High as well as

being accepted for publication by Smashed Cat Magazine,Bartleby Snopes and Families Magazine.

Victoria Slotover


16/25

A beautiful surprise

Hit me when I wasn't even looking

You filled my heart

When it felt empty

You taught me more

When I was there

I thank you every day

For those things those memories

It was a beautiful surprise

When I thought the world

A smaller view

You showed meWhen I open my eyes

I saw this surprise

And you took me there

By Christina Kim


17/25

Her

Truths are

Meticulously inserted

Within pauses~ Invisible bookmarks

Of emphasis~ The contrast of a white page

That swallows print~ Revealing her heart within

Untraced spaces~ Segued from the throngs of theAll-too-consumed~ Those that peer into words

Only to miss the silences~ She refutes the

Dissection of her intimacy and

~Quiet femininity~

In

Subtle

Articulation

And unquestioning tone~

By Leila A. Fortier

Sometimes I long to proclaim her

Souls imprints~ Reveal her confessions within

The spatial interludes~ Wash over her transparencies

In the bold of crimson reds- The colors they need to see

To understand her~ Yet, I restrain my lips in honor of her

Unspoken~ Tie my tongue into a thousand soundless

Words~ Convict my mouth to the valor of her

Testimony~ My eyes envelop her spaces

~Like an emerald womb~

The

ConjugationOf confirmation softly

Unfolds~ Giving birth in-between

Lines into a delicate understanding~ For

I know her as only water knows the air and

Air that knows the water~ In the name of

Abstraction and all that is without

~ Boundary and formless~

~You are that. I am. We are~


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xvii

Leila A. Fortier is a poet, artist, and photographer currently

residing on the remote island of Okinawa Japan. Her unique

visual poetry is the specially crafted formation of abstract de-

signs, often accompanied by her own multi-medium forms ofart, photography, and spoken performance. Much of her

work has been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, Ara-

bic, German, Hindi and Japanese in a rapidly growing pro-

ject to raise global unity and understanding through the cul-

tural diversity of poetry and literature.

Her work in all its mediums has been published in a vast ar-ray of literary magazines, journals, and reviews both in print

and online. In 2007 she initiated the anthology A World of

Love: Voices for Carmen as a benefit against domestic vio-

lence and in 2010 composed a photo book entitled Pappanka-

lan, India: Through the Eyes of Children to benefit the educa-

tion of impoverished Indian children. She is also the author

of Metanoia's Revelation through iUniverse.

A complete listing of her published works can be found at:www.leilafortier.com

Leila A. Fortier
http://www.leilafortier.com/http://www.leilafortier.com/


19/25

By Christopher T Garry



20/25

One can't deny that on the whole I have made a choice that certainly

has led to a good life--far better than the one that I left behind. How-

ever, just in the past month I have re-established contact with him. Six

months ago, not knowing where he was, I called my grandmother and

relayed my whereabouts. There were months of silence and then a

phone message came from a hospital here stating that he was a pa-

tient. I learned that he was actually a psychiatric patient--he had suf-

fered a breakdown.

What led to his breakdown, I am not sure of yet. He is recovering

quickly, but it turns out he is still lives a lifestyle comparable to the life

back home--only welfare, food stamps and bad luck with holding jobs.

I discovered that one of the keys that led to his state was guilt. He hadbecome self-destructive in the amount of self-reproach.

When we were younger, he was tyrannical in his power over me.

There's no doubt that what I did, I did out of a sense of self-

preservation. Nevertheless, I am left with a sense that I may have been

wrong in what I did. Emotionally I tend to link my leaving him with

his subsequent breakdown. I struggle now with the terrific urge to over-

step myself and try to make up for what he might have lost in his life

and that I have gained. It's a horrible dilemma.

In my present endeavors with an unstable marriage, my husband

straining under his job, and my pressing need to build a career

through school, I have precious little emotional energy and time to

spare to rebuild my ties to the past, even to the apparently penitent

ones.

I have no neat solution, no good judgment, and no words of wisdom

or experience to guide me. I know logically that I can't really blame

myself for what I did, but in my private moments I do. I shouldn't

blame myself for his breakdown either. It happened almost five years

after I left.

I know that at the root of all my self-doubt may even be some of the

original thinking that I learned as a child that says, "I'm not really

worth much." It's hard for me to take care of myself and what's impor-

tant to me because I second-guess and think too much. Then I remem-

ber the secrets.

Will I ever let myself be free and let it contrast, if it has to, with my

brother's fate?

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l l


21/25

A new year begins again. With it, come new

plans and dreams as expectations are redrawn in

our lives. The feeling of being a blank page

gradually gives way to a wish list, which mostly

ends up becoming the impetus needed to turn a

dream into a reality.

By Daniela Silva



22/25

Thinking about it, here are some suggestions for a start full of life:

- Look for an activity that gives you pleasure: invest all your gifts and

talents in practices that you identify yourself with. Be proud of your

achievements;

- Learn from your mistakes: Convert errors that occur in your life into

positive inspiration for points to improve. Seek to overcome their

challenges. The error exists so that we may learn from them!

- Develop teamwork: Work as a team. It improves our interpersonal

relationships, teaches us to deal with different people and thus

teaches us to respect and deal with the differences that we all have.

Work towards becoming less selfish and centralized, and develop the

ability of listening.

- Make a habit of self-knowledge: It is only by actually knowing who

we really are, our limits, talents, values and beliefs of life that we

learn how to align our dreams with the people we really are;

- Plan your activities: By establishing goals and objectives: make a plan

of action with your everyday tasks. This will help you to plan better;

- Donate things and help people: By the end of the year or semester,

do a triage in your wardrobe and donate the clothes that you will no

longer use. Donate clothing, love, affection and attention help warm

the heart and soul.

The beginning forms a very important part of our life. It exists to give

us the opportunity to do what was not done, say that was not said, for-

give those who do not forgive, bring hope to people who have no hope

of life. Above all, the beginning exists to give us a chance to love

again.

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22

CEO

Elsie Reed

Editor

Elaheh Zohrevandi

Proofing

Kirthi Gita Jayakumar

Photographer

Effat Allahyari

Parama Bal

Contributors

Laze Lyeh Cndida

Christina Kim

Nancy Williard

Moham Monifi

Victoria Slotover

Leila A. Fortier

Christopher T Garry

Daniela Silva

Contributors

&

Staff


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xxiii

Send Your Submissions to:

[email protected]

Upcoming Themes:

March - Survive

April - Issues

March 2013 Issue:"Poem and Prose competition"

You can enter the competition by sending your Poems and Stories to

[email protected] with the subject "March Competition".

The three winners in the two categories win three ebooks. The win-

ners and runner-ups get to be published in DeltaWomen Magazine.

There is no specific theme for entering the competition.

Call For Submissions
mailto:[email protected]:[email protected]:[email protected]:[email protected]

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Delta Women January 2013 Issue Beginning