Words & Credit To "Stowaway from the Boiler Room"

My creative writing and arrangement of lines from various books for a class is interpretated through a chant I title: "Stowaway from the Boiler Room"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSS8QbbmLPY

Breathe, Eyes, Memory
Pg. 124. A lark saw a little girl, who he thought was the most beautiful little girl he had ever seen, from the top of his pomegranate tree.
(he drops the girl off to collect her heart and never sees her again)

The Woman Warrior
Pg. 70 “I do not give in,” she said, “There is no pain you can inflict that I cannot endure.” (the mother says this)

Pg. 183. “Are there really flags in Chinatown signaling what stowaways have arrived in San Francisco Bay, their names, and which ships they come on? “Mother”, I heard some kids say there are flags like that. Are there? What colors are they? Which buildings do they fly on? “No, no, there aren’t any flags like that. They’re just talking-story. You’re always believing talking-story.”

Pg. 29. “Pearls are bone marrow. Pearls are from oysters.”

The Barbarians

Pg. 326. “You have to tell me.” Is she joking? I am amazed she doesn’t recognize my “cousin”. Right then, I fall in love with the symmetries of our respective jealousies and hurts, the turbulent yin-for-yang, the eye for an eye, the world descending into a chaotic balance.”

Pg. 43. “A garnish of the green serrated leaves will set off the gold curves of carmelized apples beautifully— ”

Growing up in America
(Talking to the Dead, by Sylvia A. Watanabe)

Pg. 367. “While everyone was eating, I stole back into the parlor and quietly—ever so quietly—went up to the casket, lifted the lid, and looked in.”
(American History by Judith Ortiz Cofer)

Pg. 99. He had asked me to come over after school to study for an American history test with him.”

Caucasia

Pg. 413
“She was black like me, a mixed girl, and she was watching me from behind the dirty glass. For a second I thought I was somewhere familiar and she was a girl I already knew. I began to lift my hand, but I stopped, remembering where I was and what I had already found. Then the bus lurched forward, and the face was gone with it, just a blur of yellow and black in motion.”

Lone Ranger

Pg. 240. “But Lynn continually reminded (him) of his heritage, read him books about Indians in the womb and crib, gave him Indian books to read when he finally could do it himself.”

Pg. 131. “Got their own fry bread cooking in the oven. Got a whole lot of feathers in their warbonnets, “ Samuel ssaid as he walked into the motel. (a father referring to his kids and hearing from them).






Cameo Loree Garrett

American Minority Lit./Fall 2012
Final Project: “Stowaway from the Boiler Room”
(A creative chant)

A lark saw a little girl, who he thought was the most beautiful little girl he had ever seen, from the top of his pomegranate tree.
“I do not give in,” she said, “There is no pain you can inflict that I cannot endure.”
You have to tell me.” Is she joking? I am amazed she doesn’t recognize me. Right then, I fall in love with the symmetries of our respective jealousies and hurts, the turbulent yin-for-yang, the eye for an eye, the world descending into a chaotic balance.
While everyone was eating, I stole back into the parlor and quietly—ever so quietly—went up to the casket, lifted the lid, and looked in.
She was black like me, a mixed girl, and she was watching me from behind the dirty glass. For a second I thought I was somewhere familiar and she was a girl I already knew. I began to lift my hand, but I stopped, remembering where I was and what I had already found. Then the bus lurched forward, and the face was gone with it, just a blur of yellow and black in motion.
A garnish of the green serrated leaves will set off the gold curves of carmelized apples beautifully—
Are there really flags in Chinatown signaling what stowaways have arrived in San Francisco Bay, their names, and which ships they come on? “Mother”, I heard some kids say there are flags like that. Are there? What colors are they? Which buildings do they fly on? “No, no, there aren’t any flags like that. They’re just talking-story. You’re always believing talking-story.
He had asked me to come over after school to study for an American history test with him
But Lynn continually reminded (him) of his heritage, read him books about Indians in the womb and crib, gave him Indian books to read when he finally could do it himself.”
Got their own fry bread cooking in the oven. Got a whole lot of feathers in their warbonnets, “ Samuel said as he walked into the motel.
A lark saw a little girl, who he thought was the most beautiful little girl he had ever seen, from the top of his pomegranate tree.
“I do not give in,” she said, “There is no pain you can inflict that I cannot endure.”
A garnish of the green serrated leaves will set off the gold curves of carmelized apples beautifully—
Are there really flags in Chinatown signaling what stowaways what they have found?
Are there really flags in Chinatown signaling what stowaways what they have found?
Are there really flags in Chinatown signaling what they have found?
We came to this land as Indians, on continents
Unknown, undiscovered
Bone marrow deep is my old home but with me I bring living blood
I have come here to build up from my tears.
Are there really flags in Chinatown signaling what we’ve found?
Black like me, white like me, yellow, red, and in-between
Red like me, brown like me, …
Are there flags flying? Signaling what stowaways they have found?
Come over with me, hide with me, take this bus, come with me
After school I will teach you history, history--
Make history with me
Come with me, hide with me, run with me, on a bus, go with me
Come to my home after school
I will teach history--We can make history
While everyone is wondering we know, we do not give in easily
A lark saw a little girl, a little boy,
Come with me, run with me, go with me, on a bus
We will flee, we, you, me, you
Come with me, to my house, I will teach you
Are there really flags in Chinatown?
How do you sing? Teach me how you sing.
I have brought you my crib, my books, my womb, my knowledge, my heritage
But my heart, where is my heart? A lark
Saw a little girl who he thought was the most beautiful little girl he had ever seen from the top of his pomegranate tree
He dropped the girl off so she could collect her heart and
He never saw her again.






Citations/Bibliography

Alexie, Sherman. The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. New York, New York: Grove Press, 1993. Pgs 131, 240. Print.

Cofer, Judith Ortiz. “American History”. The Latin Deli: Prose & Poetry. University of Georgia Press (1993): Rpt. in Growing Up Ethnic In America: Contemporary Fiction About Learning to Be American. Ed. Maria M. Gillan and Jennifer Gillan. New York, New York: Penguin Publishing, 1999. Pg. 99. Print.

Danticat, Edwidge. Breath, Eyes, Memory. New York, New York: Vintage Books Publishing, 1994. Pg. 124. Print.

Garrett, Cameo Loree. Original writing for chant “Stowaway from the Boiler Room”. Coquille, Oregon. November 25, 2012.

Kingston, Maxine H. The Woman Warrior. New York, New York: Vintage Books Publishing, 1975-1976. Pgs 70, 29, 183. Print.

Louie, David W. The Barbarians Are Coming. New York, New York: Marian Wood Books, 2000. Pgs 43, 326. Print.

Senna, Danzy. Caucasia. New York, New York: Riverhead Books, 1998. Pg. 413. Print.

Watanabe, Sylvia A. “ Talking to the Dead”. Talking to the Dead. Doubleday Publishing (1992): Rpt. in Growing Up Ethnic In America: Contemporary Fiction About Learning to Be American. Ed. Maria M. Gillan. and Jennifer Gillan. New York, New York: Penguin Publishing, 1999. Pg. 367. Print.