Second Post on Ridin' the Moon in Texas

Two things for this post:
 
1. The goat
 
2. "No one has ever said a bomba was counter-revolutionary or that break-dancing was an anarchist distraction."
 
 
1. The goat  appears in Shange's response to Arturo Lindsay's collage "Indigo's Emergency Care for Wounds That Cannot Be Seen": "ancestral messengers/composition 13." My grandmother's in my cell phone would be the title of the poem I write in response because there are now three events on my phone that signal her presence--the second being her intervening in the conversation between my mum and I when she writes "Yes. I am waiting," and I call mum because that's not the type of thing she would say--I am on my way home to Brooklyn on Christmas Eve--and my mum thought I had written "Yes. I am waiting" meaning, that I was waiting for her text and being smart about it. "Yes. I am waiting" is something my Gran would say, and she knew my phone is how I communicate through written word to people who are not there--I found the third and fourth page of a letter she had written about the cost of fixing cars and a quite small wedding...probably a quarter century ago--as I was constantly checking it, my phone, this past spring when I was visiting her in Bonnie Leslie Court--it would make sense that would be the object through which she would choose contact. Shange's poem though is about a goat, and how its "fresh milk is best for the baby" and a critique on the difficulty of keeping a goat in new york city:
 
no, senora rodriguez, i don't know where
your goat can rest/just not in this building
no, it is not all right to go up the stairs
out of the way of the tenants/oh, please, senora
don't try to take the goat to your sister's
house in queens on the e or the f train