Not every 18 year old writes feminist poetry and dreams of going to biomedical engineering school in the fall. Except for Coquitlam, B.C. based Alexandra Mandewo. 

Mandewo won an award at her school for this work. She sent it to us –looking to publish it.  We loved it. Thought you would too.

Here is a little more about Mandewo and her poem. 

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LiisBeth: How old are you? What school you go to?

Mandewo: I am 18 years old and go to Pinetree Secondary School in Coquitlam, BC.

LiisBeth: What prompted you to write this poem?

Mandewo: I wrote this poem as part of a social justice poetry assignment for my First Peoples English 12 class. I wanted to write a poem that would inspire and motivate others.

Not every 18 year old writes feminist poetry and dreams of going to civil engineering school in the fall. Except for Coquitlam, B.C. based Alexandra Mandewo.  Mandewo won an award at her school for this work. She sent it to us –looking to publish it.  We loved it. And so we did. 

LiisBeth: Do you write a lot of poems?

Mandewo: I started writing poems this year but I’ve always considered myself a writer. I’ve written many articles ranging from diversity and inclusion to educational disparities. Many of my poems have been about women’s empowerment but also grief.

LiisBeth: Do you consider yourself a feminist? If so tell us about your beliefs as a feminist. 

Mandewo: I do consider myself a feminist- an intersectional feminist. I use Roxane Gay’s description of the foundation of feminism as my definition of a feminist: I think a feminist is someone who supports the choices of women even if they wouldn’t make those certain choices for themselves.

(Click above to hear Mandewo read the poem. You can also download it here. )

LiisBeth: How have you experienced high school in terms of gender equity?

Mandewo: My high school experience has been very unusual due to being a high performance athlete and the pandemic- doing half of my high school completely virtual. I don’t really think I have experienced gender inequity in my classes or in my school.

However, one distinct moment I remember was my first high school career fair. I decided to go to the room where a male engineer was speaking about his field and when I entered I realized I was the only girl out of at least forty kids. Despite this, I tried to actively participate in the discussion but whenever I put my hand up to answer questions, I was never picked.

The speaker went as far as asking kids who had already answered questions to answer another one instead of calling on me with my hand up.

Luckily, this experience didn’t heavily affect me as I am going into engineering in university- but it was my first of many experiences being the only woman in the room.

LiisBeth: Have you ever felt a “feminist snap”? A moment in time when you wanted to shout “That is not right!” Or fair!

Mandewo: The one thing that always gets me is the gender pay gap. Some people argue that it only exists in certain level jobs but research and testimonies clearly shows that it exists in all levels of the workforce. I struggle to fathom how someone can think a man and woman doing the exact same job should be paid differently.

LiisBeth: What do you want to do when you graduate? Interests? pursuits?

Mandewo: I will be attending George Washington University in Washington, DC. Being in America’s Capitol, I will have access to a plethora of organizations looking to help with the advancement of women’s rights. Within school, I plan on taking courses like Women, Gender and Sexuality studies as well as joining groups like Women in Engineering to help uplift other women.

LiisBeth: Thank you so much Alexandra!  You are an amazing young woman!

Mandewo:  And thank YOU for sharing my work with your readers!

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The post We Had Better Believe Her! appeared first on LiisBeth.

Turn off your television
and have a listen:
I was born to realize this,
I have a mission.
Every time I open my eyes
I have a vision:
We get to make the decisions
of how we want
life to be.
The future is not
pre-conceived you see.
 

We are in the moment
of dreaming the dream.
Creating
everything we see
attracting
and becoming
who we were meant to be.
Imagination begins
with you and me.
What do you see?

I see
solar-powered
street-car
refueling stations
built on
renewably-constructed
highways
across the nation,
and in global warming’s heat
I see
geothermal cooling stations
and rainwater irrigation
for little local operations
organic food gives good vibrations.

Healthy people
in full civic participation –
unparalleled cooperation.
I see a rise in self-actualization.
Limited only
by imagination.

Our gifts, talents and passions
realized.
Shining light into the night
then we can drop
the 9-5
and do the thing
that make us feel alive.

The work
that truly is in line
with our values
beating deep inside
the heart of the heart
of the heart
of life.

Vibrations
reverberating
outwards
rippling
changes,
bringing light.
Like a magnet
deep inside
attracting like to like to like.
Taking action,
like compassion –
creating a new life.
Where everyone
can realize
and have the chance
to be revitalized,
by clean water, air and food –
free of chemicals that aren’t good for you.

I see us turning inwards
into self
and shining outwards,
radiating health
and to each other,
sharing wealth,
knowledge, skills and care.

What we do for
each other
when no one paid us
to be there.

In full emancipation
from giving our life force
over
to the corporation.

Our hearts
beat
in syncopation
the earth
vibrating
in reverberation.

Our voices singing
sweep the nation.
Freeing up the occupation
of the preceding
generation.

Moving monorails
fly –
station to station.

The magnets
push against
each other
propelling
forward motion.
Activation.
Feel the pulse
of acceleration.
A speeding
future innovation.

Feel the tingly
new sensation
of the new earth
activation.
Trees enlisted in
cooperation.
Every time we breathe
we are exchangin’

Should we trade
a quick fix now
for sustainable operations
that can last
for generations?
Our great-grandchildren
eating, speaking, breathing-in
emancipation.
From the addictions
and distractions
from our patience.

I see how it will go.
There will be a balance,
there will be a healthy flow
of energy, synergy, cooperation, collaboration
and creativity.
This will be inside of each, you see
but also flowing between you and me
and out into the community
like permaculture – need and offer –
in reciprocity
and in the school the dreams will be.

The place where imagination will play free
cooperation and care in continuity
feeling the freedom of possibility.

The children have their physical and emotional needs met
you see
by community or by workers paid properly.
For the work of steering the future of our wealth and world you see.
Workplaces like engines of peaceful prosperity
churning out work in environments designed
by principles of sustainability.
Free-flowing conversations leading innovation
flowing naturally from creativity.
Healthy breaks when breaks need be.

Everybody breathing.
Moving,
stretching.
When need be
being heard and being seen.
Helping each other reach a common goal
healthy competition just for fun,
but not egos crushing egos, playing power games.
That has been forgotten in the name
of guiding the boat together.
The boat that not only makes us better
but keeps us human
on the planet.
No one takes her any more for granted.
The seeds of future
planted.

I plant my feet here
on the earth.
The motion
of my imagination
like a birth.
Water
gushing.
Body
knowing
exactly what to do.
Nature says
work with her
hold on tight.
We are bursting a blast of light
into and through the darkest night.

Blind faith
the vision now in sight.

© Move-N-Music

The post Vision appeared first on LiisBeth.

You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son’s heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother’s grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That’s the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince’s ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn’t
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she’d better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler’s wax
and Cinderella’s gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don’t heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.

The post Cinderella appeared first on LiisBeth.