other bits of blog

Thursday, March 25, 2010

teary eyes

Some days we all cry. Sometimes there's no way to stop it. You just cry and cry and cry, not knowing what to do. By the night your eyes are swollen and you're tired and sad. But you got through another day, another night. Tomorrow is just a day. One more. But you only think of now. You know in the back of your mind that there will be something that goes wrong, but you ignore it. All you do on those days is cry.

Knowing
A gentle wet springs up
The kind that burns
No way to sob
To shout
It slides down your cheek
Like fire down a mountain
Burning ash
As they pour
The drops sear your face
And a hiccup
Escapes from your mouth
A thin, quivering line
And you let go
Thinking only of now
Sad
Never the future
Now
Pain
The fire ceases
As you breathe fast and heavy
Lying down
Standing up
Running
Pacing
Thinking
Never knowing what will come next
And you protest
Sure you are right
Seeing only now
And sorrow
It stops all together
Except for the eyes
Shiny
Red
Swollen
They tell everything you know
Everything you’ve been through
Lies and truths
Secrets to tell
And to keep
Songs and laughter
And now
Here
Swollen eyes and shaking chin
You know that you will find some way
To live on
To face fears and problems
Life isn’t always perfect
And the tears show you that
Thinking of here and now
Nothing more to come
Nothing left behind
Silence
Knowing
Crying is understanding
Like a rapid river from the falls
Always rushing
Always moving somewhere
But the little pools on the side
Where the animals drink
Content for the moment
Content for now
Here
Even when you cry
You know it will be all right

Today was one of those days. But I know it will be all right.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

grow

Alana is away, so my dad and I picked up Sadie and Rosie today. We surprised them by stopping by at the Tyringham Playground, with a tire swing, a mini train, slides, and basically everything that a pair of five- and six-year-olds could ask for.
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..."Rosie! Come one, let's go to the train!" yelled Sadie, racing down the playground. "Maia, where do we sit?"
"In the back passenger car," I answered as they ran toward it.
"You drive," Rosie ordered. "Chugga-chugga-chugga!!" They both bounced up and down.
"Look, Rosie, look at the slide!" Sadie pointed out the two-person, sliver slide.
"Slide?" Rosie was astonished. "Slide? Yay!"
They slid to the bottom, yelling for me to watch, about seven times. Then Sadie exclaimed that she wanted to swing. But when she ran to the swing set, she noticed the tire swing. "Chris, push me!" she said to my dad. He walked over and pulled the swing way up, then pushed it away from him, spinning it at the same time.
"Weeeeeeee!"
"What's Sadie doing?" Rosie asked.
"She's on the tire swing."
"Tire swing? I wanna go, too!" Rosie yelled.
They spun and spun until they were too dizzy to act normally. But then again, how are two five- and six-year-olds normal? They screamed and laughed, wanting it faster one minute, then protesting that my dad was pushing too fast and they wanted "no more".
When we drove home, they suddenly became somewhat sophisticated and proper. But I could tell they were just tired. Not for long...

§

That made me think of a poem I wrote about Sadie and Rosie, during a time when they were making a cardboard castle, and Rosie stole Sadie's crayon. They screamed, and—I’ll just show you.


Castle of Changes
Crayons whirring across cardboard
Sisters arguing
Taunts
A stolen crayon
Nothing in my eyes
Something in theirs
Then a return
And a smile
A dance

It was a cardboard castle
The younger sister stole a crayon
The older one threatened
The younger one gave
Only to turn away and find her own
Smiling, happy
The two forget all
They turn and dance and hum
Holding hands

Crayons whirring across cardboard
Sisters arguing
Taunts
A stolen crayon
Nothing in my eyes
Something in theirs
Then a return
And a smile
A dance

If only it was like this
In the real world
Arguments forgotten
Anger gone
Returning
And making your own choice
This is what we need
A way to smile

Crayons whirring across cardboard
Sisters arguing
Taunts
A stolen crayon
Nothing in my eyes
Something in theirs
Then a return
And a smile
A dance

Then we got home, and they went onto the the hill across from my house, and they became little kids again.

Sadie hugged a tree to say hello.
Rosie found a milkweed pod. Fascinating!
And they marched back home.
Somehow, when we got to my door, there were snowdrops growing from the dusty leaves. There was growth everywhere, in the buds on the trees, in the tiny flowers, in the warmth of the sun, and in me, Sadie, and Rosie. They seemed so grown-up, so old. It was hard to believe they are only five and six...almost seven. And it was hard to believe that I will turn 12 so soon.
Even in this season, the season of growing, this afternoon proved that there is always time to slip out of your body and become little again. There is always time to change.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

inspiration

Today I had English in school.

"We had some people absent yesterday. So they're just gonna take the quizzes that we did in Reading, since we have library for Reading class today. So the rest of you, take out your Writer's Notebooks and write for about 10 minutes, alright?" my teacher said.
I sat down at the big window that faces out onto the bus parking lot. But at 8:30 in the morning, there aren't any buses. So that meant I had a clear, but gray (no sun today...) view of the tiny green forest. My first thought was the wind. From my classroom, it seemed as if the breeze was dead. And that I wanted to write a poem. From the point of view of one of the tiny green pine trees at the edge of the tiny green forest.

Dead air swirls around me
Like nothing ever shifted its course
But I know

Know what? Who was talking? I was sure it wasn't a tree. Something didn't seem right in the poem. Something seemed sad. Danger.

The stench of dead
Fear
Sadness
It fills my nostrils like black tendrils of smoke

Okay, so I'm feeling that someone died. A sad poem. Why? My mind takes over. But when I see the tiny black crows on the edge of the tiny green forest, my feelings get their own idea, so my thoughts aren't allowed to do it all.

Dark crows light on trees
Bare of leaves
Of life
They are the lucky ones, those crows
Who fly

They fly. Bo-ring. Flying. Free! Unlike the story-teller...

Who fly without a care in the world
Kings amongst a land of clouds
And a throne burnt from sun
The wind that was still picks up again
Leaving me inside a room of shrieking

Um...what next, what next? More thoughts fighting for the glory. I give in.

For there
On the ground she lies
Nothing more than an empty shell
Open eyes

Creepy. Keep going.

Still heart
She may fly with the crows
And I may kick up pebbles as I walk
Forever stuck on the ground
Never to fly free
Never to soar with the sun
Stuck here as I cry
Without my sister

Woa, woa. Her sister!? I don't know about this. "Just listen!" my thoughts chide. "A few more lines." Okay. Go.

Who is gone
But who forgets
As I wish to forget
Forget
Never paint again in my mind
And she lays unmoving
And I stand unmoving
So her soul runs to the sun
To drink in the rays
And the wind swirls my hair
Dries my tears
I step away
To let go
She is safe
In the Hall of Crows

"Now read," my mind urges. I do.

The Hall of Crows
Dead air swirls around me
Like nothing ever shifted its course
But I know
The stench of dead
Fear

Sadness

It fills my nostrils like black tendrils of smoke
Dark crows light on trees
Bare of leaves

Of life

They are the lucky ones, those crows
Who fly without a care in the world
Kings amongst a land of clouds

And a throne burnt from sun

The wind that was still picks up again
Leaving me inside a room of shrieking
For there

On the ground she lies

Nothing more than an empty shell

Open eyes
Still heart

She may fly with the crows

And I may kick up pebbles as I walk

Forever stuck on the ground

Never to fly free
Never to soar with the sun

Stuck here as I cry

Without my sister
Who is gone

But who forgets
As I wish to forget
Forget

Never paint again in my mind

And she lays unmoving

And I stand unmoving
So her soul runs to the sun

To drink in the rays

And the wind swirls my hair
Dries my tears

I step away

To let go
She is safe
In the Hall of Crows

Wow. I wrote that? It's a little extreme isn't it? Oh, well, I have to clean up. Forget it.

And now I remember. So I thought to give you a little taste of how I write. You? Comment? Please? Please? PLEASE????
Thank you.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

walking

I went on a walk today. The light was gorgeous. The air was actually warm-ish and I only had to wear my sweatshirt! But my point is that I went on a walk, because that's what my post is about.
When you walk you think, you take photos, you smile, you frown, it's your time. And when you take steps toward each other, you're braving your fears.

Steps
She lays there and cries.
I cry, too,
So I know how she feels.
I understand her.
I know she understands me, too.
We feel empathy,
We feel pain,
But we feel it together.
This thought is a comfort.
I get up and the bed creaks.
Step,
Sniffle,
Step.
Her head turns,
The bed creaks again,
And she is in front of me.
We lean on each other,
We cry,
We miss the people who seem to be in front of us,
All the time.
We cry.

When you walk, you're trusting yourself and the ones around you.

Paw Prints
The grumble
The growl
Of contentment
Fills my ears
The warmth
The wet
Tiny nose
Then rustle
Then movement
And they reach
They stretch
So the warmth is gone
The cold returns
And they step
Full of quiet
Creeping
Making paw prints on the blanket
Paw prints so soft
They are the breezes during summer
The paw prints come toward me
And they breath
Full of curiosity
Of warmth
And caring
My nose
Touches clouds
Or so it seems
I know who it is
I know when her tongue
Touches my eyelids
Softer than
The stars at dawn
Like a paw print
In my memory
That will stay there
Stay here
With me
And them
Forever

And when you walk, you know that all you are is you. Just you, adding all the regret, anger, love, fear, excitement, and grief. You are you.