Are teens going to get a break someday?
A catchphrase can’t be ‘wrong’, or ‘no’ or ‘bad’.
We have unique emotions that convey
What’s the problem with following the fad?
We are not pesky and little like mice,
We are humans and have a big, loud voice
Can’t you forgive us just this once or twice?
The changes happening are not our choice
I do like my tight jeans and baggy shirts
I think they are stylish and cool and hip
And though we may be big, obvious flirts
It all pays off when we get named as ‘chicks’
We are who we are; I am who I am
You may not like it: we don’t give a damn
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
BRAVO to my fellow Blog-Mates
When deciding whose responses to look more closely at, I decided to not read some of my shall I say ‘top-hit’ blogs (sorry Sarah!). Why not take chances, right? What I found was very interesting and pleasing...
The first response I will talk about is Marek’s response to ‘Please Don’t Take My Air Jordans’. Marek clearly has a strong voice which I completely admire, since I like to think I have one too. Also, Marek starts off by, you know, giving a brief summary of the poem, questioning things etc and then comes up with this amazing and unique interpretation of what the gun symbolizes! When reading this poem myself, I honestly didn’t look twice about what the gun may mean. I kind of just decided I thought the poem was weird, and that was the end of it! Not only is Marek’s interpretation unique, but it’s so justified in a sense that I now completely see a new side of the poem. I think that is truly the sign of a great response.
The second response I will say ‘bravo’ to is Julia’s, on once again ‘Please Don’t Take My Air Jordans’. Her interpretation, though more similar to mine than Marek’s was, is also eye-opening. I love how she turned the immediate reaction to the main character completely around. No more is he simply a bad kid, but a kid that doesn’t know who he is anymore! Julia also made her interpretation more convincing and real by putting her personal experience touches on it. Overall, it was a very sophisticated and well backed-up response.
The last response to a poem I am going to credit is Molly’s response to ‘My Papa’s Waltz’. She brings up a good point: any poem can be interpreted differently, based on how you apply it to your life and mood. In this response, Molly also asks many ‘thought-provoking’ questions about the poem. Lastly, I love how Molly sort of described her thought process of analyzing the poem, something which is crucial to coming up with ideas and questions.
In general, I think a good response has to have a strong voice, a unique angle on the subject backed-up with personal things, elaborations on ideas, some questions for the reader to think about etc. Though not mentioned above, I also enjoy reading Sarah’s blog, Micaela's blog, Tomin’s blog, Alberta’s blog, Lena’s blog, Ana’s blog, Fiona’s blog and Sammie-Jo’s blog.
The first response I will talk about is Marek’s response to ‘Please Don’t Take My Air Jordans’. Marek clearly has a strong voice which I completely admire, since I like to think I have one too. Also, Marek starts off by, you know, giving a brief summary of the poem, questioning things etc and then comes up with this amazing and unique interpretation of what the gun symbolizes! When reading this poem myself, I honestly didn’t look twice about what the gun may mean. I kind of just decided I thought the poem was weird, and that was the end of it! Not only is Marek’s interpretation unique, but it’s so justified in a sense that I now completely see a new side of the poem. I think that is truly the sign of a great response.
The second response I will say ‘bravo’ to is Julia’s, on once again ‘Please Don’t Take My Air Jordans’. Her interpretation, though more similar to mine than Marek’s was, is also eye-opening. I love how she turned the immediate reaction to the main character completely around. No more is he simply a bad kid, but a kid that doesn’t know who he is anymore! Julia also made her interpretation more convincing and real by putting her personal experience touches on it. Overall, it was a very sophisticated and well backed-up response.
The last response to a poem I am going to credit is Molly’s response to ‘My Papa’s Waltz’. She brings up a good point: any poem can be interpreted differently, based on how you apply it to your life and mood. In this response, Molly also asks many ‘thought-provoking’ questions about the poem. Lastly, I love how Molly sort of described her thought process of analyzing the poem, something which is crucial to coming up with ideas and questions.
In general, I think a good response has to have a strong voice, a unique angle on the subject backed-up with personal things, elaborations on ideas, some questions for the reader to think about etc. Though not mentioned above, I also enjoy reading Sarah’s blog, Micaela's blog, Tomin’s blog, Alberta’s blog, Lena’s blog, Ana’s blog, Fiona’s blog and Sammie-Jo’s blog.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Poetry Project: Divorce
Foreword:
Whether it is having to deal with new art on the walls, new food in the fridge, or a new face to wake-up to, divorce causes many problems, solutions, and changes. These changes, for better or worse, impact us all in a myriad of ways. Some are glad to have their parents living separate lives, while some are still looking for the parent that got away. Even with divorce being so common in these modern times, with married couples breaking up daily all across the nation via text message or phone calls, the feelings that are brought from it are all so different. Happy, sad, confused, lost, fresh, bright, or stupefied, divorce can turn things upside down.
Growing up with divorced parents, divorced since I was 4, there have been many bumps along the way. Whether it’s my parents fighting, having to deal with potential step-parents, or juggling time to see both of my parents, being a child of divorce has made me who I am. Divorce has made me a girl used to having to suck-it-up, or just blast some music and stay in my room the entire night. With a new house and family, I try to live my life regularly, but with having moved 3 times in the past 4 years, it has been hard.
Writing about divorce isn’t easy. When writing these poems, emotions that I tried to bury for a long time were unleashed, screwing with my mind. Some people say it’s easier to have your parents get divorced when you are young; you won’t remember the time spent with both parents there, so you won’t miss and long for it. I think it works both ways. I haven’t ever had a time where me, my mom, and dad have spent the night together in the same house, or had a nice dinner with a round-table sharing of what each of us did that day. This is one of the things that haunts me daily.
Through my poems, I hope that other kids of divorce will see that other people share their worry, hate, and confusion about divorce. I am aware that my parents will read this collection, and maybe it will give all parents a bit of insight to what their kid thinks about throughout their whole life because of the divorce.
All kids want is a voice, a hug, a kiss, and a choice.
It.
It kind of just
happened
I don't remember it at all
how could I really?
I was only four
a toddler to life
a baby to my parent's problems
One day he was there
Next day gone
the house a bit emptier than before
ok. i was ok. fine.
I had 2 houses, 2 sets of toys, double the amount of clothes
I thought that was
cool
what mommy didn't want me to have
I could always ask daddy for
great
no dent in my heart
why would there be?
I saw him on the weekends,
I stayed in her ‘suitable’ house,
and their fights just breezed over my head
Life through my glass-clear emerald eyes was
fine. cool. great
It kind of just happened.
and I kind of just ignored it
He says, She says
He came
bearing matzoh ball soup
She smiles
He laughs
eager to come in
"I know you are sick, so here is the cure. My famous soup."
i look up at him
and He looks down
His eyes pop out of his head a bit
“This must be your daughter.”
yes,
She says
and brings her hand to my back
and pats it once
twice
three times before i stutter a hello
satisfied, Her hand goes away to close the door and motions for Him to
“come in, come in, it’s so cold out there.”
He walks in with a bounce in his step and places the soup on the counter
“whenever you are sick, I will make this”
He says
that would would be nice,
She says
and then flits her eyes around the room a bit, looking for the good cutlery
well, let's eat!
She says
fantastic, I'm starving
He says
Questions
What I never understood was
Why?
As I got older
I questioned
but answers to my own questions
weren't satisfying anymore
I tried to ignore these questions that popped into my head daily
more and more and more
bursting on my lips
that only got shot down
Why do I have two houses, mommy?
Why do I only get to see daddy on weekends, mommy?
Why don't you like mommy anymore, daddy?
Why do you fight so much, mommy?
Why can’t you just hug and make-up?
"When you're older, sweetie."
The inevitable answer
The only answer I ever did get
was the one I’m still not quite sure
if I really want to know the answer to
Was it my fault?
A Choice
I found about the move-in by accident
I never really got the option
the quick let’s sit down
and question of
is this ok?
how do you feel about it?
Instead I got the
“Oh. She knows. I guess the cat got
out of the bag.”
Yep. it did
and with it, the cat scratched me across the face
how long have they been planning this?
did they ever think to ask me?
just ask.
a mere question would do
they probably wouldn’t give a shit
to what I said
but the fact that I could think
even for just a moment
that I had a choice
well,
that would have been nice
real nice
It’s funny
how we can trick ourselves
and they can trick us
“You are the most important thing to me.
You know that right?”
uh-huh
ok
so the fact that the ‘no-one’
is now a permanent house guest
was ok by me?
new art on the walls
new food in the fridge
a new face to wake up too
why not just up and turn my whole life upside down
shake the last bit of
my
out of it
and sure this food may taste better
and the art may look better
but the face
not always better
it was fine
the way we were
I can deal with
my old food
old art
one face
me and her
where does he fit in the equation?
in my moms heart, pushing me aside
or maybe in her brain
worried about him, thinking about him,
I could be off
by her side
trying to fight for her attention
and not a glance would come my way
how does that work?
she bore me
and yet she loves him
where is my voice?
my kiss hello?
my hug when feeling sick?
no thank-you
I won’t take your pity
I just want a voice
a hug
a kiss
and a choice
***EXTRA CREDIT: ARS POETICA POEM***
Everyone’s Piece of Steak
Chew
chew
chew
can’t
you spit it out
on the plate it looks different
a bit gnarled and chewed
but still edible
definitely edible
the flavor will remain on your tongue,
the precious flavor,
salty, spicy
mean
different for everyone
some automatically rejecting it
others trembling in it’s delicacy
people have a different takes on it
a kaleidoscope of colors
more than one blue, red, yellow
and black if you think that’s a color
the texture is ever-changing
one time soft as a pillow
the next maybe sharp as a nail
or dense as concrete
the effort it takes to make it
may rise or fall
but that comes naturally
with our progress of life
the world changes before us
and we change with it
one day our steak may look juicy
the next dry
as our own hearts are too
Whether it is having to deal with new art on the walls, new food in the fridge, or a new face to wake-up to, divorce causes many problems, solutions, and changes. These changes, for better or worse, impact us all in a myriad of ways. Some are glad to have their parents living separate lives, while some are still looking for the parent that got away. Even with divorce being so common in these modern times, with married couples breaking up daily all across the nation via text message or phone calls, the feelings that are brought from it are all so different. Happy, sad, confused, lost, fresh, bright, or stupefied, divorce can turn things upside down.
Growing up with divorced parents, divorced since I was 4, there have been many bumps along the way. Whether it’s my parents fighting, having to deal with potential step-parents, or juggling time to see both of my parents, being a child of divorce has made me who I am. Divorce has made me a girl used to having to suck-it-up, or just blast some music and stay in my room the entire night. With a new house and family, I try to live my life regularly, but with having moved 3 times in the past 4 years, it has been hard.
Writing about divorce isn’t easy. When writing these poems, emotions that I tried to bury for a long time were unleashed, screwing with my mind. Some people say it’s easier to have your parents get divorced when you are young; you won’t remember the time spent with both parents there, so you won’t miss and long for it. I think it works both ways. I haven’t ever had a time where me, my mom, and dad have spent the night together in the same house, or had a nice dinner with a round-table sharing of what each of us did that day. This is one of the things that haunts me daily.
Through my poems, I hope that other kids of divorce will see that other people share their worry, hate, and confusion about divorce. I am aware that my parents will read this collection, and maybe it will give all parents a bit of insight to what their kid thinks about throughout their whole life because of the divorce.
All kids want is a voice, a hug, a kiss, and a choice.
It.
It kind of just
happened
I don't remember it at all
how could I really?
I was only four
a toddler to life
a baby to my parent's problems
One day he was there
Next day gone
the house a bit emptier than before
ok. i was ok. fine.
I had 2 houses, 2 sets of toys, double the amount of clothes
I thought that was
cool
what mommy didn't want me to have
I could always ask daddy for
great
no dent in my heart
why would there be?
I saw him on the weekends,
I stayed in her ‘suitable’ house,
and their fights just breezed over my head
Life through my glass-clear emerald eyes was
fine. cool. great
It kind of just happened.
and I kind of just ignored it
He says, She says
He came
bearing matzoh ball soup
She smiles
He laughs
eager to come in
"I know you are sick, so here is the cure. My famous soup."
i look up at him
and He looks down
His eyes pop out of his head a bit
“This must be your daughter.”
yes,
She says
and brings her hand to my back
and pats it once
twice
three times before i stutter a hello
satisfied, Her hand goes away to close the door and motions for Him to
“come in, come in, it’s so cold out there.”
He walks in with a bounce in his step and places the soup on the counter
“whenever you are sick, I will make this”
He says
that would would be nice,
She says
and then flits her eyes around the room a bit, looking for the good cutlery
well, let's eat!
She says
fantastic, I'm starving
He says
Questions
What I never understood was
Why?
As I got older
I questioned
but answers to my own questions
weren't satisfying anymore
I tried to ignore these questions that popped into my head daily
more and more and more
bursting on my lips
that only got shot down
Why do I have two houses, mommy?
Why do I only get to see daddy on weekends, mommy?
Why don't you like mommy anymore, daddy?
Why do you fight so much, mommy?
Why can’t you just hug and make-up?
"When you're older, sweetie."
The inevitable answer
The only answer I ever did get
was the one I’m still not quite sure
if I really want to know the answer to
Was it my fault?
A Choice
I found about the move-in by accident
I never really got the option
the quick let’s sit down
and question of
is this ok?
how do you feel about it?
Instead I got the
“Oh. She knows. I guess the cat got
out of the bag.”
Yep. it did
and with it, the cat scratched me across the face
how long have they been planning this?
did they ever think to ask me?
just ask.
a mere question would do
they probably wouldn’t give a shit
to what I said
but the fact that I could think
even for just a moment
that I had a choice
well,
that would have been nice
real nice
It’s funny
how we can trick ourselves
and they can trick us
“You are the most important thing to me.
You know that right?”
uh-huh
ok
so the fact that the ‘no-one’
is now a permanent house guest
was ok by me?
new art on the walls
new food in the fridge
a new face to wake up too
why not just up and turn my whole life upside down
shake the last bit of
my
out of it
and sure this food may taste better
and the art may look better
but the face
not always better
it was fine
the way we were
I can deal with
my old food
old art
one face
me and her
where does he fit in the equation?
in my moms heart, pushing me aside
or maybe in her brain
worried about him, thinking about him,
I could be off
by her side
trying to fight for her attention
and not a glance would come my way
how does that work?
she bore me
and yet she loves him
where is my voice?
my kiss hello?
my hug when feeling sick?
no thank-you
I won’t take your pity
I just want a voice
a hug
a kiss
and a choice
***EXTRA CREDIT: ARS POETICA POEM***
Everyone’s Piece of Steak
Chew
chew
chew
can’t
you spit it out
on the plate it looks different
a bit gnarled and chewed
but still edible
definitely edible
the flavor will remain on your tongue,
the precious flavor,
salty, spicy
mean
different for everyone
some automatically rejecting it
others trembling in it’s delicacy
people have a different takes on it
a kaleidoscope of colors
more than one blue, red, yellow
and black if you think that’s a color
the texture is ever-changing
one time soft as a pillow
the next maybe sharp as a nail
or dense as concrete
the effort it takes to make it
may rise or fall
but that comes naturally
with our progress of life
the world changes before us
and we change with it
one day our steak may look juicy
the next dry
as our own hearts are too
EXTRA CREDIT 3RD QUARTER poem
Next Week
How can I fit you in?
my jam-packed schedule is filled with friends and homework that I always seem
to find a way to blow off for some tv time, since my show is on tonight
It'll be a tight fit, but maybe we can have lunch tomorrow?
in my neighborhood, almost an hour away from you
how convenient
and don't forget, mom needs that money pronto
I want to go to camp this year, so work extra hard
and, um, did I forget to tell you I'm sick?
and that I had a trumpet show? yeah it was great
and that: oh yes! belated high five! my report card from 2 weeks ago had all As on it!
Oh, BTW, I'm going away for 2 weeks? Did I not email our itinerary to you?
I didn't?
oops...
sorry!
maybe we can, oh I don't know, skype sometime in the middle of the week?
new txt from tulah: sorry, video chatting with a friend...u free l8r?
l8r: I have stuff to do so (sorry), I have to go quickly
tomorrow? wait...never mind...can't see you tomorrow
does next week work? I will try to make it work
I promise I will try to make it work
...
sorry it didn't work out
sorry it almost never does
next week ok? :)
*dedicated to my dad
How can I fit you in?
my jam-packed schedule is filled with friends and homework that I always seem
to find a way to blow off for some tv time, since my show is on tonight
It'll be a tight fit, but maybe we can have lunch tomorrow?
in my neighborhood, almost an hour away from you
how convenient
and don't forget, mom needs that money pronto
I want to go to camp this year, so work extra hard
and, um, did I forget to tell you I'm sick?
and that I had a trumpet show? yeah it was great
and that: oh yes! belated high five! my report card from 2 weeks ago had all As on it!
Oh, BTW, I'm going away for 2 weeks? Did I not email our itinerary to you?
I didn't?
oops...
sorry!
maybe we can, oh I don't know, skype sometime in the middle of the week?
new txt from tulah: sorry, video chatting with a friend...u free l8r?
l8r: I have stuff to do so (sorry), I have to go quickly
tomorrow? wait...never mind...can't see you tomorrow
does next week work? I will try to make it work
I promise I will try to make it work
...
sorry it didn't work out
sorry it almost never does
next week ok? :)
*dedicated to my dad
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Response to "My Papa's Waltz"
***Finally, I can express my opinions in a place where every 2 seconds people aren’t shouting ‘racist’ or ‘H.A.M’ (cough cough Aaron and Gabriel, no help from Tomin)...***
So today we read ‘My Papa’s Waltz.” I want to start off by saying that every one has their own interpretations, and that is ok, but here is mine: I think the father is drunk, I think the ‘waltz’ is the father’s staggering around while his son is clinging on to him, I think that though maybe not intentionally, the father is hurting the son, and that even with all of this ‘drama’, the little boy calls it a waltz and still loves his father because it is hard for people to see the bad in their parents.
So, I’ll start with backing up to the father being drunk. First, there is whiskey on his breath. And yes, whiskey on your breath doesn’t automatically make you drunk, but when there is enough to ‘make a small boy dizzy’, yes not uncomfortable but DIZZY, something is up. Also, ‘every step you miss’ to me seems as if not that the father simply is getting the counts wrong, but that he is at least ‘tipsy’. Another thing is that the father is dirty with a ‘palm caked hard by dirt’ and a battered knuckle could mean that either the father is a construction worker as Charlie said, or that the dart is from being out late roaming the streets in a drunk frenzy, hurting himself or other people getting his hand dirty.
Another belief I have is that whether purposely or not, the father is hurting the son. “My right ear scraped a buckle” sounds pretty harsh, and “you beat time on my head” could mean a number of things from hurting him physically or by threats of memories and the future. Also, people say that since the mother is pretty much just being a bystander that the father isn’t drunk and possibly hurting his son, since if he was she would do something. Well, I hate to break it to people, but not every one is brave. What if this is a normal thing for the papa to be drunk, and in the past he has hit the mother too? Sure, I guess from mother’s we expect there to be a lot of protection for their children, but what about protecting themselves? If they get hurt, who knows what could happen to her son’s life without a mom?!
Another thing I believe is that the waltz is actually the father staggering around while his son clings to him. “Romping” means acting in a rough and noisy (boisterous) way, which could show up if the son is clinging on, and the father is angry and wants him off. The son says (the poem is in the boy’s perspective) “BUT I hung on like DEATH.” Hmm, interesting. The fact that the son used the word ‘death’ rather than something like ‘I hung on tight’ shows that possibly he is in a situation not so far from what brings death, or what emotions come with death. Maybe the boy doesn’t exactly know what ‘drunk’ is, but is a bit scared of his papa staggering and trying to shrug him off.
Also, usually when people say ‘but’, they are trying to justify something, or explain something. In the poem’s context, what is being explained or justified is that the whiskey on the father’s breath could make a small boy dizzy. The thing about this poem that I truly find so beautiful and true is that the little boy clearly loves his father. Whether actually dancing or getting abused, and being with a drunk or just tipsy father, the little boy wants to be and possibly dance with his father. He defends the whiskey on the breath, and clings on to him ‘for dear life’, whether for support or simply wanting love, when ‘waltzing’ and being doomed to bed. As I mentioned, for us (especially little boys, but even me sometimes), we look up to our parents, and so we find it hard to fault them. No matter what, (hopefully), we love our parents even if they ground us, take away the computer, etc. We all as teenagers have those times of ‘No one understands me!’ or ‘WHATEVER MOM!’ and then the occasional ‘I hate you!’, but how can we truly hate the people that provide so much for us? *rhetorical question* The son may be in the risk of getting seriously hurt by his drunk dad, but instead of thinking of that, he thinks his father’s staggers and pushes are a dance or waltz of a kind. The waltz of a son and his father.
So today we read ‘My Papa’s Waltz.” I want to start off by saying that every one has their own interpretations, and that is ok, but here is mine: I think the father is drunk, I think the ‘waltz’ is the father’s staggering around while his son is clinging on to him, I think that though maybe not intentionally, the father is hurting the son, and that even with all of this ‘drama’, the little boy calls it a waltz and still loves his father because it is hard for people to see the bad in their parents.
So, I’ll start with backing up to the father being drunk. First, there is whiskey on his breath. And yes, whiskey on your breath doesn’t automatically make you drunk, but when there is enough to ‘make a small boy dizzy’, yes not uncomfortable but DIZZY, something is up. Also, ‘every step you miss’ to me seems as if not that the father simply is getting the counts wrong, but that he is at least ‘tipsy’. Another thing is that the father is dirty with a ‘palm caked hard by dirt’ and a battered knuckle could mean that either the father is a construction worker as Charlie said, or that the dart is from being out late roaming the streets in a drunk frenzy, hurting himself or other people getting his hand dirty.
Another belief I have is that whether purposely or not, the father is hurting the son. “My right ear scraped a buckle” sounds pretty harsh, and “you beat time on my head” could mean a number of things from hurting him physically or by threats of memories and the future. Also, people say that since the mother is pretty much just being a bystander that the father isn’t drunk and possibly hurting his son, since if he was she would do something. Well, I hate to break it to people, but not every one is brave. What if this is a normal thing for the papa to be drunk, and in the past he has hit the mother too? Sure, I guess from mother’s we expect there to be a lot of protection for their children, but what about protecting themselves? If they get hurt, who knows what could happen to her son’s life without a mom?!
Another thing I believe is that the waltz is actually the father staggering around while his son clings to him. “Romping” means acting in a rough and noisy (boisterous) way, which could show up if the son is clinging on, and the father is angry and wants him off. The son says (the poem is in the boy’s perspective) “BUT I hung on like DEATH.” Hmm, interesting. The fact that the son used the word ‘death’ rather than something like ‘I hung on tight’ shows that possibly he is in a situation not so far from what brings death, or what emotions come with death. Maybe the boy doesn’t exactly know what ‘drunk’ is, but is a bit scared of his papa staggering and trying to shrug him off.
Also, usually when people say ‘but’, they are trying to justify something, or explain something. In the poem’s context, what is being explained or justified is that the whiskey on the father’s breath could make a small boy dizzy. The thing about this poem that I truly find so beautiful and true is that the little boy clearly loves his father. Whether actually dancing or getting abused, and being with a drunk or just tipsy father, the little boy wants to be and possibly dance with his father. He defends the whiskey on the breath, and clings on to him ‘for dear life’, whether for support or simply wanting love, when ‘waltzing’ and being doomed to bed. As I mentioned, for us (especially little boys, but even me sometimes), we look up to our parents, and so we find it hard to fault them. No matter what, (hopefully), we love our parents even if they ground us, take away the computer, etc. We all as teenagers have those times of ‘No one understands me!’ or ‘WHATEVER MOM!’ and then the occasional ‘I hate you!’, but how can we truly hate the people that provide so much for us? *rhetorical question* The son may be in the risk of getting seriously hurt by his drunk dad, but instead of thinking of that, he thinks his father’s staggers and pushes are a dance or waltz of a kind. The waltz of a son and his father.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Narrative Poem
Hello
Goodbye
I say as I wave to my parents
Though I’m nervous, I am a big girl
and I can do this
I can do this
and if my friends can do this
Then I Can Do This
right?
This place, it’s not a monster
it’s my new home, kind-of
I will love it, I’m sure
my friends love it
and I will love it
I walk up to a women waiting for me at the door
“Hey,” she says all i-won’t-remember-your-name
but why not tell it to me anyway?
I stutter it out and tell her about myself
say where I live, what pets I have, what I like to do
and she nods and points me up ‘that way’
I don’t see where she is pointing but I know I can find my way
my friends found there way and
I will find my way
am I cheating if I ask her again?
I walk up the hill, looking around as I go
it looks like a typical camp
trees, birds, rocks, plants
I take a left, like she said
and walk into the log cabin
other big-people greet me and I repeat everything I said to the other one
and since they seem a bit more interested
I tell them a bit more
and ask if I can have a top-bunk even though I am afraid of heights
but I can get over that
my friends got over their fears
and so I will get over mine
they say 'sure' enthusiastically
and one says “just like me. Adventurous”
I nod once and look down
they take my bags and put them in a closet
I walk up to a bed and wonder how the hell I am supposed to get up
climb? jump? fly?
I step onto the lower one, and for dear life fling myself up
my muscles strain, but thank god, I make it
and then I almost fall down a bit dizzy from the journey
but I stay put
A girl walks inside now, looking a bit pale like I’m sure I do
she follows the status-quo and keeps polite
her hands stick-straight at her side and then
she looks over at me
her eyes widen
she takes her bag and puts it
hesitantly
on the bed below mine
she waits a few seconds
I don’t move
and she sits down and looks up at me
I lean over, forget that there is a 99 percent chance that I will fall, and whisper
Hello.
Goodbye
I say as I wave to my parents
Though I’m nervous, I am a big girl
and I can do this
I can do this
and if my friends can do this
Then I Can Do This
right?
This place, it’s not a monster
it’s my new home, kind-of
I will love it, I’m sure
my friends love it
and I will love it
I walk up to a women waiting for me at the door
“Hey,” she says all i-won’t-remember-your-name
but why not tell it to me anyway?
I stutter it out and tell her about myself
say where I live, what pets I have, what I like to do
and she nods and points me up ‘that way’
I don’t see where she is pointing but I know I can find my way
my friends found there way and
I will find my way
am I cheating if I ask her again?
I walk up the hill, looking around as I go
it looks like a typical camp
trees, birds, rocks, plants
I take a left, like she said
and walk into the log cabin
other big-people greet me and I repeat everything I said to the other one
and since they seem a bit more interested
I tell them a bit more
and ask if I can have a top-bunk even though I am afraid of heights
but I can get over that
my friends got over their fears
and so I will get over mine
they say 'sure' enthusiastically
and one says “just like me. Adventurous”
I nod once and look down
they take my bags and put them in a closet
I walk up to a bed and wonder how the hell I am supposed to get up
climb? jump? fly?
I step onto the lower one, and for dear life fling myself up
my muscles strain, but thank god, I make it
and then I almost fall down a bit dizzy from the journey
but I stay put
A girl walks inside now, looking a bit pale like I’m sure I do
she follows the status-quo and keeps polite
her hands stick-straight at her side and then
she looks over at me
her eyes widen
she takes her bag and puts it
hesitantly
on the bed below mine
she waits a few seconds
I don’t move
and she sits down and looks up at me
I lean over, forget that there is a 99 percent chance that I will fall, and whisper
Hello.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Poem On An Important Event in My Life
He came
bearing matzoh ball soup
she smiles
he laughs
eager to come in
"I know you are sick, so here I have the remedy"
I look up at him
and he looks down
his eyes google out of his head a bit
this must be your daughter
yes she says
and brings her hand to my back
and pats it once
twice
three times before I stutter a hello
satisfied, her hand goes away to close the door and motions for him to
come in, come in
he walks in with a bounce in his step and places the soup on the counter
whenever you are sick, I will make this
he says
this will be good
she says
and flits her eyes around the room a bit, looking for the good cutlery
well, let's eat!
she says
fantastic, I'm starving
he says
bearing matzoh ball soup
she smiles
he laughs
eager to come in
"I know you are sick, so here I have the remedy"
I look up at him
and he looks down
his eyes google out of his head a bit
this must be your daughter
yes she says
and brings her hand to my back
and pats it once
twice
three times before I stutter a hello
satisfied, her hand goes away to close the door and motions for him to
come in, come in
he walks in with a bounce in his step and places the soup on the counter
whenever you are sick, I will make this
he says
this will be good
she says
and flits her eyes around the room a bit, looking for the good cutlery
well, let's eat!
she says
fantastic, I'm starving
he says
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