TwoRealities,OneHome
Twobeds,Twodrawers,Twodressers,TwoFridges, ThisisthestoryI’vebeenwaitingtowritesinceIlearned “Home”couldmeantwoplacesatonce.
MantonHeights:
WheretheairsmellslikedreamsdrownedinSazónandsurvival. Wherethehumofthedryerbattleswiththearomaofmymom’scooking, ButherDominicanhandsalwayswin.
Thebricks,wecallit,
Asiftheweightofthenameitselfcouldholdusinplace.
Here,streetsareveins,pumpinglifeintoSalmonandManton. Thestructureofaworldwherekidslaughorfight Dependingontheseason.
Summer.Screamsthroughshatteredglass. Winter.Whispersthroughclosedwindows. Neighborskeeptheirstorieslockedawaylike Doorsboltedtightatnight. Theyhopeforbackyards,forunlockeddoors, Forlivesunchainedfromthegovernmentassistance Thatholdsusinplace.
Andthenthere’sBill’sHouse: wheretheairisdrenchedincologne, ormaybesweat? dependingontheday.
Here,voicesbounceoffcommonroomwalls, Harmoniesoflaughterandfootstepstooheavytoignore.
Here,homesmellslikeambition.
Thefaintaromaofdreamstoobigforthedormstohold, FederalRoadleadsusback,
Alwaysback
Toaplacewheresuccessfeelstangible, Liketheweightofadiplomainhand, Likethepromiseofapplauseatgraduation.
Twohomes:
Oneafoundation,theotherastaircase. Oneresilience,theotherambition.
Bothunderthesamesky, Holdingthesamehope: Forbrighterfutures,forbelonging.
Twobeds,Twodrawers,Twodressers,TwoFridges.
Attached at the Hip
The blanket of my community has never been a tightly woven one
I never grew up with kids my age, we never had block parties
And we never baked apple pies for the neighbors “just because”
My home was my neighborhood, like an isle of solitude
An oasis away from the unfamiliar faces and in-sincere small-talk of my street
Aplace from which I root my love of Billy Joel and “I love Lucy” reruns
The fragrant aroma of wick candles engulf the house,
Inviting a warm atmosphere that immediately relaxes
I walk through the door, invited by tail wagging and loving eyes
I step into the living room, the sun cascades through the curtains
Aplace once used for so many tea parties and princess themed birthdays
Where the melodies of Frank intertwine with the soothing voice of Delilah
I pass the game room, once a front porch turned costume room for my sister and I
Now a room filled with board games and a space to play
Every Sunday morning we go to church
And every Sunday night we watch a movie
And through it all, one constant always beside me, my sister
From dress-up games to graduations, there she was
The person with whom I share all my experiences
Always beside me, there to protect
Grateful I was to have a built-in best friend
From the tiaras we used to put on dad while we painted his nails
To the nightly bible readings he used to share with us
Though we might just be a family we will always be attached
So I bake the apple pies as the wick candles burn
And the dogs that greet me everyday I come home
Family may be all I have but family is all I want
“ReflectionofaForestandMountain”byDevinKnight
InMaine,silenceisasoundallonitsown.WhenIfirstmovedthere,Iwasstartledbyhowloudthequietcouldbe.There werenocarhorns,nosirens,nooverlappingconversationsorTVstatic.Justthewindthreadingitswaythroughthepines.
Ipassedthelakeonmywaytoschool,alwaysstillintheearlymorning,likeglasslaidflatacrosstheearth.Some morningsthemistwouldriseoffthewaterlikeabreath,softandslow,anditfeltlikeIwastheonlypersonwhocouldtruly seethebeauty.
Intown,peopletalkaboutwinterlikeit’satestofendurance.Theice,thesnow,thewindthatslicesthrougheven yourthickestlayers.ButIlovedwinterbest.Everythingturnedwhiteandstill,andthelakefrozeoverinsilence.Itbecamea mirrorforthesky,asheetofsilverunderamillionstars.
ThereweredaysIwouldn’tseeanothersoul.Nomail.Noneighbors.Justdeertracksinthesnowandtheoccasional cryofalooninthedistance.Inthequiet,Ilistened.Tothewind.Theiceshiftingonthelake.Thestoriesinmyownhead.I foundpeacenotinwhatwashappening,butinwhatwasn’t.Noschedule.Noexpectations.Justtherhythmofwater,wind, andwood.Itwasenough.Morethanenough,really.
In the infinite silence of a forest covered in snow, there roamed a wolf by the name of Kael. His coat was as white as moonlight and his eyes burned with the fires of winter storms. He hunted alone, slept out under the stars, and did not trust anyone.
One night, while pursuing his prey along the edge of the forest, Kael stumbled upon an area he'd never seen before.There lay a small cabin, its windows glowing from within with a warm, golden light.Awoman sang softly. Kael froze, crouching in the shadows. Something started to move inside his chest, a pull, a hurt, something other than usual.
Slowly, Kael began returning to the edge of the clearing. Not near. Just close enough to hear.To sense the warmth from afar. The woman, Madison by name, noticed him eventually, a glint of silver eyes between the trees. But she did not chase him away. She dropped pieces of meat on the forest edge and began speaking to the shadows, voice soft and sweet.
Kael, the lone wolf, began to approach.
Seasons passed, and Kael ate from her palm. He slept beside her fire in the winters. Madison never asked him to stay, but never pushed him away, either. She read to him. Sang to him. Sometimes she cried, and Kael rested his head on her leg, not understanding the words, but feeling the weight of them. He felt something bloom within him, something soft, something terrifying.
One morning in spring, Kael awoke to find that his reflection in the nearby stream had changed. His pointed muzzle was smoother, his bristly fur trimmed back shorter, his eyes still bright but no longer burning. He was no longer a wolf.
He was a dog.
He panicked first, scrabbling at the stream, snarling at his reflection. Was this weakness? Was this loss?The forest called him, but it no longer felt like home. He came back to Madison, trembling.
She looked at him, really looked, and smiled, not in surprise, but in recognition.
"You spent time alone," she said. "Not because you were broken. But because you were brave enough to be known.".
Kael crouched at her feet, the reality setting in his bones.The wolf within him hadn’t perished, It had merely shifted over to make room for something else He hadn't been shattered. He had become.
“SunsetOverStillWaters”byDevinKnight
“Sky Whispers”
Beneath a sky of painted dreams,
Where stardust flows in violet streams,
Amoon begins to glow,
Above silent hills below
The world is hushed, the stars awake,
Each one a wish I dare to make.
Their shimmer speaks in quiet tones, Of distant worlds and skies unknown
I stand alone, but don't feel small,
The sky it answers every call
Acanvas made of peace and fire that lifts my thoughts and pulls me higher.
So when I look up, lost in air
I find my dreams already there
In every swirl, in every hue,
The night pains hope in shades of blue
The mountains rest in shadowed grace,
While colors dance through outer space
While color dance through outer space
Blue, then purple, dark as night,
The galaxy alive with light
thesweetnostalgiaofsummer
adayinthewarmsummersun. thedockofthecabincovered, inthatdazzling,algae-filledwater soundsofpaddleboardersechoingacrossthelake nostalgiaflowingthroughmyblood
icanalmosthearthefaintgiggles, seetheblow-uptubestiedtothedock, thesunbeamingdownonourfaces aswebobbedupanddowninthewater seeingwhocouldholdtheirbreaththelongest, who’shandstandwasmorevisiblefromabovethewater, whatourtailswouldlooklikeifweweremermaids.
icanalmosthearourmom’scallingtous askingwhatwe’dlikeforlunch. thenwhatseemedlikemeresecondslater, peanutbutterandjellysandwicheswithchipsandfruit, weremagicallyonthedockbehindus.
iremembersittingonthatverysamedock, watchingthelittlefishbelowitswimaround. icansmellthesunscreenwewereforcedtore-apply,
“Soyoudon’tburn!”ourmom’swouldsay.
icanfeelallofthisagainsittingonthisdock. lookingoutatthelakeofourchildhoods, smellinglikethesunscreenweusedtohate, nowrevelinginthecomfortofitsscent.
icanseethesunsetweonceusedtodread,asitmeant wewereclosertobed.
icanfeelitallagain,thatsummer-timesweetness.
Joe
WhenyougotoJoe,gettingahaircutfromhimisn'tjustatrimoralineup,butanexperience.Itwasananeventof latheringandtrimming,withstorytelling,laughing,andlove.Joehadalwayshadagiftofcreatingstoriessosmooththat whenhebrushedthehairsoffofyourneckandunbuttonedyourcape,youdidn'tknowwhatwasrealandwhatwasn't. Youdidn'tknowifhewasmerelykeepingyouentertained,orifhisstorieswererealevents,wherehebroughtgoodluck tothosewhosatinthatchair.
“Didyouknowthatonetime,Icutthehairofayoungboy,thenthenextdayhefoundalotteryticketontheground!My scissorsbroughtthatlittleboygoodluck.Hesaidthathimself,thatIwasmagic!”
Sometimeswithasmileonhisfacehewouldsay “Thischairismagicyouknow!Everymanthathaseversatinitsitsdownlooking50andstandsuplooking19!Ask LebronJames.Icuthishaironce” Andonanynewcustomerthatwasgettingreadytomeettheparentsheusedhisalltimefavorite:
“Onetime,afellaaboutyouragealittleolder,askedforafreshtrim.Nervousasallgetout,hetoldmethathewasgoing toproposetohisgirlfriendoftwoyears.Itoldhimi’dgethimright!Ilineduphisedgessosmoothandfadedthebackof hisheadsonice,hedidn'tevenhavetogetdownononeknee.Sheproposedtohim!”
Imeanthesestoriesareinsane,noonereallybelievedhim,oratleasttheywouldconvincethemselvesthat.Therewas somethingaboutthewayhetoldthestorythough.Maybeitwastheconfidence.Maybeitwashisexclamationsandhis dramaticscenes,butsomethingmadepeoplewanttobelievehisstories.Maybethechairwasn'tmagic,thescissors weren'tspecial,hedidn'tcutLebronshair,andthatproposalneverhappenedbecauseofhisbarberskills,buttherewas oneundeniablefact.Everyman.Everyboy.Everysonthatleftthatshop,feltbetterthanwhentheyhadwalkedin.They walkedoutwithasmileandagoodhaircut.Andevenifeverystorywasalie,itwasthekindoflieworthbelieving.
“DarkForestwithLanterns”byIzzySinclair
Twisted
Thedarknesstwistsandcontortsitself Itwrapsaroundandsqueezestight
Asilenthandwithoutaface Thatpullsyoudeeperoutoflight
Itwhisperslow,yetitfeelssoloud Itfillstheairwithhollowsound
Aweightthatkeepsyouquietandbound
Aburdenkeepingyoutetheredtotheground. Ithidesincornersandsqueezesintocracks
Ashadowleechingtoyou,alwaysleavingtracks Thatmarkthepathitbringsyouthrough Clingingtoyoureverymove
Andrightwhenyouseethebrightbluelight
Thesavinggraceinthedarkestofnights Itsinksitsteethintoyou,coldanddeep
Drainingwhatyouhaveleft Leavingnoneforyoutokeep
OceansBlue
Sittingbythewindow,sheleansagainstthepane
Watchingthecoolwatercallouthername
Theoceanhums
Thewindreplies
Softwhispersunderneaththedarkenedskies
Astimedriftsby
Thegoldstreaksfadeinthesky
Wavesrollgentlytotheshore
Andthesoundssinksdeeptohercore
Thememoriesshecanneverhide
Driftinlikethetide
Carriedfromtheocean
Evokingheremotions
Thewaterstillknowsthesongstheylistenedto
Thewordstheysang
Thelovetheygrew
Butnowthewhispersandsongs
Andthelovetheyknew
Areburiedin theoceansblue
You spoke my name
Like it held weightLike it could anchor
A world that's constantly moving.
We made mornings Out of midnight laughter, Sewing together
The kind of silence
That doesn't need filling.
You read me like pages in a book Found meaning in the spaces I was too scared to write.
We walked the same steps. Breathed the same air In the same rhythm. Even away, You beat like a second pulse.
I say your name, and it remains empty
Like the frame of a picture, where we once remained
Time is louder now.
Minutes passing feel like watching paint dry
Paint on a canvas that I can no longer have on my wall.
My thoughts echo, No one listens back I send messages In the dust In pictures, we used to save.
Silence used to be ours. Now it's all you left me with.
You gave me air so I could breathe Before I even knew I was drowning. We held each other Like promises Sealed hug and even more sealed lips.
Even my shadows felt less alone When you stood beside them
Now I talk to empty spaces Rooms still shaped like your absence.
In the story I wrote I remember you differently
And still, every night I leave the light on As if you’ll find your way back by memory.
VeteranSong
High-schoolfootballcaptainandpresidentofhisclass, BrightboyfromNewYork’sgettingshippedofftoAfghanistan
Now,30yearslater,
Footballcaptaincan’twalktoowellanymoreLetalonerun.
Hiskneesareshotandhehastogetsurgeryonthemtoremedythem, Doctorsareshockedathowyoungheis,notnearlyoldenoughtobegettingthosekindsofprocedures, Butheswearstomehecould’veplayedincollege. ForamomentIimaginemydadasarenownedquarterbackinsteadofasoldier.
Neverwould’vehadtoworryaboutgettingthewrongphonecall
Becauseeveryphonecallwouldbeofpraise.
Sometimes-he’lljoketomysisterandIthathe“doesn’thavelongonthisEarth”
It’sreallyhiswayofwarningus,hisattempttosoftentheprophecyhe’ssurewillringtrue
Theysayit’susuallycancer,--iswhattheysay.
Likearmyvetshaven’tfoughtenoughbattlesasis
It’salltheinhalationofchemicalsnobodyshouldeverbreathe,
See,mydad’sbeenpreparingmesincetheageof8thathewillinevitablydieearly.
Usedtohavedreamsofithappeningandwokeuptoatear-soakedpillow,
Couldn’trunintohisroomandcheckthathewasstillbreathingbecausehewasthousandsofmileseast, Tothemiddle.
Fathersaresupposedtobehomefortheirchildren
Motherpacedthroughthehallslikeawidow-in-waiting
I’msorryifIdon’tthinkyour“soldierreunitingwiththeirchildren”videosarecute
it.
Onlatenights,Igotothebasementtograbsomethingfromthefridge
Navigatingthedarklikeaminefield
HepausestheTVandhastoaskme“Isthatyouson?”
Becauseit’sarealpossibilitytohimhe’sseeingsomeonethatisnotthere-
Dad’scolleaguekillshimselfandtheychalkituptohisoccupation.
“It’sjustsomethingthathappens.”
Thestatisticismeanttobe22aday.
Ineverworryaboutmydad.
There’snodischargeinthewar,
Soretirementshouldbeamiracletogetto
Weallwatchedasourpresidentcalledthemsuckersandlosers
AndIinvitehimtostepintomydad’scombatboots,
InIraqandAfghanistan,myfather’swars:
Whenasoldierdiestheylinetheirshoesupandsticktheirrifleintothegroundinbetweentheheels,then balancingtheirhatontotheweapon
It’samemorialwhenfuneralsaren’tpossible
Meanttoactasabattlefieldcross
Measures3feetshorterthananyenlistcouldbe,
Maybetoremindeachofusofhowsmallanyonefallenusedtobe-
Yougottabowdownyourheadtoevenseethem,
30yearsinthemilitaryandallhegotforitwasacopy-pasteletterforhisretirementandabrokenbodytocallhis own.
Butit’shisbodynow,
Nobodyownsitanymore.
Loss
To lose
Lose what?
Lose a game? Lose an item? Lose a person?
Lose what?
Lose a dollar? Lose a key? Lose a memory?
To lose
What does it mean to lose?
Forget something?Abandon something? Have something stripped from you?
What does it mean to lose?
Leave something behind? Misplace something?Aunique absence instructed only by death?
To lose
To lose is to have meaning,
To lose is to have sentiment,
To lose is to love and to care and to grieve
To lose is not to lose but to gain a value
Avalue for time,
Avalue for love,
Avalue for appreciation
Avalue for loss
Avalue to lose
Value to lose
To lose
78,427
Traumatized by death, so I don't let people go when I should. 78,427 memories just sitting in my camera roll, people who aren't in my life anymore, people who hurt me the worst, just moments I won't allow myself to let go of. What if one day that's all I have left?
I lost my grandpamy best friend, my bald-headed baby. Before I could understand the concept of death, I felt him just slipping away from me. Lying beside him in his hospice bed, feeling my grip on his hand just loosen, no matter how tight I tried to hold on.
I didn't believe he wasn't going to be there watching me grow. Words unsaid, memories fading away, with no sight of him anywhere. I lost him when I never wanted to.
My mind was too young to process that he was leaving me. Someone that I loved the most could just so easily be taken away from me. This caused me to hold onto the people who stopped holding onto me.
Loving too hard, people who stopped loving me. Gripping too tightly, people who have already let go of me.
And those 78,427 memories? They stay. They grow with me, even when the people around me don't. They hold the only pieces I have left of my grandpa since - February 27th, 2015. I hold onto them, because one day, those 78,427 memories sitting in my camera roll, might be the only way I can still feel what the world forced me to live without.
Istilloftenthinkaboutthatnightandthemanyothersthatcamebeforeit.Backwhenwethoughtpainwasscrapedknees, muddyshoes,andbeing“it”intag.Wealltookforgrantedthosenightswehadtogether.Thinkingwewouldalwaysbethere,that everyonewouldalwaysbeupforanightofhideandseektag.Inthesixthgrade,Ialwaysbelievedthattherewouldbeanother game.Therealpain,however,wasthepainofgrowingup.Leavingbehindinnocentgames,traditions,andleavingbehindfriends thatmadethemmatter.Backthen,theTeacherTowncompoundfeltlikethewholeworld.Thirtyidenticalhouses,trails,steephills, theoneextrahouseattheendoftheroad-itwasourkingdom.Andonweekends,whenthedarksettledin,whenwehadonour darkestclothestobeabletoblendin,thatwaswhenitmostbelongedtous.ThatdaybackinearlyOctoberwassupposedtobeno different.
Wemetinwhatwecalledthecircle,aspray-paintedcirclethatwasdirectlyinthemiddleofthecompound.Sevenofusme,mysisterEtta,EleanorandAlice,sisters,andourneighbors,AmeyaandherolderbrotherBraelyn,andShawn.Allofuswere differentages,differenthouses,butwhenthesunwentdownonaFridayorSaturday,noneofthosedifferencesmattered.Thegame onlyhadonerule:wecouldn’tstartuntilitwassodarkyoucouldbarelyseeyourhandinfrontofyourface,theonlylightcoming fromthedimstreetlights.Wheneveryonearrived,westartedthechant.Ibentdown,oneofeachsneakerinthecircle. “Bubble-gumbubble-guminadish.Howmanypiecesdoyouwish?”Mysing-songyvoicefloatedintothenight,myfingerhad landedonBraelyn,“Four”,“One,twothreefour.”Myfingerlandsonashoe,andagroanfollows.IlookupandShawnisrolling hereyes.Welaugh.Shawnisverycompetitive,buthatesbeing“it.”Shecloseshereyesandbeginstocountforfiveminutes, givingtherestofustimetodisappearintotheshadows.
Wetookoff,aslowjogtobegin,whisperingaboutwhereweshouldhideasweran.Thecompoundisamazeofhillsbehind houses,fences,hiddencorners,anddarkspotsthatgaveusspacetohideintheshadows.Wewereknowntojumpfencesthatledto hillsthatwesliddowntothelowertrail,hideinbackyards,climbontothebalconyoftheemptyhouseattheendofthestreet,andgo totheemptyapartmentsthatwerebuiltfortheworkerswhobuiltthehomesfiveyearsbefore.Wewereknowntogoaboveand beyond tonotgetfound.Thatdayithadbeenraining,ithadleftthegroundmuddy,andthemudclungtooursneakers,stainingthemthe familiarreddish-brownoftheKenyansoil.Ourgamewasn’tjustabouthiding,itwasabouthidinginthemostimpossiblespots,the scaryspots,theplacesthatnoonewouldexpectustogo.Welovedeverysecondofit,ourfacesandlegssmearedwithmudaswe joggedonthestreet,lookingforagoodplacetojumpafenceandstarthiding.
Aboutthirtyminutesin,noneofushadgottencaught,Shawnhadn’tbeenclosetofindingus,whichmeantwewereallstill together.Braelynledtheway,movingquicklyandquietlyinthedarkwithmerightbehindhim.Wecreptalongthebackoftheempty, smallhouse,movingupthegradualhillthatwouldtakeusbacktowardtheroad.Thegroundwassoftbeneathourfeet,butwebarely noticedtheunevenness;wewerehavingtoomuchfun.Butthen,myfootsankthroughtheground.Iyelped,fallingforward,bracing forthehit.Icouldhearmynamebeingcalledbymyfriendsbehindme,firstmysister'snervouscry,thenEleanorandAmeya. Somewhereontheroadaboveus,IheardShawncall,“Iheardthat!”,andIbegantopanic.Iwasgonnabethereasonweallgotfound. Braelynspunaround,theconfusedlookonhisfaceshiftingtoacrookedsmileasherealizedwhathadhappened.Hemovedbehind me,puthishandsundermyarmpits,andslowlyliftedmeoutofthehole.Oncemylegwasfree,welookedintotheholeandsaw jaggedmetalpolesstickingoutfromthesides.Ashallowcutranacrossmyleggings,asmallstingbeneathit.Braelyntriedtoinspect it inthedark.“Yougood?”Inod,butIcouldfeelthepitinmystomach,alertingmethatmaybethenightwasn’tasfunanymore. Braelynpiggybackedmeupthehill,andwhenwemadeitbacktotheroad,Istayedonhisbackasweallheadedbacktothecircle. Wesatinthecircleforawhileafter,notyetreadytogohome,laughingaboutwhathadhappened,talking,andhavingfun. Somewhere inmethatnight,Iknewthatitwasnearingtheend,thatthisyearwouldbethelasttimethatwedidthis,thatthingsweregoingto change.
Attheendofthatyear,allofusayearolder,my familyandImoved.Notjustoutofthecompound,but movedawayforgood.Theweekendgameslowlybecame somethingthatcouldonlyhappenoccasionally.Thatyear, weallgrewolder,weallhadmorepriorities,andwe couldn’talwayscomeoutandplay.Eventually,thegame stoppedaltogetherbeforetheyearevenended.SometimesI thinkaboutthatnight,thelastmemorablehide-and-seek gameweplayed.Somethingabouthowafallintoahole couldhaveendedsomuchworse,buthow,strangely,italso markedthebeginningoftheend.Notbecauseofasmallcut onmyleg,butbecauseafterthatnight,thingsfeltdifferent, likewedidn’townthecompound,likeourchildhooddid cometoanend.Sowhathurtthemostwasn’tthescrapeson thelegsorthepermanentlymudstainedshoes,itwasn’t being“it”inthegame,itwaswatchingthosenightsfadeinto memories,leavingbehindthefriendsthatmadethosetimes fun,andrealizingtoolatethatallgamesmusteventually cometoanend.
“Childhood’sEndShock”
byChrisThibault
2012
irememberpavingcreamcakesidewalks withfrostedstickofchalkandlaughing withyouuntilmystomachwouldsplitopen towardsthesunandwatchingthesugarmelt andswirlatthebottomofmycup andyouironpressingcaredeepintothestitches ofmyjeansthatiwouldalwaysstainfaintgreen fromrollingtumblingcrumplinginthegrass andmypalmshometowoodsplinters androughcallusesfromredpaintmonkeybars swingingflippingdanglingsorestless iwouldhaveanightmareandknot myselfinthecomfortofyourbody inbedwhileeverythinginmeisblistering andpurpleandwantingtobetenderedto andyoutakingpeachesoutofmymuffin becausethefuzzwouldbiteatmygums
thebloodrushingtomyearswhenweargue andmethinkingofsomethingthatwouldhurtyou verybadlybutchoosingtochew onthetipofmytongueinstead ifiwerebackthereicouldberiding myskateboardonmystomachagain makingmyteethchatterfromthebumpsintheroad mylittlefacewouldfeel hotanddryandi'dbepantinglikeadog yetmyskinicytothetouchfromsweat andyouwouldwashmybackforme likemygrandmotherusedtowashyours andmygreatgrandmotherusedtowashhers whatareyoudoing?areyouplayingsolitaire ontheoldcomputerwithadysfunctionalkeyboard andlearningenglishorlisteningtoaballetpodcast?
mybrainwasstuffedwithvelvetmagentatheentiredaytoday andifellasleepwishingyoucouldtakeoutmycleanclothes outofmylaundrybagformeandleave yourfingertipsineachfold
Wehavethesameeyebrows,whichweusetosharethesamefacialexpressions.Ourhair,darkand coarselikethetidesatmidnight.Iftimecouldbeturnedback,youwouldmistakeusforsisters.From look,style,andpersonality,wearepracticallyclones.Sameheight,samesmile,samenose.Same eyes…althoughtheyseedifferently. Iseeherpalmsopen.Almostasifgaspingforair,Iwatchashertense,sweaty,whitepalmsfade toatan-ishpink.Herovergrownnailsleavemarkssodeep,itmerelypiercesherskin.Herfingertipsare rawandcallusedover.Suddenlyrelaxed,sheextendsherselftowardsmeandsays,“Comehere.”
Theysaythefirstplaceyouageisyourhands.
Ireachoutmyyouthful,softhands.Withchippednailpolishandtornupcuticles,Ifollow directions.Amagneticpullsparksoutofherfingertips,attachingtomine.Brittlelikestone,herhands startcrackingfromthetipsofherfingersdowntoherforearm.Imustnotstruggle.Thisisallsheasks ofme.Iwatchasherlifepumpsitselfintome.Herhopesanddreams,herlifeadmirations,herlast ouncesofmotivation.Shehasdrainedherselfintome.Thegoodisalwaysfollowedbythebad.Ifeel herbackache.HowamIsupposedtostand?Herchestpoundslikeastorm.Isthiswhathavingaheart attackfeelslike?I’mfeelingallofherinternalpain,likebulletshittingeveryinchofmywornbody. Sheliveslikethiseveryday.Hidingherpain.Theonlysignofstrugglefromherhands.She passesthisalongtome,herdaughter.Becausethisiswhatwomendo.
“Untitled”byJJKondratyeva
MotherandI’sHands
YouandIwenthandinhandwhileIwasinyourwomb
Twistingandturningwhileyougrewwithexcitement, Seeingyourbabymagicallyshapeshiftyourtummy
Threadsofeachotherstitchedintoeverypartofourbeings
Thoughthatdidn’tstopthetectonicplatesunderusfromshifting.
Going,going,gonehasbeenourrelationship.
Timehasnimblefingersthathavepulledatourseams, Itakestepsfurther,andyoudon’talwaysfollow.
Notbecauseyoucan’t,butbecauseyouknowit’snot Whatitusedtobe.
Still,IfeelyoutuggingoneverydecisionIsecond-guess, Athreadatmyheart,quietbutconstant. Remindingmewearenevertrulyuntethered.
“BeneathHerQuietStrength”
Wheredoyougowhenyourheartisheavy?
Whenthelossofafathernevertrulyfades? Youworklateintothenight, EyestiredbuthandssteadyBuildingaworldforus,piecebypiece.
YourbiggestfearisbeingwithoutusJustthinkingaboutusnotbeingtheremakesyoustopinyourtracks, Aworryhiddendeepinsideyourheart, Likethattimeyoufacedthejudgeallbyyourself, Asiftearingusapartwouldbreakyouaswell.
IhopeyoudiscoverloveoncemoreNotthetypethatdisappearsovertime, Butalovethatembracesyou, Ascozyasthehomewecreatedtogether, Aplacewherehappinessismorethanjustamemory.
Today, mymother’shairstayed onthepillowofmychildhoodbed: dyedcoalblackattheends, butgleamingwithgray attheveryroot.
Iplaceditonanapkin onthenightstand, andsankintothecomfort ofherchestonherlap.
IfIcouldcradlemymother inmyarmsasalittlegirl, Iwouldkissherlittleface allthewayfromhertemple tothetidybridgeofhernose.
Iwouldletherdraw onthewallsofmyhouse withceruleanbluechalk andfeedherwarmstickyhoneycombs.
Ikissthefreckleonhercheek anddon’tjudge whenshesetsmebackonthefloor toreachforafreshpackofcigarettes.
Herhairshinesinthesummerlight whensheopensthewindow.
IthinkthatifIweretobetheone tohaveheldmymother inmyarmsforthefirsttime, Iwouldneverletherkiss thefilterofacigarette.
mymomandme: Thecameraflashed.Mymomrubbedherhandovermybackasshewalkedtowardsthecamera tolookattheoutcome.Thecamerawasmountedonatripod,wehadnoonetotakethephotoforus.I heardmymomwhisperhowcutewelookednexttomyear,andIgiggledasshetickledmyneck.Iwas wearingabrightpinkoutfit,astarkcontrasttoherdarkshirt,herdarkhair,herdarkeyes.Hersmile fadedwithmygiggles,andIfollowedhereyestothemantle,wherepicturesofusfromyearspriorsat collectingdust.Alwaysjustusandthetripod.Now,asIlookatthephoto,mywrinklyoldhandsbend theoldpicture,causingdentswheremyfingerspress.Ionlynownoticehowtiredshelooks.Drained, unhappy,withnotmuchleftinhertogive.Butshehadmademychildhoodsohappy,solively,sofull ofjoy,excitement,andlife.Inowcanseehowsimilarweare.Iseemydaughteroutofthecornerof myeye.Iputonasmileandreachoutforherhand.Butshe'salreadynoticedthetirednessinmyeyes. Sheisalreadyrecognizingthedifferenceinherbrightandlivelyfaceandclothes,andmydarkshirt, mydarkhair,andmydarkeyes.
Figure in Red
I learned early how to carry pain, Three years old, believing I could hold, What your heart couldn’t. Your pain became my own, And healing you felt like my job. You were my figure in red–
The color of hurt, The color of wounds,
Yet, also the color of love.
I didn’t know how to mend you, But I still tried.
I spent my childhood quietly, Patching your broken pieces, Forgetting I was small, Forgetting I was allowed To break, too.
Years passed before I realized It was never my role
To heal the misery life left, That loving you Didn’t mean losing myself.
Now I’m gently letting go
Of the red I’ve carried too long–Your sadness, your grief, And the quiet belief That your pain was mine to fix.
Today I stand here lighter, Learning for the first time How to be your daughter, Not your healer, And finding freedom In letting red go, And simply loving you.
“PrimalInstinct,MotherlyInstinct”byJJKondratyeva
When I feel the walls, can you feel them too
When my feet kick to stretch and crash into the layer between you and I
Do you feel me, too
When you're hungry, I feel your hunger
I feel the emptiness within you because it is in me, too
We are intertwined while I grow within you
You give me strength and life
I feel that when your mood changes
When your heart's pounding and When your world stands still
When I read to you at night, can you hear me
A tear falls when George tells Lennie to think about the rabbits
Do you hear my whimpers?
My hands fall right about where your head and feet should be
Do you notice my warmth passing over you?
You are my most rewarding pain
My least bewildering problem
The solution for you is just unconditional love
I feel you, I hear you, I need you
I love you
21st Century Catastrophe
More than engraving a label to a person and the vulgar degradation of them in your mind each time you reduce them to such a label. More than the inevitable demoralization of a woman, the first time she’s talked about in unwanted objectification. More than the first time my sister is subject to a joke with the punchline being that she eats dogs for breakfast. More than when I’m outed, avoided, and defamed on the basis of who I love. More than the separation of heart and brain instead of the unification to work alongside one another. More than the modern genesis of a social crisis in which we no longer consider someone for their whole being, being that ideologies cloud the way in which we walk through the world. We gotta want more than that for ourselves, to be entitled to be thought of as more. Did you know she loves to embroider? Did you know he can talk for hours without taking so much as a breath? If you don’t get to know someone because of your nonsensical rationale, then more can’t ever happen. Tender heart stays unseen.
Will It Ever Be Enough?
No matter how much you do for people of this world, will it ever be enough?
You can give your all until all of you is nothing, still they expect more. They'll break you down, and continue to slam the door. Still I continue to fight for more.. But how much more?
How much more?
Do I have to give?
Do I have to hurt?
Do I have to break?
In order to receive, the things that I give without a thought in my mind, things that seem to just go unnoticed. Just how much more?
Giving all that I have left, still doesn't seem to be enough. Always showing up, giving love, doing too much, will just get you stuck. It leaves me thinking… Am I enough?
Worth any type of love? Will I ever be enough?
Will it ever be enough?
Always - it will be enough. Not because they realized. Not because they gave me what I deserved.
Not because they poured into me finally.
But because I learned to water myself.
“SoloPhotoShoot”byMaddisonKrug
Three years.
Doesn’t seem like much to other people
But for us– it’s everything.
Every dumb fight, Every call,
Every time we almost gave up but didn’t
224. We didn’t mean to fall into this, It started small– calls, texts, Hoodies passed back and forth. But somewhere in the middle of it all, You became a part of my daily routine.
224.
There were times we needed space.
Times where we thought we were better off walking.
But the voices of each other in our minds
Made us miss each other in a way
Only we would know.
224.
No matter where we end up, Messy apartments, late-night jobs, The real world throwing everything at us, I still want you beside me.
Still believing in us, Still choosing us, 224.
I’m with you,
Not just now, not when it’s easy, When the skies are clear or grey, or we’ve got nothing to say,
Through every fight, every tether, I’m with you– 2day, 2morrow, 4ever. 224.
“Halcyon”byEllieHoskins
