I’m suddenly that girl.
I’m the girl who lives up the spiral staircase
I’m the girl who’s got a bird’s nest for a balcony
The girl you’re always so curious of,
In the house you’ve always dreamed of.
Who lives up there?
What books does she read?
Is it dark and mysterious in that tippy top room of hers?
The girl I’m always so curious of.
Who lives in that house?
I do.
brightly crisp sun-leaves
warmth seeping outside to in
sweet tea in autumn
I stare at my veins
the trees of my arms
roots going deep
And I think of my size
the massiveness of me
(I only feel normal
because I’m me)
Hemoglobin can’t fathom
being five-foot-three
and I can’t even begin to think
of nanometers as home
How could I be a mountain?
none but a mountain could say
and a mountain would call me an ant
But to some I am a mile-high cliff
I am gnat and I am giant
I am one in a family of many
I am populated by a city of cells
no one can foretell the lessons they’ll learn
not even the teacher with her lesson plans –
not when the blizzard comes
or the baby has colicked for days
so I won’t prescribe myself a destination, this year
a resolution I’ll never resolve
I’ll steer my mind hard to starboard, though
see, I can pinpoint the lessons now,
those that have crossed my way
so I’ll sail toward learning until morning
refrain from forcing my hand
and let myself be taught
They say my cells are born again
that I am recreated
that some years I give myself a birthday present
of a new me.
Well this year I’ve outdone myself
outshone my fleshly competition
These synapses?
Refurbished.
These shiny neurons?
Completely revamped.
“Newly remodeled!”
(I’m advertising)
but I’m not sure, still
of this me for the 21st century.
My new skin still crawls
it doesn’t fit
I haven’t broken myself in
And so I jump back into what’s familiar
Yes. This skin knows how to house me.
But you know what they say
of new wine in old skins
and I know I can’t stay.
What do I do with two of me
both unwanted
both uncomfortable
How to reinvent
the reinvention
From the always excellent archives, a letter I wrote to family and friends at the tender age of six. Enjoy my superb spelling and creative punctuation.
This is Hannah. it is my BirthDay Number Six ! .I am exsited !aren’t you to ?Well I am! Rejoice in the Lord always!we ALL! love all of you !. Here is some about me (Hannah)
THINGS I LIKE TO DO…
PLAY BALL
SWING (At PlayGrounds)
SLIDE
CLIMB TREES
READ BOOKS (Very Much Evan Big Ones!)
WORK ON THE COMPUTER!
Things I don’t like…
cleaningup
folding
thunder
broccoli
my favrite foods and season and why?
SEASON:summer
swimming
FOOD:spaghetti
pesto
Things I want to do while I’m six…
Learn to swim
Learn to ride a bike
Learn to play gatar
Learn to play piano
what I think about my DAD… he is…,speisal,happy,funny and loveable
MOM….she is…MY MOM!
PETER…he is…FUNNY!
My favrite things to do at SCOOL…
Corispondense
math
Here is a poem I wrote about hugs:
Hug’s Don’t Evaporate
Hug’s don’t evaporate
that is true.
When we say: Mama I’ve got a booboo!
that’s when we need a hug!
The winner of the Probably Not Annual Subconscious Limerick Completion Contest, selected by a half-biased and half-objective panel, is Mrs. Heidi Chupp, with the following submission:
A grad student, once, while a-quinceing
Read a poem on the values of mincing
It was a humble narration
Not long in duration
But it was, nonetheless, quite convincing.
As the winner, Mrs. Chupp will receive in the mail the most excellent prize of several brownies I made last night on a whim, with no recipe, because I wanted french fries. That is, if my roommates (and/or Jessie Riley) don’t eat them all.
I was editing a news release today and had to come up with a bit more filler copy, but I had some really ridiculous jumble of phrases running around in my head, phrases that would sound completely absurd in a news brief. I’m pretty sure the words “tutelage” was there, and maybe “adulation.”
Stop being idiotic, I told myself, and write a proper sentence like a grownup.
But seriously, these words wouldn’t leave. So I grudgingly wrote them down (with a pen, on a piece of paper – it’s how I write best), and realized that I had, in essence, freed myself. I’d appeased the beast of my imagination by writing down what it gave me, and when I did, it offered more and more until finally I had written something worth reading.
It was a good reminder to keep on writing on, through the cruddiest bits, until something good somehow appears.
And finally, some jokes.
My favorite childhood joke:
What did the man say when he sat on a pin?
Nothing. It was a safety pin.
A joke that only makes sense to Texans:
Why did the chicken cross the road?
To show the armadillo that it can be done.
