Her mother had made her promise that she wouldn’t quit. But as she sat amidst the other kids with their instruments listening to the cacophony, it was like the cacophony was of its own life, its own blood, and had nothing to do with the students making it. “Get me out of here,” she thought to herself. She was useless at these times, and muttering the same words made no difference to her, only made her feelings worse. She vowed to quit band, even though she enjoyed going to band camp in the summers, where there was mostly silence before rehearsal, except kids talking. Including herself. She had band camp friends. They were all friends at band camp. After band camp, they all went their separate ways, back into the stream of life. …
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I
It was always family lore that in 1968, when protesters had taken over the president’s office at Columbia University, my mother brought socks to one of the organizers of the Weather Underground. I can’t, and don’t particularly want to, fact check that statement, so I present it here with that caveat.
I can picture her, even though I am not 100% sure of the veracity of this story, sticking her impossibly thin fingers through the gate to a gruff stranger, and then pulling a pack of generic-brand socks through to the other side.
I know she was scared, though I wonder how she expressed it when she was 19 and in the thick of it, or as in the thick of it as she would let herself be.…
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Fangorn never smelled so sweet
beneath the looming hemlocks,
heavy with untouched cones.
Maple leaves drop, then gather at the bottoms of hills
as September’s heat and October’s rains blanch
all colors from their veins.
Saturated tree trunks tower above the soggy bog
like obelisks from a time never known,
as if keeping watch over all things unseen
while releasing nutrients for their young now grown.
Wood rings whisper stories in each creak,
an ancient code, an old stand Rosetta stone
warning each passing soul of winter’s approach
despite the distant chainsaws that encroach.
– Donny Winter…
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I planted pills in the garden and watched them sprout. It was growing season. Birds came and ate the leaves and flew off sideways, sedated. My tongue went dry. The truth was, I missed my arrogance: believing that the saints smiled when no one was looking: believing I could be the sun that never slept. But here we are. The pills grew plants with sweet flowers. Birds plucked them off one by one: the birds sang backwards: the birds put their heads in fountains to cool off. I didn’t miss the pills. I was a little sick. Maybe I didn’t want to be seventeen again. Maybe I just wanted to fit into my graduation dress. It’s not an addiction if you’ve got a prescription. The birds laid eggs that didn’t hatch.…
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the potted dipladenia on my porch
only reveal their wine-red delicacy
when watered well
there’s a lesson in there
somewhere I wonder
was it the wintertime
the aridity between
the desiccated care
that withered us out
we shed each other like
snakes shed old skin
for newer seasons
may it be of sweetness
with new kin
may the ground
we slide on stay smooth
like dipladenia leaves
after the rains
– Nzeru Aquilar Nsaí
…
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Dòng, Dòng—Dòng,
Zī—Zī-zī—Zīzī
Pèng——
first, a sharp sound pierces my ears
leaving me gasping for air.
my soul seems to leave my body,
as if the Black & White from the hell
are here to take me away.
my heart pounds wildly,
almost leaping out of the chest,
& my legs become floppy—
one word: panic.
like an earthquake is coming,
the life is slipping away. i’m filled with fear.
my lips instinctively turn into pale,
losing their colors.…
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I have no memory of my parents ever reading a book to me. What I do remember vividly was the magic of the children’s books that I read to my son when he was young. They were as new to me as they were to him. Some seemed to illustrate important life lessons, especially Winnie-the-Pooh.
Up until Jesse was about three years old, I read him books with plenty of pictures, like the Dr. Seuss books and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. But Winnie-the-Pooh and his diverse companions in the Hundred Acre Woods hit a magic button for both us. Around the time we read the book, we also watched the classic movie, Pooh and the Honey Tree, singing along with Pooh from our living room sofa.…
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