Blog Manifesto

Blog Manifesto


This blog is dedicated, as the title would suggest, to the qualities of being young. We are young writers. We are playful and sensitive, fluid and changing. We are unashamed with our art. We wonder at the world, puzzle over the meanings of things and twirl in delight at images and ideas that float by, grabbing at them as they pass. We are curious and constantly inquiring and prying concepts open and taking assumptions apart. We are on the ground, close to the earth. We have bare feet and wiggle our toes into nature. We carry our blankies still and wrap up cozy and comfy with each other and tell ghost stories and shiver at creepy things. We laugh and we cry and we take a lot of naps, drained from our outings and exertions.

We write as gifts to each other, tying them up in ribbon and leaving them around for each other to find, hiding and waiting for the person to wake up and read. Surprise! We weave our stories together to create a bond. One writes, then the other. then another again. We have a shared reality that we have crafted, bit by piece by patch, by string. We write simple, honest authentic things, with our unique voices. You can tell each one of us from the other, without knowing who wrote what. Our voices are clear and gentle and original. We whisper and our personalities roar! Like children, our feelings are strong, our passion for what we write shakes us. We are moved and sometimes left breathless, by our own words or the words of each other. We cannonball into each others spaces. We fall backward into each others writing, like into a pile of leaves or a soft bed. We gobble and grin and ask for more. (footnote kudos to JC)

Then we go to bed, wake up to a new day and do it all over again!

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

He and I


His knee buckles out..
dont touch me
He says
I CAN DO IT

He trips up the steps..
dont help him
she says
He needs to learn to do it himself

can we get a picture of just him?
no
she says
you WILL include my other son

two matching toe heads
exuberant
wisps of hair flying unkempt
breathless

He props his leg on the handlebars
and ZOOM
Hes off
and Im running far behind

I dont have it
that picture
it is forever lost in a moldy pile
in some god forsaken dump out in BFE

its engraved in my mind

He is hopping across the high dive
after He proves to the life guards
He could swim two laps.. no stopping
He could climb the ladder.. no hesitation

hoards of friends
always His
I could sing and dance and act a fool
no one cares

its ok
Im smart
f*ck.. so is He
its ok
Im talented
f*ck.. so is He

there is nothing so special about me

He is pale in a hospital bed
pins in his stump
excruciating pain every quarter turn
pretending to be.. unphased

found beaten and knocked out
car door ajar
in the walmart parking lot
no explanation
__________________________________________________________________

peel back another layer
rip it back hard

I have said I celebrate humanity in all its beauty and all its ugliness
today I just cant tell the difference.
its all a blur
and I sit in this pile of unshed tears

stoic

I sit looking at this life I have built
all that is wonderful
and I cant even enjoy it
its mine but I dont own it

my knees buckle..
dont touch me
I say
I CAN DO IT

there is no one to rescue me
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