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!

Sunday, February 5, 2012

hearts

that glorious pang
ache
throb
an amazing organ, the heart

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she sat alone on a park bench
when I saw her
I was jogging

I saw her again at the mall
working the register
The Avenue

and then again at the bar
and she was with friends
and I bought them all a round

she put one too many coins in the shuffle bowl game
they needed one more player
I volunteered

I couldnt take my eyes off of her
I had to have her in my life.
I think I may have actually heard wedding bells..

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Ma came to my classroom with icing, cookie sheets, wax paper, string, and pencil drawings of snowflakes.  she showed my classmates how to make icing snowflakes for the christmas tree.  they talked about that for years, my classmates.. 

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I come home and those mutts attack me, practically knock me to the floor with their exuberance.  paws and tails and arms and legs and tongues and fur flying.. our daily wrestling match..

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two wild boys standing back to back
fists flying
one leg whistling through the air
bloody noses and unkempt hair
eight pairs of legs running
three left standing..
laughter

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hearts
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