Pappa's Flannel

This ain't no picnic papa

harder than it looks

but maybe if I hide

in your flannel shirt

it won't hurt anymore

and someone will come

to take me home. 

Grandpa's Lighthouse

This morning grandpa

boarded his sailboat.

 

Silently at work

with thick stubby fingers

and rough farmer’s palms

he steered the boat 

away from grandma’s house

out into the Oklahoma 

wheat fields.

 

He passed the red pickup

obediently waiting in the yard

and slid by his cows 

as they perked up ears

sensing significance.

 

Nodding to these companions 

raised from birth 

as children of his own,

his quiet eyes remained 

on the lighthouse ahead.

 

The sun began to rise 

and soon grandma 

would find him gone 

and the generations 

would flock home

called by a sweet whisper 

of the land coursing 

through their veins.

 

By then their guardian

will have reached his lighthouse

just in time to light the lamp,

pour a cup of coffee from

the silver thermos,

and sit back to watch

the wheat grow

for all eternity. 

This morning, the head of our table was empty.

Grandma's kitchen, plastic coffee cups, coffee thermos, table salt, playing cards, grease, dirt, barn, red pickup, tiny farmer's calendars on the dashboard, christmas tree, the Homeplace, flannel shirts, the Crown Victoria, firetrucks, falling asleep in the chair, religion, wheat, cows, thick fingers and fingernails, sailboats, lighthouses, robes and jewelry for Mema, history, storytelling, electrician, romance, rebel, cigarettes, alcohol, head of the table, quiet eyes, dry wit, silent affection, dirt roads, sturdy, nostalgia, handsome, savior, husband, dad, grandpa, papa bob.

A feminist thought.

As a young girl new to the big city, I have had to make many adjustments. Most significantly, becoming used to the objectification of women. It is common to be starred at on the subway or hit on while walking down the street at any hour of the day. While this wasn't unusual in Lawrence, it certainly didn't run as rampant. It's as if the constant movement of the city and the anonymous nature of the crowd allows for blatant and rather insulting remarks. I don't wish to write here what was said to me in Kenmore square a few days ago, by an EMT driving an ambulance nonetheless, however all you must know is that it was incredibly degrading and completely inappropriate for any setting. I stood in awe at a loss for words as the man walked away. What right did he have to enter my world and address me so crudely? What had I done to him to deserve that kind of comment? Sadly, I had done nothing more than be an attractive woman on the sidewalk. He chose me and that moment to exert his "manly" power over the situation. 

This event has left me thinking about feminists and women's continuing struggle with their place in a world often still dominated by men. This ongoing struggle is rooted in primal instincts and physical attributes. Women are generally built smaller than men and are less able to exert themselves physically over males. In the beginning of civilization women's physical limitations had an impact on survival. Men were more well suited to be the hunters and gatherers. However, no one said anything about our mental capacity. It has been proven that women mature faster than men and are at least on the same mental playing field. Women tend to live longer and only 1 in 200 of us are color blind as opposed to the 1 in 20 men that are color blind.

These are small facts and I am not attempting to shed women in a better light than men, but I do believe  that we are equal and don't deserve to be tirelessly objectified while walking down the street. There are considerable differences between the sexes, however we are all human and I will continue to expect a certain amount of respect as a creature of this planet. 

"Woman must not accept; she must challenge. She must not be awed by that which has been built up around her; she must reverence that woman in her which struggles for expression. "

-Margaret Sanger

on that same note, one more piece...

One more new piece based on ideas from my most recent post. 

please, just leave me alone.

This is a piece I did first semester of my senior year in high school. The photographs are taken in the bathroom at my parents' house. I started shooting spaces that had been labeled "home" but felt nothing like it. These were spaces I was embarrassed by and could only show people through photographs. The words are thoughts that used to run through my head while I sat in my room at home, "Please don't knock on the door, just leave me alone,  just let me be." 

I have been in Boston a little over a week and realized that those same thoughts still run through my head while in my room in the dorm. People knock on my door and I pretend I'm not home or that I can't hear them. When the floor creaks outside I hold my breath until footsteps pass on down the hall. 

I've thought for the past week this is just a tendency I've developed because I'm not completely comfortable. But after looking back at pieces like the one above, I realized this has been embedded in my personality all along. I am more of a loner than I thought, but perhaps this isn't a bad thing. Because at the end of the day all I have is me, and that person must be taken care of in order for any of this to be successful. 

So for now, my loner label is fine by me. Perhaps someday riding on the subway or sitting in the coffee shop I'll find someone else tired of being lonely and we won't have to make nice or pretend we are who we aren't. So go ahead college, encourage socialization and making friends at any cost. I'll be up in my room finding new ways to create and exist because for now, that is all I need. 

"Please, just leave me alone" 

Created September 10, 2011 

mamma and daddo.

I walked the city of Boston today. Accidentally ended up in Charlestown (not the best area of town by far) desperately seeking a Bed Bath and Beyond that had held hostage my new dorm possessions. Terrified of looking like a tourist or a target I marched on in combat boots and black outfit determined to find our destination, and beside me my mom and dad marched on. Walking ahead to determine subway routes I pretended I knew more and that they were mere back up singers to my Diana.

After scouring a bookstore and finally tracking down a copy of Sylvia Plath's Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams we trekked back to the dorm and began to assemble my room. At first, I was highly sensitive about my belongings and didn't want either parents moving anything around. Without fuss or offense they dutifully hung clothes while I sorted. As clothes disappeared from huge suitcases my dad began piling my books and without hesitation I joined him. We worked alongside each other unpacking and deciding the most aesthetically pleasing placement of my rug. My mom soon sat herself on the bed playing with the fan to distort her voice as she talked into its rotating propellers.

At that moment we were goofy, and completely happy. It is a scene that doesn't flash across the family screen as often as I would like, and while watching it play out I realized just how much I love them. After a floor meeting I asked them to come back and stay with me for awhile. We popped in a season of Modern Family and ordered a pizza. Everyone else's parents have been gone five hours and mine just slipped out my door not ten minutes ago. For the first time I can ever remember, I wanted to be totally dependent on those two wonderful people who birthed and raised me. I never thought I would be the girl at college who didn't want her parents to leave but it turns out I am and surprisingly, I am perfectly content. It has been a long time since I truly needed someone, and it feels damn good.

Thanks mamma and daddo, I couldn't have done today without you. I love you.

Boston, Mass.

I moved away from home today. I packed up all of my belongings into six bags and jumped on a plane with both of my parents to Boston, Massachusetts or Boston, Mass as the locals call it. I have no idea how I feel, but I do know that this is right. I am oddly comfortable and for the moment, I am happy. But most importantly, I am ready. I don't think I am or believe I am, I know I am.

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am."

-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

This is all I have, a mantra that continues to instill in me the that I am ready for this, and for now that is more than enough for me.