Letter to My Future Child

Letter to My Future Child


The way you don’t exist is remarkable
When I have been hotwired, cobbled from
Spongy tubes specifically to birth. At least to bud

Would be preferable, shedding a child
Like petals drooping from a center.
I apologize profusely to you,
But I am content in my selfishness and
My love of this girl I’ve created.

Today I watched the bees graze,
The perfect mix of threat and song and binge,
And I felt I, too, could bob and maneuver.

I guess they reminded me of you:
Your toddling bumble, your absent suckle,
Your mere addition to the swarm.
You would be a plump grub in honeysuckle
Were you to be anything, but you will not

Be. This is something I’ve decided.
There is only so much life to go around; I’ll take
Two rations. The petal and the pistil.

And, hey, the calyx. The ability to share is mythic,
Like you, and who needs another creature,
Another sea monster? I already have the
Swooping vertebrae of my back, I have my bones

Diving above and below my skin
Filled with just the right amount of people:

One. How could I bring a child into this world
When I want it all to myself?
Life is that right and full of love, flowers, et al.
I’m sorry for me, sure. But most of all, Little Bee,
I am sorry for you.
-Megan Amram

 Heironymous Bosch

Beehives and Witches

ca.1515

Pen on Paper

I do my best when I shouldn't be.

I like driving. I sometimes think I like it more than normal people should, but I don't believe in should any more. Should breeds guilt and insecurity, and I'm not into that business.
It stays light for longer here than anywhere I have lived, except in Alaska, where the sun licked the shore for at least 20 hours. Those were the longest days and the incongruously best nights I have ever had. But Prairie light is different, it's diffused over the country and seems softer and brighter at once, and for so much longer. Tonight, it was light until 8m at least, and the prettiest juxtaposition of complimentary colors. Blue. Orange. Pink. Cyan.
The light of the world.
And then it all melted.
Into a backyard with a stream running through the middle of it and a waving neighbor lady. Big groups of us swarmed there, joking about fish, and forgetting the lesson, and exposing our secrets to one another. We are so tender. I've been so honest lately.

I declined the first hug in over a year and a half tonight, but I made up for it with all that honesty.

..................................................................................

Before I left, I drove for a while. I parked behind this apartment building and watched the prairie wind push the grass around and defy the dissolved stillness of that diffused light. It seemed like every piece, every blade was animated and it jumped around with ferocity in all directions. It reminded me of those fake candle lights that flicker until their battery runs out.

(Imagine this as a gif, where every blade is animated in a different direction. Spring is alright in the middle.) 

Horses made noises in the field down the road near where that body was found.

Who was it?

Who was it?

I thought about that body while I watched the grass dancing. I was reminded of that scene in that book I loved first, where the girl sees the wretched old man with holey shoes, and can only think about his mother kissing those same feet as a baby boy. Who kissed the feet of that body?
It led me to thinking about my own baby-foot-kissing-mother. I came inside and looked at that dress that was sent to me: She was so tiny! So full! What was she like? I used to spend hours and hours thinking about my parents. I used to wonder if we would have been friends and how they probably looked and what they liked to eat when they were my age. It's probably normal kid stuff, but I haven't honestly been so fixed on the idea of them in years. How many years? I remember asking both of them what they loved about each other first: she was a great conversationalist, and he was sincere. His hands were cold, and her smile was killer.

I tried on her gloves and then I put on some perfume and thought more about that body. I turned on the A/C earlier this week and then forgot about it; the heat is desultory here I am learning.  So tonight, the vents puffed out soft tufts of faux-chill.
Diffusion of light, diffusion of force (is that what wind is?), diffusion of chemistry in my bedroom, diffusion of a corpse in the field.

In my mind, it all looks the way broccoli looks from the top of the "tree" but with more colors. They are pastel and dusty and taste like chalk. Call me morose, I guess.

And now my hair smells like the last time she hugged me before I left, minus the scent of the beach and tobacco.


*oh, and in 100% unrelated news,  this is something I did recently. The "co" of "co-curator Amber Mohr" is me.

My mother understands trees

My mother is a master tree steward. She loves trees. I think she loves me too. I had a hard conversation with her last night- I am coming upon a time of great trepidation and nothing seems certain for me in the coming year. I look forward to it with hesitation and a sense of unknowing and frankly, fear. 

I walk in BYU's Summer term graduation ceremony in a week. I am terrified. It's the beginning of the end of this incubation which I am not ready to leave just yet. I don't know where to go- I have no home but this one.  will not have a job beginning in January (which seems like a long ways away, but really is rather pressing.)

My mom interrupted my tears and told me about trees. She said that it's so tempting to take a sapling that is just starting and plant stakes deep into the ground on its sides and tie it so that it will grow up straight and true.

via

She went on and told me that those are the trees without substance- without any strength or soul. When trees are growing in the wild, they encounter a barrage of insults and challenges. They don't all make it- and they DEFINITELY aren't all perpendicular to the earth. And as wild trees are growing, the winds and storms that push them around cause tiny deaths within the pulp of the tree- micro fractures in their structure.  

via

The good news is this: as these micro fractures heal, the tree takes what it has learned from the wind, from the death caused by its incessant pushing, and strengthens itself there. That dead material becomes strong wood that holds the tree against future storms. This old, fractured part moves outward to become a fortress of bark, and new material is allowed to grow within that stern exterior. 

New life flows from the ends of the branches.

via

These are the trees that are strong. These are the ones with substance and soul- ones who defend themselves against dearth of water and against pestilence. 

My mother understand what it means to be wild- what it means to be grounded. I question her in so many ways and against so many things. I don't know if I know how to trust her, or anyone for that matter. I think I need to learn from the trees and learn again how to trust myself. 

No stakes.

Such and stuff

It's been a long time. Sorry. I have been busy with finals wrapping up, and upping my hours at work. I'm giving myself two days off (being yesterday and today). I figured I ought to put something up here as a means of update and/or proof of the fact that I am alive still.

I am alive still.




That being said, I'd like to report that I made a 3.7 GPA this semester- my best semester ever. I don't know why... in fact, it seems counter intuitive if you understand all the baggage I've been carrying with me this semester. I am really happy about it, and I feel really empowered that I was able to come off so well. I feel strong and good for my efforts, and happy that my time was well spent.

I have good hopes for the summer.




My mom's coming into town in two weeks. She is wonderful.



I will admit that I am a little bit anxious about it- nervous about having to deal in great depth with our family issues, and feeling forced to take a hard look at myself as a part of that- see how things are effecting me. Mom's good at pointing those things out to me, and it can be really alarming and distressing at times. Overall, though, I hope that we will be able to have a good time and have some good catch-up. I am excited to take her to the Mona Lavender Farm because it's so beautiful and summery good there. I have always associated the smell of lavender with my mom, this excursion seems so natural. I am also (a little bit ashamed to admit) excited that she might be able to buy me some new shoes...



I have always had this problem of running my shoes into the ground. I distinctly remember in third grade, having to get shoes three times during the school year because I had walked holes into their soles, and fully ripped the sole off one pair. I am hard on shoes. My ma told me we could get some new ones when she's here. Thank heavens.

In other news, I wanted to update you on an artist that I have become an ardent fan of in the last few weeks. I think I'll try to inform you of some great contemporary artists every so often- It's what I study all the time- I may as well regurgitate that info for you!

So firstly, by way of background, I have to tell you that I am a growing fan of Jazz. I have really gotten the spirit of the Jazz of the mid- century genius. On a recent vacation to San Fransisco a few weeks back, I had a great education on the history and formal qualities of the music genre by my good friend Jamie.

She talked me into buying my first (of hopefully a long tradition) Dexter Gordon album. I also bought The Anatomy of Improvisation, a collaborative effort of impresario Jazz artists.

That being the background to my interest, I'd like to introduce you to San Fransisco based artist, Ian Johnson.



His work is beautiful- mostly images of Jazz musicians. I like what he says about exploring the "spontaneous nature of jazz music and the physical structure of the human form." (In BIO on website...) I guess I'm so impressed because I've been listening to a lot of Thelonius Monk and Dizzee Gilespie, Chalie Parker, Art Tatum, and of course Miles Davis in the past month. My roommates are probably annoyed, or just plain confused. Nevertheless, Johnson is intriguing, and his works are beautiful. This one is currently my desktop background. You should check him out here.

Hopefully this will be a more healthy summer for blogging. A lot of my closest friends are taking off for the summer- I should fing myself with rather abundant time to maintan a strong bogging habit- so stay psoted.