Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in His Hair

I will update in depth later. but i am still alive. Life is so sweet all the time and even when it isn't, there's a lot to find in its bitterness.

Piano Lessons

There were no black-eyed angels
on her mantel, nothing at all really to
remind me of my parents. So if
I played the notes wrong
Why should I have cared?

I wasn’t very good.
Every key I touched
turned to blood. So if a
sound or two managed to escape,
it probably wasn’t music.

Easter Sunday

Above me, white flowers
bloom from the lines
of the tree’s palms.

I think of your hands
flowering, your mouth
speaking roses into soil.
Even in life, you always knew
how to resurrect yourself.

Now dormant beneath my feet,
your perennial face is
husked in death,
the fullest bulb.

Imprecise

My grandmother never believed in precision.
She had a vague face and beige
approximations for hands.

There was magic in the way
she’d paint her deep irises a vacant black
when the hard questions came.

Even her darkness became
a kind of light, her survival,
necessary alchemy.

She could smile right out of your grip
before you knew what happened,
never needed to differentiate
between propriety and blindness.

My grandmother didn’t believe
in anything other than beauty,
coiled what was left inside of her—
a strand of barbed wire.

Sabbath Economics and Wawa

So I must basically rescind my previous hatred of the poetry section of the new yorker. I realized that for as much as I claim to hate it, I actually read it on a pretty regular (almost daily) basis. tricky tricky new yorker. you win this time.

We had creator/creation and I was really astounded by the breadth of people's talent. Everyone did an amazing job and apparently Jean Lee is like secretly a concert pianist (!!!). I ended up reading a poem since everyone else was doing music stuff so that was interesting as it was onlythe third time I've read anything to people outside of a classroom.

I have such a soft spot for artistic people. I honestly feel like someone could be completely insane and I would never notice if they were a great writer/musician/artists/dancer/etc. I would probably just be like 'that new poem you wrote was pretty sweet. oh btw would you like to put on some pants/ stop peeing in jars? no? That was a really phenomenal poem.' I seriously want to stay at an artist colony for like a month at some point in my life. as well as join a band. and write a novel.

On an unrelated note, I am going to miss the wawa by the quad. I went in there today and ordered a Chicken Salad sandwich and after I paid for it the woman behind the counter was like 'actually we only have egg salad." Egg salad you say? Why that's pretty much the exact same thing! what with both things being on a slice of bread and all. virtually no difference. Oh Wawa. Some of the best years of my life have been spent standing in your line. In fact, my favorite family memory would be when my sister and I witnessed one of the people behind the sandwich counter get into an argument with a generic frat douche and throw his food at him. classic.

Lately I have been reading Sabbath Economics with a bunch of peeps and the issue of abundance has really been sticking out to me. I consider myself to be an economic expert amongst my fellow English majors since I've taken 4 econ courses here and took AP Econ in high school (the qualifications needed to be a self-proclaimed econ expert amidst english majors are surprisingly quite low). But one big difference between sabbath v. non-sabbath economic systems is the belief/lack thereof in abundance. Obviously, scarcity is a pretty foundational principle in economics. All that aside, I have a theory that scarcity is also a foundational principle in the way that many people live their lives. I feel like everyone knows that person who you resent for having everything. LIke that guy/girl who you just find yourself thinking 'they are not that great.' If you can't think of anyone, my suggestion would be to remember high school...I know when I was in high school there was this one boy who everyone adored, always was every teacher's favorite, was a good athlete, was super nice,was a very gifted artist, and won awards for everything. And it drove me up the wall. But at the end of the day, I wish I could tell the high school Sarah "Abundance! Abundance and Freedom!!!" Freedom especially because it is a kind of slavery, this belief that good things are scarce. If there's not enough to go around then you can never stop! If God only created one perfect girl and you're not dating me (ha!) then the world's pretty much hopeless and you should really take out whoever it takes. Same thing, if there's only a finite number of jobs out there that can make you happy..... slavery is slavery. I'm not saying competition doesn't and shouldn't exist but I do think that it is pretty important to be aware that it is quite possible to become chained to a compulsive need to 'win.'

Freedom is my favorite. Unfortunately, i should be writing a paper right about....now.

Why I am beginning to hate poetry (revised)

1) I don't know if it would be better use of my time to revise my life.
2)the poetry section of the new yorker
3) Mary Ruefle.
4) Charles Bukowski (as Modest Mouse says in their song Bukowski: "God who'd want to be such an asshole?")

Glacial

for my cousin

Back then we were made more of clay than cotton,
those summers in the Dells, we were the lake-muck
that itched our legs like teak colored pantyhose.

We were told that glaciers had layered
the pale pinks into the gorges and I think
even then you were being formed by mountains of ice

by people with snowy bones and winter
so deep inside them that cold
colored and spilled onto everything they touched

and still worse, everything they didn’t touch.
They took turns hovering their mouths over yours
and pushing thick frost through your lungs.

You were smart to keep my bobby pins in your pockets,
my hair has finally frozen into my eyes
but I guess you knew that would happen.