julied08′s Blog

The eons of snow and silt and rain

washed over me like age and I am new.

With time, and like Piano keys, the rocks smooth.

Through open spaces and warm waters that flow like ice, sun rays

slip. It is cold here and we lie in landscape

disturbed by Winter. Far away, stars, smiles and you.

The morning blackens and my bones remain tired and unused.

I am washed over with age. 

I am aware of my presence and that of nature’s and

I am barefoot, dancing as light provides color and 

life to the landscape where we once lied.

My white shirt is stained from the dirt of a black morning. 

I am caked in mudd and

I am new.

When I think current events, I think of our natural world. For a moment, I feel overwhelmed with some sort of an urgency… to act, to help. Then the moment of motivation is gone. I have done very little. The last poem I wrote for class is titled Changing World. It is a reflection of a conversation I had with my dad a few days ago. We were in the car- I forget where we were coming from. He told me what a great time it was for me to be in school. Lauren, graduating from Lehigh this May, will come into the real world with stifled opportunity. With the economy, it will be increasingly difficult for her to find a job, let alone one she likes. I will start my college education next fall and for four years, my peers and I will learn and attempt to fix the problems that face us. Primarily, the economy and the environment. As my dad put it, it is our generation’s job to fix the problems his generation created. For some reason, the environment and ‘global warming’ makes me think of the world’s end. It’s weird that I’m so scared of something, but at the same time find myself to be part of the problem. 

Now this is an inheritance

A sensical vengeance on the people.

As predicted the sky has grown smaller

And we find ourselves responsible. 

I am too young to find a solution. I guess I am the solution. 

The ones who came before have used up the Green

My generation works to make a dark world Green.

It’s a great time to be in school  Dad says.

You will learn how to change the world my friends and I have ruined. 

Sink every impulse like a bolt. 

That way, they won’t notice when you’re nervous.

Steady your breathing so that your chest moves up down and up again

Like a slow moving tide.

Blend in with the surrounding colors and allow yourself

To become part of the land. 

As a soldier, it’s your job to remain hidden and sharp. 

I remember our winding driveway.

It spiraled downward like a slinky and

Dad would start at the top and ride his yellow skateboard

With a black stripe and lean left then right,

Working with balance, not gravity.

I remember walking up the steps after my first day of school.

I remember what I was wearing-

A green dress with big purple flowers stitched in.

I remember because a teacher told me she liked it.

I remember our living room. Dark and dusty,

Used and comfortable like an old pub at night.

Our kitchen was up a step, down a hall,

Past our small bathroom where we kept

Dog food and an old fashioned vacuum cleaner.

I remember eavesdropping on Mom and Grammy

As they argued.

I remember the long hallway upstairs and how

I would always feel someone behind me and

Sometimes I’d walk backwards just to make sure I was alone.

And if I was lucky, Lauren would let me sleep in her big bed.

I remember feeling safe and warm.

The shadows cast stripes. Perpendicular lines

Forming shapes on top of Nora’s shapes.

It is warm in here and the strong light reflects

Off my white lined paper and hurts my eyes.

Life path means meaning, tells a story of how it was crafted.

It seems like everyone will travel one road. From here

We move to college. From there we work, then marry.

The trends are the same but the stories different.

Using Nora’s portals, we will leave at different times

Weaving paths of words and history.

I had never seen a chestnut before she placed the rounded surface in my hand.

The brown pigment reflects ceiling lights and it glows

Opulent and gold.

Towards the bottom, dark markings are decoys for light.

A heart shape forms and reminds me of a warm house in Winter.

As I pinch it between my forefinger and thumb

I imagine a stranded islander with a coconut.

Unburdened and dismayed the lone survivor holds it

In his hands with a thwarted sense of touch.

Then comes a rebound as he uses both thumbs to slowly peel away layers.

By nightfall I find myself wrapped

In the comfort of her comforter.

I’ve always thought it better to sleep with than mine. 

The window, framed by linen curtains-

The heavy kind, not the ones you see

In summer homes, Overlooks the cool country and clear water.