Monday, March 26, 2012

My Own Beginning

I've taken a couple Creative Writing classes and one of the prompts that has come up more than once is entitled "Beginning at Your Own Beginning" I feel like as continuously changing beings our lives are comprised of thousands, maybe millions, of beginnings. My beginnings involve several different people, occur in hundreds of different places, and always end a little differently, but they typically always have glimpses of my family in them. No one knows where their endings will occur, who will be holding their hands when that time comes . . . but I have never questioned the true beginnings of my heart.

Riding in the car down the interstate I am in the front seat while my mom drives us to the nursing home where Grandma Mitzy lives; the sounds of cars whir and buzz by the safe bubble that is my mommy and me. The car smells of gardenias and baby powder; a smell that, to this day, brings a smile to my face and love to my body. After we visit my sick great grandma we go to McDonald's and to see my handsome grandpa. I watch T.V. and see my grandpa's white hair and his ornery smile surrounded by tartar sauce from his fish sandwich. I hear my mommy's laughter ring like a solid bell on a clear, spring day; I imagine I will never be happier than in this moment.


His name was Max Duff; he was tall, stout, and white bearded. He always wore blue and white pin-striped bib overalls; he always had a pocket watch and high lighters in the front pockets of this ensemble.
He had rough hands and a froggy voice, but his heart was filled with love and crafted out of gold.
There were four of us; Jenna, Nick, Zachary, and me; the four Ohio grand kids. Granpy got roped into baby sitting us one sunny, clear day. We were bored; we were hungry. He piled us into his old pick-up truck and at a neck breaking thirty miles per hour drove us all to the golden arches.
In the Happy Meals that day were sunglasses; pink for girls and blue for boys. We went back to the big white farmhouse and set up lawn chairs in the front yard. Gran got home as we sat in our circle with grandpy and ate our chicken nugget Happy Meals. She got her camera out and yelled for us to look at her.
Our family has a snapshot of the day; cool, crisp, blue skies, fold out chairs and four grandchildren circled around the best man there ever was (wearing our McDonald's shades, of course.)

Those are a couple of my beginnings . . . where are your beginnings? Who do they include?

-Stephi D.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Notes on Emotion, etc, etc. . .

So, I've been slacking bad on blogging lately, guys, I'm so sorry. This quarter has been crazy, but I promise to become more diligent again in the near future. Since I'm taking a poetry seminar I will be giving you some original stuff tonight . . . hope ya'll enjoy. Keep your faces to the sunshine!

-Stephi D.

Notes on Emotion

  They say tears show weakness
Some say tears are failure leaving the body
But maybe they're heartache, maybe they're unbearable pain.
They say tears show weakness,
But maybe they're simply a sign you're alive.

  Laughter is the best medicine,
or so I've heard.
Belly laughs inducing tears; that's where the magic happens.
And lying in bed, tangled in skin,
your body's smell; that's the truest medicine.

The Barkeep's Scenery

Neon lights flicker in faceless windows
and inside, noses dive towards the bottom of chilled glasses
while a jukebox plays Patsy Cline and I think of you.
The barkeep buys the next round,
wiping circles on the grainy wood with a dish rage
and I consider picking up nicotine as a habit, again.
Just as I imagine tear ducts exploding with salt water,
a redhead comes in the door and sits by me.
I try to buy her a drink, but then I catch her eye;
only here, only I, can recognize pain numbed at a liver's expense.


Moonlight delivers nostalgia for hands on hips
and a black streaked face is left wanting,
  wanting, not knowing what to want.
Big blue eyes and small hands change my mind,
my mind and my heart, but when I turn
  where are you?
I hear the news, the news of those impending nuptials
and the growing nugget and somehow find it within myself,
  within myself to wish you well.
I miss the dance,
the dance of sheets and knees,
  of slick skin and tangled hair.
Who knew I'd be here, in this moment,
wanting these things, these things not one regret could
  every offer,
Who knew I'd be here, in this house,
questions of importance hanging,
  hanging like dust bunnies tap-dancing.
Life is strong,
strong and lovely . . .
   Who knew I'd flourish without,
           without your kindness.