I'm not that old. Not really. Not compared to my parents or my grandparents. But I know insecurity. I've watched at least three genocides unfold on tv. I've seen three buildings blow up or tumble down. My country has been at war three times or for a third of my life. I can recall one, two, three, four, five, six school massacres during my time here and several more told to me by the history books. I know what it means to fear. I know that I am vulnerable.
A couple of weeks ago, my friend told me that she took her niece to see a movie and was put off by the presence of armed guards and ushers seating people in the theater. A man (a copy cat killer as he was called) had tried to sneak guns and ammo into a movie theater in Kansas City. Therefore, they were beefing up security in North County St. Louis. Her eleven-year-old niece wanted explanation for the new security measures. My friend said she didn't know what to tell the girl. She said she told her, "All you really need to know is that the nearest exit is right there. Most likely nothing bad ever happens. But if it ever does, it's just good to know where the exits are."
I don't know if my friend's comments to her niece were wise or not. I've never had to talk about random violence with a child. I guess I am lucky in a way that I don't have to figure out what is right action in such circumstances.
This last school shooting played out for me mostly via Facebook. I watched a lot of people I know grieve in a multitude of ways. The posts that disturbed me the most were young fathers explaining that this was why they carried a gun, to keep their children safe. I felt so bad for them.
I have never carried a gun. I never felt I needed to. I did however carry a small can of pepper spray on my keychain. And I did not simply have it in my pocket. I had it in my hand and ready pretty much every time I left the house. I was very scared of one particular person for a period of time in my life.
The pepper spray didn't make me feel safer. I clung to the weapon because I was scared. So when I see these fathers who are my age writing about how this gun will keep their family safe, I already know that they are clinging to that gun because they feel completely vulnerable. That is why I feel bad for them. That and because they have to explain to their kids why it's important to know where the exits are.
The letter I haven’t been sending
(Allyson Whipple)
for A.S.
I.
I’ve spent hours staring
at your address, pondering
the etiquette of forgiveness
I’ve catalogued deeper losses:
Dik Van Merteen
Mark Gobble
Amanda Dewey
I’ve weighed my scars,
all my hours in the dentist’s chair,
days lost to painkillers
the cold-snap ache of tendons
II.
There are so many ways to stay angry,
but I understand the heaviness of guilt
And more than that, I’ve got gratitude
for walking, for dancing
for the fact that you didn’t flee the scene
I understand that memory is its own
kind of nerve damage
and letters of forgiveness can stir up that racing pain
So please excuse me if I don’t send one;
I can’t help but fear intrusion
Note: Dik Van Merteen, Mark Gobble, and Amanda Dewey were Austin cyclists/pedestrians hit and killed by vehicles in 2012.
I.
I’ve spent hours staring
at your address, pondering
the etiquette of forgiveness
I’ve catalogued deeper losses:
Dik Van Merteen
Mark Gobble
Amanda Dewey
I’ve weighed my scars,
all my hours in the dentist’s chair,
days lost to painkillers
the cold-snap ache of tendons
II.
There are so many ways to stay angry,
but I understand the heaviness of guilt
And more than that, I’ve got gratitude
for walking, for dancing
for the fact that you didn’t flee the scene
I understand that memory is its own
kind of nerve damage
and letters of forgiveness can stir up that racing pain
So please excuse me if I don’t send one;
I can’t help but fear intrusion
Note: Dik Van Merteen, Mark Gobble, and Amanda Dewey were Austin cyclists/pedestrians hit and killed by vehicles in 2012.
Snow Cold Flakes
(Richard Fisher)
Snow cold flakes
gather warmth
insulating my thoughts
against melting
changes on
the morrow.
Tomorrow now-morrow
no-morrow
ever again
each flake a star
in a galaxy of universes
falling into a well
disappears in
change.
gather warmth
insulating my thoughts
against melting
changes on
the morrow.
Tomorrow now-morrow
no-morrow
ever again
each flake a star
in a galaxy of universes
falling into a well
disappears in
change.
He Was Tapping His Foot
(Ginger McGilvray)
He was tapping
his foot,
under that white knit blanket in that
dying bed in the
nursing home.
Hot white August
afternoon, Round Rock
Texas.
My sister, our cousin and I somehow piled
up and on or around
that slim bed, with my dad, still
tall, still
handsome, still
quiet,
laughing and
talking as
the three of
us do.
My dad, tired tumored
mind, working on
breathing again.
One of us noticed it,
and pointed,
saying,
Look.
And
there it was. How he had tapped
his foot
a thousand times before
to someone like
Neil Diamond,
Marty Robins,
even some funny stuff like
Abba.
I want to say
it was Johnny Cash singing
Sunday Morning Coming Down,
one of dad’s all time favorite tunes.
Or it could have
just as well
been Willie
Nelson’s
City of New Orleans.
Oh yeah.
Dad “couldn’t stand” Willie’s voice, unless
he was singing
that one.
My dad’s
foot
couldn’t help it,
every time.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap
That was the last time.
his foot,
under that white knit blanket in that
dying bed in the
nursing home.
Hot white August
afternoon, Round Rock
Texas.
My sister, our cousin and I somehow piled
up and on or around
that slim bed, with my dad, still
tall, still
handsome, still
quiet,
laughing and
talking as
the three of
us do.
My dad, tired tumored
mind, working on
breathing again.
One of us noticed it,
and pointed,
saying,
Look.
And
there it was. How he had tapped
his foot
a thousand times before
to someone like
Neil Diamond,
Marty Robins,
even some funny stuff like
Abba.
I want to say
it was Johnny Cash singing
Sunday Morning Coming Down,
one of dad’s all time favorite tunes.
Or it could have
just as well
been Willie
Nelson’s
City of New Orleans.
Oh yeah.
Dad “couldn’t stand” Willie’s voice, unless
he was singing
that one.
My dad’s
foot
couldn’t help it,
every time.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap
That was the last time.
My Father
(Lina Lee)
Bright moon floating alone,
Autumn wind whirls in chrysanths from home, half the world away.
Papa yawns from his afternoon nap in his old chair,
Throws his jasmine tea party with only his TV.
I was 5,
Papa bicycled me to local traveling shows.
I was 10,
Papa scootered me to school on rainy days.
I was 17,
Papa carried my luggage to the train station and sent me off to college.
I was 21,
Papa saw me off on the plane to America.
Papa was young and fast, he ran like a racing greyhound.
Papa was steadfast as a tall standing mountain, echoed colorful tunes
We were chanting in life.
Now, he wobbles, he stumbles, he stammers,
He keeps his eyes half closed while his TV friends keep on chatting.
Birth, Aging, Sickness, Death.
Life cycle remains constant.
My one wish for papa, is a long life
And a share in this moonlight loveliness, half the world away!
And a share in this moonlight loveliness, half the world away!
Portrait in IMC
(Allyson Whipple)
You wake up, and
call for your husband.
I remember
that's what my aunt did
with her last breath,
so now I'm worrying
that it's the end.
Just as suddenly,
you fall back to sleep,
your legs kicking death away.
I sit and meditate
on your fighting frame.
Every now and then
you groan, as if
the act of resting
is too much work.
It's not yet solstice, and
the afternoon spreads
into night.
Soon, it's too dark to
see, and all I
have is the sound
of your tired breathing.
This morning, I remembered:
(Allyson Whipple)
there's no point in wondering
whether you'll live
through today
either you won't
or you will
just as it would be
if you were out
of the hospital and healthy
we push aside the
facts of drunk drivers,
faulty wiring,
inaccurate directions
we circumvent
the museum of accidents
the trap looms over
us all, and we
pretend it's invisible
to get through each day
yours shines in stark
relief against the hospital
ceiling, but that doesn't
mean it will fall
tonight, or next week
it doesn't mean
mine won't tomorrow
whether you'll live
through today
either you won't
or you will
just as it would be
if you were out
of the hospital and healthy
we push aside the
facts of drunk drivers,
faulty wiring,
inaccurate directions
we circumvent
the museum of accidents
the trap looms over
us all, and we
pretend it's invisible
to get through each day
yours shines in stark
relief against the hospital
ceiling, but that doesn't
mean it will fall
tonight, or next week
it doesn't mean
mine won't tomorrow
In the Tide
(Sarah Webb)
Stand at the lip
ankle deep, knee deep
that far, no further.
The place where tides come
in and back, in and drag back,
that’s the place of life.
Stand. Let the water pull you
not on the dry
not in the deep.
It will call,
siren of dark water,
tremble your arms.
Stand in the dark-light
no sun, no night
forms ready to take shape.
A wave-voice, a tern-voice
cries, What am I? Am I?
One bare foot
cold with wet
gritty with sand
dark water raising
salt air moving
a star pleading.
Peace
(Emma Skogstad)
When you seek and seek
and seek the truth,
when you say yes to it,
even when you think
it will kill you,
even when it rattles your bones,
and slings mud on the crisp
white sheets on your washing line--
when you do this,
eventually, peace will find you
and you will find peace.
But be warned.
Peace is not always quiet or still;
sometimes it is a deep vibration,
a rock and roll song,
a piece of chocolate cake dripping
in heavy cream sauce.
Peace can be raucous,
I tell you, downright audacious.
One night, you might find your peaceful self
dancing naked in your backyard
while the stereo blares through the window
and the trees’ branches and the leaves
and the blades of grass
sway to your beat.
and seek the truth,
when you say yes to it,
even when you think
it will kill you,
even when it rattles your bones,
and slings mud on the crisp
white sheets on your washing line--
when you do this,
eventually, peace will find you
and you will find peace.
But be warned.
Peace is not always quiet or still;
sometimes it is a deep vibration,
a rock and roll song,
a piece of chocolate cake dripping
in heavy cream sauce.
Peace can be raucous,
I tell you, downright audacious.
One night, you might find your peaceful self
dancing naked in your backyard
while the stereo blares through the window
and the trees’ branches and the leaves
and the blades of grass
sway to your beat.
Convertible
(Emma Skogstad)
Your red car
speeds us farther and farther into now
into ourselves into the night wind
the wind beats against our skin
as the car follows the road’s turns
music pounds loud around us
and out into the night air
dun dun dun
and you sing
and I laugh and you drive
and I watch the night sky.
We fly in your red car
(sadness sits waiting
she can’t fly)
and nothing else is real
for a while—
we are
we are
we are
the beat of the night air,
the music,
the road,
and your red car.
speeds us farther and farther into now
into ourselves into the night wind
the wind beats against our skin
as the car follows the road’s turns
music pounds loud around us
and out into the night air
dun dun dun
and you sing
and I laugh and you drive
and I watch the night sky.
We fly in your red car
(sadness sits waiting
she can’t fly)
and nothing else is real
for a while—
we are
we are
we are
the beat of the night air,
the music,
the road,
and your red car.
Introduction to French Language and Culture
(Allyson Whipple)
Back when I thought I’d never get married, I picked up a little high school French. I could ask directions to the salle de bains and bibliothèqe. I could order une verre d’eau, un croque-monsieur, une plaque d’escargot. But what mattered most was learning to say Je t’aime. Because I was never getting married, but there was, like, this guy, you know? My own language was too intimate, too real, too dangerous. When he passed in the hall, I’d whisper Je t’aime, Je t’aime, Je t’aime, knowing that even if he heard me, I was safe—he was enrolled in German I.
Love and Fear
(Ginger McGilvray)
Fear and love are not opposites. They swirl around each other and dance and co-create the living moment.
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