Fingers so cold they take my command reluctantly,
I'm thinking through the things Jack Lewis figured out 50 years ago.
How true the truth still is...
and of the premiere businessman of the 20th century
But my thoughts turn and run off to the warmth
of a primary classroom and the song that was there sung:
“Perhaps excellence is not an act…”
So quickly the thoughts stream through my head,
in a lovely honest way, only to be broken by moments
of equally true and welcomed silence, which caused my eyes to close.
My arms folded around my small chest for warmth,
because since I stopped running and the sun kept setting,
the air kept cooling, until it seemed that the sun was coming up
And not down—up over a peaceful misty farm.
With no urgency and no fear of the cold, I opened my eyes
and saw a white cat back on the path so large I thought it was a wolf.
I tried to follow him, and only found myself a few inches deep in muddy grass
when the teacher and the businessman came back into my head and mused,
“Perhaps excellence is not an act, but a feeling.”
2.26.2012
2.22.2012
Seasons
something like an overexposed cheek
or strand of hair
maybe looking through both
with those eyes big for everything laughing at the sun
also like the things that were american
before you were: one-speed bikes
and a diana with light leaking onto a plain-faced girl
until her dress is lost in a heavy summer haze
not without the days of long linen,
big rugged boots and poison ivy
a men’s kurta and bright orange
fanny pack. Plus granola for a snack
and finally the unconventional beauty
of a conventional girl who prefers dates,
baggy sweaters, crocheted strings of hearts,
and a thousand other romantic things
or strand of hair
maybe looking through both
with those eyes big for everything laughing at the sun
also like the things that were american
before you were: one-speed bikes
and a diana with light leaking onto a plain-faced girl
until her dress is lost in a heavy summer haze
not without the days of long linen,
big rugged boots and poison ivy
a men’s kurta and bright orange
fanny pack. Plus granola for a snack
and finally the unconventional beauty
of a conventional girl who prefers dates,
baggy sweaters, crocheted strings of hearts,
and a thousand other romantic things
2.21.2012
LA, in all honesty
LA,
I've realized what the problem was with saying goodbye to you in that other letter. It's that my summer wasn't marked by my being in California. It was more about that feeling you get halfway down a roller-coaster when you turn your head to check the top and see if you left your stomach there.
I left my stomach in Nashville and was flung down west for three months. LA, you're probably better than I remember you. I simply never found a feeling there. I looked, under and over. And the closest I got was the ocean. Not the beach, but the freezing cold water itself. I liked being tossed around in the green and knowing that it only gets colder and deeper the farther out you go.
Mostly though, in California I missed feeling American. I missed the unproduction of it all. I missed the faces that no one knows, faces that don't care about becoming important. I missed going out to a hot hanging lake and knowing that only one person could find me. I missed the trips I didn't even have, and lived mostly in Nashville with a tall boy and beautiful girl.
Although I was in LA, I was otherwise occupied.
Sincerely now,
Brittany
I've realized what the problem was with saying goodbye to you in that other letter. It's that my summer wasn't marked by my being in California. It was more about that feeling you get halfway down a roller-coaster when you turn your head to check the top and see if you left your stomach there.
I left my stomach in Nashville and was flung down west for three months. LA, you're probably better than I remember you. I simply never found a feeling there. I looked, under and over. And the closest I got was the ocean. Not the beach, but the freezing cold water itself. I liked being tossed around in the green and knowing that it only gets colder and deeper the farther out you go.
Mostly though, in California I missed feeling American. I missed the unproduction of it all. I missed the faces that no one knows, faces that don't care about becoming important. I missed going out to a hot hanging lake and knowing that only one person could find me. I missed the trips I didn't even have, and lived mostly in Nashville with a tall boy and beautiful girl.
Although I was in LA, I was otherwise occupied.
Sincerely now,
Brittany
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