'never burn bridge linds. you never know who might need you. or you might need them.'
or 'bloom where you are planted dear.' - my grandmother.
of these firework watchings and plainly dressed nineteenth century school teacher longings. she is gentle and bends her fingers around a stem of wheat. pressing her thumb against the head and singing the love her mother once gave but did not intend for her to hear. her eyelids would flutter like the dried prairie flower whisperings of crowns that she used to weave into her hair. and would think 'oh someone loves me! i am sure of it as i am of the sun! and will not soon forget it!' and as the kernels sift through those gentle fingers she forgets the bangs that curled about her mother's soft forehead and the fragrance of flour that accompanied being around her. white plaster sink washings and a heavy powder caked at the bottom of it. she is a bell behind a curtain! something that rings clear and beautiful. even when no one is listening. and every day women are made to feel beautiful because of the blush on their cheeks or the shapes their clothes make after being out in the rain. or for what they are or are not willing to do. but how often after those plaster sink washings and faithful waitings has she been told 'my dear! you were every moment worth it!' no small wonder that the grain placed in her hand is so often eaten by the selfishness of mankind because it takes patience to put something in an oven. of these down comforter stirrings and undressed twentieth century impatience. she is tricked! and fits that spot between her cheek and ear into a warm shoulder. her eyelids would tremble with the pleasure of belief in words. that when he says 'you are a bell' that this is what he means by it! but nothing bends lust into love. love? how much of it's meaning have we forgotten?! like sex. or feeling needed. she is strength to gather herself and wait for what her mother has promised. she is beauty after a face has been washed in a plaster sink.
or 'stars hung like decorations, like toilet papered college dorms, like bitterness to its truest form, still littered there above my frigidness. the memory of mornings best left to rest in the grave of thankfulness.' - beth m. or 'it smells like October outside. i was taking the laundry off the line and my hands got numb.' - amanda w. or 'they used to hold my hand and say 'robin what are you doing? you're not getting into trouble are you?'' - robin n. or 'i will be here anytime.' - savanna m.
or 'for the women i have known that never cease to amaze me with their strength. wisdom. humility. kindness and patience. you have forever my respect for making beauty a real. honest and staggering thing. thank you.'