Class is over...

My grueling writing class is over. We had a public reading of our work Friday evening, and I invited Brack and my parents. I was the second to the last person to read, and I did two of my polished pieces that I'll include below.

~Beth

Small Town Changes

Waking up
Mmm-row, mmm-row is my alarm
That’s strange.
Oh yeah, Oil-well,
The same sound that soothed me to sleep.
I pull myself
Out of the middle sag of the aged bed
I’ve been folded into.
“Don’t waste.”
So it will
Never
Be thrown away.

Just like the 90-years of memories
Piled
Stacked
In closets, dressers and in corners.
Farmhouse filled
Familial firsts filed away
In boxes and on shelves.

Mmm-row, mmm-row
A constant sound
Of the oil well.
Playing on haystacks,
Running from chickens,
Taunting the bulls,
Feeding the goats-
“Let’s see what they’ll eat.”

I peel the crust of night off my eyes
From humidity
And dust.
The same dust that seems forever trapped
Between windowpanes
Muting the light.

It’s never bright inside this house.
Grandma’s house.
Washing metal cups and bowls
In the tub placed in the sink,
To keep the water
Again,
“Don’t waste.”
Dishwater
Waters the flowers and vegetables.

Outside, I find the dust isn’t only ensnared indoors
It forever hangs on the moisture in the air
Muted light- inside and out.
Is this real?
Yeah, it’s Kansas
Small town Kansas.

Walking the small crooked stone path,
I remember,
It used to be made of bottle caps.
A brightly colored path of caps from
Dr. Pepper,
Red Arrow Cherry Soda,
Sun Rise Rootbeer,
Orange and Grape Crush,
And many others worn from wear.

Playing on this path
Used to be my favorite.
Running back and forth
On the reflective metal surface-
Until the lure of candy
In the general store
Where the bottle tops stop
Overcame me.

Wooden screen door creaks open
Ding-ding!
Such a bright-cheery sound
For such a sad decrepit place.
The General Store
Now filled with junk.
“Storage” for my uncle
Postmaster, general store owner
Titles inherited from my grandfather.

In my mind- I can still see
Brightly colored shelves of candy
Lined with Neccos, candy cigarettes,
Zots and giant pixi-sticks
Grandpa secretly let me pick.
Smiling, I think of Grandma’s voice:
“Don’t waste.”
As if I ever would.

Grandpa’s death,
19 years ago
Took away of a part of the community.
Like the death of the general store
Where absent now, is the congregation communing
For coffee after Sunday mass.

A block away, I’m still walking
Tumbleweeds are the only things
Running
Through the elderly playground
Of the town’s only school.
Cringing, I remember
The wasps that chased me
From their hidden nest
In the apex of the rotting see-saw
Stinging my cousin
Who was slower

Making it finally to the church
No. Cathedral
Built elegantly with spires and steeples
I realize the hand still in mine
Forgotten until this moment.
A tiny voice, “my princess castle”
Reminds me that my daughter is here
with me

Daughter
Mother
Grandmother
Great Grandmother
The reason we are here
Visiting small town Kansas

In St. Catharine’s Church
Used only now
Once a month
We file into the family pew
Marble floors
Ornate statues
Gold inlay
Dusty, forlorn,
Missing its parishioners
But grieving now
For Grandma

This pew houses kin
Who seem like
Strangers
Who no longer feel
The pull
Of Grandma’s gravity
Toward each other.

Family memories fleeing
As years cause change and decay
Grasping at what I can
And writing it down
‘Cause Grandma said,
“Don’t waste.”

For Brack

My insecurities
Stalking me everywhere I go.
Hiding, sneaking, dodging
I spy their shadows a second too late

Doubt’s extended claws pry through my ribs
Crawl into my chest cavity
Suffocate my lungs

Guilt wags its finger in my face
Takes my dignity
Immobilizes my muscles

Sadness digs through my brain
Chips away my thoughts
Throws the empty skulls of my ideas into the abyss

But you
You resuscitate my soul
Prying those serrated knives out of my lungs- doubt subsides
Massaging the rigidity from my muscles- dignity surfaces
Reviving my ideas- sadness retreats

Your vows to me- as constant as your heart:
“Though I will not always be able to understand
Your thoughts and emotions,
I swear to you that I will always try.”

Your actions mirror your promise
Tucking me in, our conversations
Unraveling the deeds of the day
Calming my emotions and misconceptions


Because of you
I am proud
Because of you
I feel beautiful
Because of you
I am confident

Encouraging words, your constant hum.
Caressing lips, your healing touch.
Your firm arms encircle my waist.
And I am home.