yesterday i spent my time crinkling up large sheets of white paper and dunking them scrunching them in a big yellow jug full of warm water with a squirt of silver paint in it. i made shimmering wrinkly paper, a new background to play upon, we'll see, we'll see. and when i was done i knocked the yellow jug over and its top and handle broke cleanly off. this is the yellow jug my mother gave me. i didn't throw it away. i plan on buying super glue or some kind of epoxy to put it back together again. i will keep the jug and let it have its history, let its cracks show, put the fracture on display. shall i do the same with myself? am i already? the thought of it makes me smile- waving scars, eager pink flags, a call to gaze at the broken places, girls who fall down but not apart. and i stumble across you, one by one, and i say your books and poems and pictures are FORTS. i will jump on your bed with you and hide underneath with you too. i will write love letters, fold them up like an airplane, sail them down the hall to your hands. it is a long practice of mine. i did this for my mother. GO TO YOUR ROOM for doing something stupid and i would sit in the doorway of my bedroom and write her a love letter, fold it up, make an airplane of it, sail it in to the living room, and wait to be called out to collect my new hug. she still has a few saved inside her big trunk.
this is the metaphor maybe that hugs all my work.
4 comments:
Angela, Your piece makes me wonder, what would bandaids for broken big girls look like? The image of a love letter on a paper airplane, sailed down the hall or a thousand miles away, brings the bed-jumper and the big girl together, love unchanging. Will you let us know when the jug is glued, will you let us know?
marylinn! i will definitely show pictures! i hadn't thought of it but that's a great idea! thank you!!! :) and i say FUCK YES to jumping on the bed! and holding hands! and sharing secrets and spinning new fairy tales! and maybe, in some strange unexpected way, these electronic diaries we keep are some how "bandaids for broken big girls"? matbe each line we write that feels true, has a wind of honesty and assurance in it. maybe all these moments when we connect, re-connect, and create a space for meaningful thought. i was driving across the golden gate bridge earlier and saw quite clearly that those spaces for meaningful thought are in short supply, it seems. but your words are a balm indeed. :)
Angela ~ My oldest son makes me notes and cards when he is sent to his room or a time out... gets to me every time no matter how much of a stinker he was being.:)
"waving scars, eager pink flags, a call to gaze at the broken places, girls who fall down but not apart. and i stumble across you, one by one, and i say your books and poems and pictures are FORTS."
Hugs Angela, I'm glad I read your blog
heather! hahahaha! glad to hear the love-letter tradition continues!!!! :)
thank you for pulling that sentance out and presenting it to me this morning. i needed to see it again. already.
i'm so glad you come here too, girl. ;)
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