some things are on the mend

shelbyshirley.jpg
Since I received the great and massive gift of the Remington Rand typewriter, my mind has been filled with so much. Using the typewriter — feeling and hearing the keys, the wiping motion of moving the cartridge lever — gives all of it an added texture I feel I often need when writing a poem. And as I become more and more surrounded in my apartment by old photos of my family, they are on my mind so constantly. My chapbook, Ohio Lonely was orginally going to be about the children’s author, Dare Wright, but now … now it has manifested into a family history in poems. My father has even come around in talking about our family … seeming to excitedly be telling me stories. Grandma in the china factory … Grandpa working as a bartender in the Moose Lodge. My dad shooting the eyes out of his sisters’ dolls with a BB gun …
Things generally seem to be on the mend: Lou Lou’s home from the hospital. My mom says she’s doing better than she had been. She suffers from Unipolar Depression and her meds were a little off … but she’s on the mend. I am writing her a poem … my mom said she’ll love that. She has come to a reading before and looked to be crying when I looked up. But Lou Lou always looks to be on the brink of tears.
I reconnected with a writer friend and fellow vintage typewriter owner which is nice. She is writing a very Beckett-ian play I am dying to see.
There are always things, beautiful things, to work on … and this photo is my new muse … my aunts Shelby (on bike) and Shirley. You can see their personalities in this photo so well —
Shelby as the shy one, and Shirley as the femme fatale. The poem I am writing about her now discusses her hips getting her into trouble … “but you only needed someone / to care about your capability of courage. /risking it all with one man in the headlights /
headlights silent and waiting to be born in movement.”
Waiting to be born in movement … aren’t we all?
Aren’t we all in our own long process of being on the mend?
To mending like a seamtress in a sun-soaked upstairs room somewhere.
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Published in: on March 19, 2008 at 5:53 pm  Comments (3)  

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3 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. I always loved when my grandpa told me stories. You feel such a part of history.

  2. Thank you. You’re a great supporter of my work and a wonderful person. Family history is so important, giving one a barometer into life.

  3. I love when my Grandma tells me stories of when she was Amish (she converted to the English ways when she was 13). Grandpa loves to tell the story of how they met. I am a fan of old pics too. Even if they aren’t my family. they are inspiring.


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