wbrummett
The wealthy dogs only shitted on the left side of the street, filled with red fire hydrants and a plethora of shimmering bermuda grass to comfort their paws mid squat; the strays passed by on the left, hoping to find a loose shoe to chew or drain to sniff into, delving themselves into the liberation without a leash.
Deft she was not. Nor graceful. Nor beautiful by contemporary, bottomless standards. But she had girt. A soft smile. A deep gaze. And expanding embrace of the dance floor. So I said hello.
They were a collection of misfits. Former teachers, indoor plumbers, delivery men, and one who held a summer job at an ice cream stand. They had no similarities other than their fate--to be the seven who saw the thing only they could save.
An an instant, everything loved was lost. The blast from the small 1993 SUV four-door was so great that the nearby trees could only be identified through photographs. Accidental catastrophe. Life taken through the continuous small actions of torment extended towards a man who did not want to live anymore, exhibited through the ignition of his programmed engine, the burning of unnoticed, unexpected flame.
The claims we make on life are temporary. How much we own, how much we think we know, the phrases or people we claim to hold dear---these are the things that pass away. But it is the moments, the small moments in each breath, tidbit of knowledge, spoken word, or listening ear, that allow us to make this permanent claim for life every second of the day: we are grateful for the small things even in the season of the temporary.
Silence
Speak now or forever hold your violence.
For those that say nothing, do nothing, and dare others to do the same,
Are as silent as the wind that leans against the tree
but causes nothing to shake, not even one limb.
If civility is the art of pleasing,
then justice is the art of allowing others to realize.
Speak now or forever hold the peace.
Speak nor or forever hold your violence.
For those that say nothing, do nothing, and dare others to do the same.
Or as silent as the wind that leans against the tree
but causes nothing to shake, not even one limb.
If civility is the art of pleasing, then justice is the art of allowing others to realize.
Speak now or forever hold the peace.
The responsibility of Jack's job was quite simple. Do not let the young maiden's of Anna Lee's Girl Power circle infiltrate the BoysRule GirlsDrool fort made up of a collection of pillows, chairs, tree limbs, and an old lawn mower from Uncle Tim's garage down the street. Years later, Jack would go on to marry Anna Lee, but for that moment, Jack's responsibility outweighed his eventual affection.
The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy's second-grade class's musical of, "What's My Name: A Veggie Story." However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
The show playing on 5th street had very little displayed out front. Many of the old, wooden theatre seats were only filled with dust balls or lose screws. There were no paparazzi to be found. The stage lights blinked, exerting all the effort possible to keep the stage aglow for one more act, the act of thirty velvet-covered kids acting as vegetables. No New York Times reporter would do a write up for Mrs. McClancy's second-grade class's performance of, "What's My Name: A Veggie Story." However, the lights still glowed, the rain outside still came down, and the show went on, pushed forward by the joy of the dancing squash and budding young tomato.
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writing since 2011 · 48 entries · 43 days shown up
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nowlightschairhandsyoungfiveactmorningwoodenothershoweverstreetstagedusttryingfloor