Rebecca Richards is a sophomore Marketing and Entrepreneurship major and while some may criticize her major as being generic or “easy,” she would vehemently disagree.
For Richards, the biggest appeal to the the major is that the skills used to succeed in classwork and the field, like innovation and creativity, are skills that everyone already possesses. The major itself just enhances them.
“Marketing is about promoting a specific idea,” Richards said. Richards makes the distinction that marketing, while under the Business Department, does not always have to have to strictly deal with business. Putting the Marketing major in a box because of its larger department means that less people are aware of what the major could do for them.
Entrepreneurship, on the other hand, emphasizes its focus on innovation and being able to create something from the ground up. While this sounds like Marketing, Entrepreneurship does this in a different way. Entrepreneurship’s focus is on creating an idea and planning to make this idea a reality, while Marketing is taking a specific idea and promoting that idea in a new and creative way. Both concentrations focus on creativity.
These skills make finding a job after college easier, but these jobs do not always mean working a desk job in a company, or even working in a typical business at all. For Richards, these skills mean working in fashion and retail, something she is very passionate about. It also could mean working for a research lab or science-focused company in order to promote and market their projects to investors. It could mean doing social media in any sort of company to promote and better the business. It could mean building your own business, like an ice cream shop or a dog walking service. Entrepreneurship prepares you to properly plan and follow through on a business plan that you create, but it also teaches you about fulfilling goals that you set out for yourself.
While these classes may seem easy enough, Richards’ class load is not as it seems. As a major under the Business Department, she has to take a lot of finance classes and classes that require a lot of critical thinking skills. The classes also require you to think outside the box of typical planning and answers. But she reassures any interested Marketing or Entrepreneurship majors that the ability to wear a good blazer far outweighs any more difficult classes.
There are a lot of people who would not consider dance a sport, including people who do it. There are differences: the performance for a dancer is usually pretty similar if they are in a stable show. There is rarely any sort of overt competition within a show, there is no trophy or big league game at the end of a season, but there are more similarities than these differences.
Like any sport, dance requires a lot of training and discipline. Most dancers start at a young age, often before they can start playing a “regular” sport, at 2, 3, or 4 years old. As a dancer’s childhood goes on, especially a child whose interest is in ballet, they begin to train for longer hours after school, sometimes quitting school altogether to focus on dance. Around age 11, most young ballerina’s are beginning Pointe lessons, in which they must buy a pair of wooden shoes that they will stand and dance on for hours. These shoes need to be replaced regularly.
By the time these dancers are in high school, many of them attend lessons for 5-6 hours every day after school, longer if they attend a performing arts school. Public do not usually have dance programs within their school system, so dancers must pay for lessons outside of school. Dancers may start to audition for companies or ballet schools when they get closer to 18. After that, dancers will be auditioning for jobs regularly, whether that is within a specific dance company or backup dancing or choreographing, there is rarely stability. Dancers often need to move to big cities, especially New York or Los Angeles in the US, in order to even be able to audition.
Unlike “regular” sports, there is no “off-season” for dancers. While other sports and athletes have time off between competitive seasons and games, dancers will most likely perform shows back to back for an entire year or more, with maybe one day off a week. Their bodies are not given the rest and recovery period that “regular” athletes are given because they are always performing and need to work in order to pay their bills, as they make significantly less money than traditional professional athletes. This can cause many injuries and problems for dancers.
Many dancers, although advised to sit out performances or practices, even encouraged to take a year off of dance, will refuse to or take those words lightly. According to Hopkins Medicine, the most common dance injuries include hip, ankle, knee, and foot injuries, as well as stress fractures all over their bodies, and are extremely prone to developing arthritis. Although dancers are a lower risk for ACL injuries, they tend to deal with chronic pain and swelling.
While traditional sports teams have medical professionals on the side of the field or rink, companies would be lucky to have the money to hire a professional. Dancers will often self-medicate and self-wrap their own injuries before going on stage. Often, if a dancer injures themselves during a show, they will take pain medication and wrap their injury inconspicuously and keep on dancing, as they must finish their show.
Dancing is both an art and a sport because not everyone can work that hard with that many permanent injuries and look so effortless.
Source: Hopkins Medicine
The 2019 Grammy nominations were announced over a month ago, after the award show’s efforts to add more voting members and expand some categories for more nominations. 5 women were nominated in the Album of the Year category, including Cardi B, Brandi Carlile, Janelle Monáe, Kacey Musgraves, and H.E.R., alongside Black Panther: The Album.
This category sets the tone for what should be happening in every category, more diversity. Although, not everyone thinks that the Grammy nominations have followed through on this goal. While some categories seem more diverse than they have been in the past, is this true or is it just our perception?
While women have more nominations in the Best Pop Solo Performance category, Post Malone’s Better Now slipped in a nomination alongside Beck’s Colors. In light of the Academy attempting to raise diversity in their nominations, they have allowed a less “pop” track to be considered for the award; and other albums people may have expected were not in either the Album or Song of the Year categories.
There have been a lot of mixed opinions online about Taylor Swift’s Reputation not being included in the Album of the Year category, as well as Ariana Grande’s Sweetener. Both albums are included in Best Pop Vocal Album nominations, along with Camila Cabello’s Camila, Kelly Clarkson’s The Meaning of Life, Shawn Mendes’s Shawn Mendes, and Pink’s Beautiful Trauma. While some fans may disagree with this isolation of talent, these pop powerhouses have made huge waves this year.
Chloe x Halle are nominated for Best New Artist, alongside other female artists Dua Lipa, H.E.R, Margo Price, Bebe Rexha, and Jorja Smith, as well as male artists Luke Combs and Greta Van Fleet. Chloe x Halle performed at MTV’s Video Music Awardsin 2018 and have been growing since. These young artists have made huge waves this year into the industry and it is no surprise the pair is up for Best New Artist. In other categories, such as Best Rock Album, there are no female nominees at all, nor any nominees of color within these bands. While the bigger categories may have been prioritized for diverse nominees, others were clearly not.
It has also been a big year for Kpop group BTS, as their album Love Yourself: Tear was nominated for Best Recording Package. This is huge as BTS has become the first Kpop group ever nominated for a Grammy. Fans were both delighted and disappointed as the credit for this Grammy will go to the artist rather than the group themselves, but it is huge news to be celebrated! BTS promoted the lead song off of this album, Fake Love, at the Billboard Music Awards last year alongside other artists like Ariana Grande, Shawn Mendes, Salt-N-Peppa, Kelly Clarkson, and Janet Jackson.
This year, the Grammys have added 900 more voting members to their group, and have said that most of these new additions have been women and People of Color. This is huge on behalfof the Grammys, their acknowledgement that their voters have been biased and that they have been biased in their nominations in the past is a big step forward.
The recognition of other artists within nominations and the expansion of categories Album of the Year, Record of the Year, Song of the Year, and Best New Artist has created space for more diverse nominees to be presented. However, while these nominations are more diverse than they have been in the past, that does not mean that the actual awards will follow through. The true test will come on Feb. 10, when the Grammy awards are presented to their winners and we will see if the bias has continued or not.
A lot of my intern work consists of me sitting on my laptop and staring at my screen. Which, to most people, probably seems boring and dreary. This is understandable, but there are so many beautiful things inside of my internship that make up for any reservations I might have had at the beginning. I do a lot of research, entering my research into databases or typing it up into documents. Occasionally, I write blog posts or adverts for other websites. I also run our Twitter page, which gives me a bit of an excuse to do what I waste time doing anyway. It doesn’t seem exciting on the surface, but there is so much underneath of it that makes the menial tasks worth it.
There is an art to crafting and curating information for others to consume, writing blog posts with reliable links and information, using our platform to elevate others in the community who are doing good work and most of all, making sure those who need care receive the best they can get. I work for an Eastern alum and for a brand that helps caregivers find resources and create conversations, and presents helpful information and a place to connect with other caregivers. Caregivers are a diverse group containing those who work in the caregiving industry, but also people who care for family members such as a child, their aging parents or a sister, and those who are parents of children with autism or down syndrome. There is an art to the way I gather and organize information for my boss, the way our team works together to pull off a cohesive image. The way all of our personalities blend and mesh together allows us to work and function wonderfully. That is the beauty and art in the internship I do, and I am so lucky to be able to do it alongside these wonderful women.
I have the opportunity to do work that matters to others. As part of the CareGiving team, I get to be a small part of informing new (and older) caregivers, as well as providing a platform where caregivers can speak. I am also gaining experience for my own resume that I would not have gotten otherwise. It has allowed me to find new ways to express my own creativity and has helped me understand what the freelancing world looks like. This internship is giving me the ability to help others in the future and it provides a space for me to grow as a writer and as a student, but also a person who might one day take care of her mother.
The beauty and art to my internship is not that I do something artistic every day or that I am always creating something beautiful, it is that I am growing and learning in every moment alongside other wonderful women. It is beautiful that I get to meet people who have lost loved ones and continue to remain strong and that I get to provide a space for caregivers to speak and be heard. I know that what I am doing matters to someone who is searching Google and trying to find answers or feels like they are alone in their experiences.
Gathering together to eat a meal, all sitting at one table and sharing conversation, is the most important component of a Friendsgiving dinner. The people you choose to share dinner and a space with are important to your life. It helps you build a lasting relationship with these people and memories that are hard to replace. Things like this are so vital because we get to know each other outside of classes and our normal conversations, without the stress of texts and papers. It also requires us to learn more about each other’s background, as people bring dishes together, dishes they consider staples at a family dinner, and share them with one another.
To participate in this sharing of food and conversation makes Friendsgiving what it is: a time to eat and be in community with people who are important to you. As opposed to a traditional Thanksgiving, where you may see the Great-Aunt you can’t stand, or the cousin that used to tease you when you were younger, the friends that you choose to associate with have also become a sort-of family, but one that doesn’t have the really awkward conversations about what you are going to use your major for. Coming together with people who you know accept you, and eating with them can sometimes just be good conversation and food, but it is often so much more than that. It is a communal sharing of lives, and that is what makes it worth celebrating.
Sarah Todd and her friend, Keely Cutts, have embarked on the massive journey that is writing a novel, and together no less. Both of them work in institutions of higher education. Todd is our esteemed Director of the Center for Career Development here at Eastern University and Cutts works at Rosemont College. Somehow, they managed to find balance between their creativity and their jobs.
Todd says that writing has become a way to take care of herself, but that it took a while for her to get there. After finishing her undergrad in English, she worked at Children’s Book World, located on the Main Line, and was inspired constantly by the books she was reading and by authors she discovered. Whenshe started working on her Master’s in Education, however, she no longer had time to really work on anything creative. It was only after her first year here at Eastern that she began to make time to write again. Currently, Todd and Cutts are on the third draft of their novel.
“[There’s] something very unique about getting to create something with another person that’s different from creating alone,” Todd said.
She and Cutts met at Oxford, while both were studying abroad there during their undergrad, and found that they were both really good at encouraging each other.
“There’s a lot of our friendship poured into this story… and you need to trust the person you’re writing with, and be willing to look silly in front of them. Sometimes you’ll try things and they just won’t work,” Todd said.
Apart from writing a novel with Cutts, Todd teaches a few classes that allow her to express her love for books and writing. She teaches Young Adult Literature (ENGL 236) in the summer (which is one of the courses that will be offered for Fast Pass starting this summer), a section of INST 150, and is an adjunct for Intro to Creative Writing (ENGL 245). Alongside that, she has attended the Rutgers Conference at Rutgers University, for which she had to submit a few pages of another of her novel projects and got to talk to either an editor or an agent about the first five pages of the novel. She also goes to Highlights Foundation in Milanville, PA, a writing retreat for children’s authors, along with Cutts, in order to focus more on her creative side – and to give herself a break from her sometimes all-consuming job.
It is possible to be creative in a job field where that creativity may be limited, but it requires extra work. Todd gives some advice for maintaining the self-care part of writing: 1. To have other writers who support you or have a good group of people championing you to write more, 2. Don’t stop reading in your genre because “…writing is not just output, it’s input too;” 3. Lastly, Anne Lamott’s advice about putting your butt in a chair is the best advice she can give. This means that instead of talking about writing, or making playlists, or even just putting pictures together, you actually have to sit down and make yourself write (even if this means you write during your twenty minute lunch break or between classes). You have to park yourself in front of your computer and write.
[nine things a blanket can be]
Ruby Baker
one. a blanket can be a starting line to a long race
folded and laid out on the floor
the first item my parents ever bought together
it was a testament to seven years of love between them
two. a blanket can be a cape
knotted in the front
ends always flying behind me as i ran around the house
the blue blanket i always had wrapped around my shoulders was
everything i wanted to be
brave
someone who always saves the day
a hero
an older sister
i took that cape everywhere
telling everyone i met about my made up adventures i had with my dolls back home
how i always saved them in the end
even if i may have cut it a little too close for their liking
three. a blanket can be the most beautiful mermaid’s tail
gleaming in the fake sunlight our lamps provided
cinched with a clothespin around my little sister’s waist
her teal tail prevented her from moving off the couch
lest she wanted to flop like a fish on dry land
she used it as an excuse to never do her chores
but she looked so cute
that no one could ever say no to her
she sat herself on her rock surrounded by blue
watching all the fishies in the tank
her long hair woven together with green yarn to look like seaweed
and the starfish she carried around attached to her arm
a mermaid on a mission
determined to watch fish all day long
four. a blanket can be the best pink wig you’ve ever seen
wrapped so tightly around my youngest sister’s head
held up with hairs ties and headbands and sheer luck
it was the only accessory she needed on a rainy day
strutting around the house
with a sparkly costume fitted on her small body
and that pink wig dragging behind her
she was the princess of your nightmares
she carried a staff that was a rod from the curtains in my parents’ room
knighting only those she thought worthy
and not many people met her standards
five. a blanket can be a robe-
turned-girl-powered-boat in the end
the solid red pooling around my baby brother’s body
he was too small to wear a robe anyway
instead we used the red fabric to pull him around the house
he giggled until he couldn’t breathe
his face matched the color of the boat
and he told us stories of everything that he saw around him
the rainbows
the trees
the strange creatures he befriended
and he would try to tell other people about everything else he saw around him
but no one could understand him like we did
six. sometimes a blanket can be used as a lid for a box
lifted and carried into a pickup truck that snaked down our driveway
a blanket that we couldn’t get back
one less cape
one less mermaid’s tail
one less wig
one less boat
one less adventure
all because my dad decided that sharing our blanket
wasn’t something he could do anymore
seven. a blanket can be one piece of a fort
and when one part is taken away
there is a gaping hole left where it used to be
eight. a blanket can be a fake fire
crumpled up in the middle of a room
the only thing keeping the warmth
between the people sitting around it
the hero
the mermaid
the princess
and the sailor
left behind misfits
with only one parent to love them
to raise them
four children
who knew love didn’t come from the inside of a cereal box
rather it came from blankets that smothered them in warmth
even when one piece of the fort was missing
nine. a blanket can be the finish line to one long race
folded and laid down across the floor
trampled on
beaten down
faded
but it can also be the starting line
for an adventure that will outlast seven years’ worth of racing
Butterfly Goodbyes
Anastasia Carroll
It was the first day of seventh grade–a new, but modest-because-mom-said-so outfit, bigger school, longer car ride. The night before, just after she and her dad had cleared off the dinner table, Adeleine put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher and then packed her own lunch with the bread, peanut butter, and two kinds of jelly that her mom had left out for her because she knew that it had been her favorite ever since she had started school.
“Pretty butterflies fly, fly, fly
So do you, and so do I,
But before we leave, we…?” he chanted in expectation with his hands in the air.
“Say GOODBYE!” 3 minutes of giggles that made her tummy ache with pleasure; 2 jumps, a double-handed high five; and lots of little girl wiggles later, young Adeleine and her dad parted ways on her first day of preschool just the way they had practiced the night before. Just before her mom put her favorite peanut butter and both strawberry and grape jelly sandwich–no crust cut into four triangles because that’s the way 4 year old princesses liked them best–she had put on her favorite soft pink footie pajamas, and then together, the three of them finished packing her lunch. Mom placed some apple slices in the brown paper bag; Adeleine dropped in a napkin and then folded down its edges. She listened to the crinkle of the paper as Dad pulled out a Sharpie to draw her name in squiggly letters and a funny face–the face Dad said she always made whenever he tried to tickle her with the fuzzy peaches that Mom brought home from the market on Friday mornings.
They had explained to her that she wouldn’t get to go to the market on Friday mornings anymore. Instead, she’d have snacks and story time, art class and trips to the library. She would make new friends, and she could come home and tell Mom and Dad all about it. And even though she was excited for new friends, little Adeleine couldn’t imagine a Friday without helping Mom pick out the prettiest green, leafy head of lettuce or laughing from peach-fuzz tickles when Dad got home from work.
This time without bothering to cut off the crust, she plopped her sandwich, an apple, and a napkin into a paper bag. And after she had gone off to bed, she was surprised to find the next morning that her dad had snuck into the fridge, but instead of reaching for something cold and sweet to satisfy his midnight cravings, he had written “Adeleine” in his tired cursive, and put the lunch sack right back where he had found it.
It was the first day of seventh grade. At 7:23am, as they approached the student drop-off ramp, the brisk, September-chilled air fogging up the windshield, he suggested, “We don’t even have to get out of the car.”
“Come on, I know you want to…” he pleaded as they pulled up to the curb of Wayside Intermediate.
“Do we really have to get out of the car to do it?” she pleaded, even though the early-morning sun had already melted away last night’s frost that blanketed the pavement that would lead her to another day in Mr. Nelson’s 5th grade class.
“It’s tradition!” he exclaimed. And with the soft clicks of unlatching seatbelts, the two of them stepped out of the car that would drive off until 3:30 when he would come back to pick her up, braces, neon purple skinny jeans, and all.
And together they said,
“Pretty butterflies fly, fly, fly
So do you, and so do I,
But before we leave, we say goodbye!” A soft smile lingered on her lips, and with two jumps that weren’t quite as high as they used to be and a double-handed high five that didn’t reach any higher than her elbows bent at her waist, they parted ways.
She guessed it wouldn’t be so bad, but she was in 7th grade; she was older now. So after a brief back-and-forth of early morning disgruntled negotiations and a brief awkward silence softened by the faint hum of the defroster, she agreed.
“Fine. I’ll do it, but please not today. Everyone’s watching,” she uttered as the words falling from her mouth swirled around in the morning air so brisk that it would cause anyone’s words to crystalize instantaneously around them for everyone to see.
And then, when the fog from her half-hearted promise had finally dissipated, she heaved her over-stuffed backpack onto her wiry, teenage frame and hustled inside to get out of the cold because puffy coats like the one he had gotten her the winter before weren’t exactly “in” at the moment. So, coat in hand–because her mother wouldn’t let her leave the house otherwise–Adeleine scurried up the pavement slightly dampened from the morning’s frost; past the swarm of fellow classmates garbed like Hollister models with bad acne and braces and enshrouded in a cloud of overcompensating cologne; and through the heavy glass doors of the school, she looked back for one last glance and a satisfied wave from her father. And just as it would every day for the rest of the year, the timely school bell told her that she had 5 minutes to get to her first 7:30am middle school class on time.
Through the crowded hallway of students rushing past her to get to class, her mind drifted alongside the draft that followed her through the doors of her new middle school.
“Are you ready?” She exclaimed, barely able to contain her enthusiasm as she donned her bright red converses and stood in front of her new, third grade classroom.
But before he had a chance to answer, she threw her hands in the air and proclaimed,
“Pretty butterflies fly, fly, fly
So do you, and so do I,
But before we leave, we…?”
And just to make her giggle so that it made her tummy ache with pleasure, with 2 jumps and a double-handed high five, he cheered, “say GOODBYE!” And after softly nuzzling her cheek with the tip of his nose, got back in the car, and she had to wait until 3:30 to see him again later that afternoon.
And in those last few moments before heading off to class, as she stood at those heavy glass doors and watched him drive away into the autumn chill, she tried to forget about butterflies. But she couldn’t seem to escape the ones fluttering in the pit of her stomach as the late bell morphed into the sound of the Miss Winston’s morning announcements.
Moment of Decision
Russell Risden
[media-credit name=”Russell Risden/ The Waltonian” align=”alignleft” width=”260″][/media-credit]
Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
– Canto 1, Dante Alighieri’s Inferno
I sat on the ancient brick wall. It had been a long journey to see this place. I don’t know what I was really expecting. There were no grand memorials to the people who once were here, but rather, just farm fields and clay-baked headstones. However, to me, this was holy ground. For two hundred years my ancestors treaded this land where they were born, baptized, married, farmed, and carried out to their final resting place. I knew their names well enough, and the dates that they were born and died, but other than these trivial facts, little was known, for they had long ago finished their earthly pilgrimage. But now, it was now a time of decision, and I found myself taking a drive to meet the past, so that I might know the future.
When I arrived at Deep Run the sun was sitting over its fields, and with this as a backdrop, I took a walk to the old one-room meeting house and peered inside. I could vaguely hear the echo of a poem: “Deep Run! Deep Run! I think I hear thee come, Murmuring the story, Of a people whose glory, Remains unwritten, unsung.” Behind the simple stone meeting house were the clay-baked headstones of those very people whose story is unwritten. I walked through the rows and saw the names and the dates—those same trivial facts of a yellowed paper. I may not have been “midway” in my journey, as Dante was, but at the age of 18 I found myself in the same forest with no clear direction wondering, “How did they overcome the trials and tribulations of this world?”
In 1719 John Fretz was 18 years old when he embarked with his two brothers, Mark and Christian, on a journey to the “New World.” And, yes, to them it was a new world, because the old one had left them disenchanted, restricted, and hopeless. As Anabaptists, they had been publicly persecuted for their faith. They had been shunned, beaten, and some even martyred for their faith. These three brothers prayed unceasingly for an answer to these physical trials, and the answer came in the form of William Penn who promised religious freedom to those persecuted in Europe in his colony of Pennsylvania. Upon being given the choice to either join the state church or leave the country, the Fretz brothers carried their cross and chose to leave their ancestral land and endure a perilous seven-week journey to their “New World.” Mark Fretz never got to see this land of Canaan, for he perished on the voyage. As for John and Christian, they helped to build the Deep Run Mennonite Church in Bucks County and were fruitful in their efforts to establish farms by the sweat of their brows. Above all, they were free to read Scripture, and practice their faith in their everyday lives.
Nearly three centuries after John Fretz arrived in Pennsylvania, I was standing where he stood, looking at the same field and church that he helped to build. Yes, not much had changed in this little slice of heaven that had cost John and his brother so dearly. As I continued to walk, I noticed that some of the headstones were weathered to the point that one could never again read the name inscribed on it. Was this the point of life? Would any shred of evidence that we existed be wiped off the earth? Then why not say, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die”? But, I knew better than to think such thoughts. I turned to the concluding line of the book on John and Christian Fretz. It read, “Though the chisel may never inscribe, though the statue may never preserve, though the page may never contain and though we have long been sleeping the last sleep we still live – live from age to age, live in those whom we in life have blest. And though un-marbled, un-annealed, unsung, unwept, unremembered our names may be inscribed in the book of life.”
I do not think it mattered to those buried at Deep Run that they did not have grand memorials, nor great honors bestowed upon them. They were a faithful people, who worshiped in a plain building, and lived out their callings as servants of Christ. They were not looking for material success, but rather to do the work of God’s kingdom on earth. Indeed, a very noble cause. Finding this straightforward path, I walked away from that hallowed ground.
Untitled
Lauren Murphy
Day One:
When I first received the phone call I didn’t know.
When my mom received the second phone call I didn’t know.
When I climbed in the car with my mom and brother I didn’t know.
When we drove to my grandmother’s house I didn’t know.
When we walked up the porch steps and opened her front door I didn’t know.
When I walked in and saw my dad standing there and my grandmother sitting at the table in silence my heart sank.
When I saw the rosary beads I knew.
Day Two:
Day Three:
This morning my feelings came up out of my stomach and into the sink.
They came up until I had no feelings left.
I saw tears today, tears I’ve never seen before.
I saw people today in ways I’ve never seen them before.
And then I stared at you.
I stared at you when you were a little kid;
I stared at you when you were older;
I just stared, and you stared back.
Day Four:
I loved you, but I wasn’t really there. You can’t love someone if you’re not there.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.
I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to just be there.
I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to just do what was right and deal with whatever happened later.
Day Five:
I’m sorry I failed you, but I wasn’t the only one.
Society failed you;
Your school failed you;
Your neighborhood failed you;
The rest of your family failed you.
Society refused you, and most humans did the same.
And now we’re left with one less.
Day Six:
I’m sorry it was you. It could have taken anyone, but it took you.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Day Seven:
Wake up
Put on black dress
Get in car
Stare out window
Pull up to church
Walk up
And kneel down.
Look inside;
Say a thousand prayers.
Bury face in arms;
Recall a thousand regrets.
I pressed my lips against your waxy forehead
And wailed
And by the time we lowered your body into the ground
I had no feelings left.
Day Eight:
Day Nine:
Day 10:
Day ?:
Barbie jeeps
And unfair alliances
And family get-togethers
And silence
Years and years of silence.
A momentary reunion
To be followed by years and years of silence.
Day ??:
I stared at the sky,
At the ground,
At your stone,
And I knew that the hope is gone.
Today:
I remain the final hope.
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