Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Writing is good for you

So I haven't written a ton for quite some time now, but I stumbled across this the other day while I was wading through the endless files of drivel which I have stored on my laptop and was fairly impressed. In fact, at first I thought for sure that I hadn't written it, and I had to spend a good deal of time trying to recall when I had in fact generated this piece. Anyway, since I got sick of logging on and seeing that there was going to be a New Poet Laureate (surely that is old news now), I thought I would post it and let you guys read a little Willie Javin special. Anyway, enjoy...


She remembers a time when she was small enough to fit in the kitchen cupboards; scared enough to hide in the closet between her father’s brown loafers and black suit coats. He used to walk her to the yellow school bus and wave as she rode away, peering out the small window at the back, leaving tiny smudges from her oily pink nose. In the winter, the smudges from earlier in the week would still be frozen to the window, a blurry reminder that her father would still be there with a small piece of chocolate wrapped in a silver wrapper when she returned. As much as her morning toast smothered in deep red jam, or tying the frayed laces on her shoes, she came to rely on the gentle chill of glass against her face to begin her day. When he died (when she was ten), she pressed her face against the casket, her eyes just above the top as she peered in at the green handkerchief which rested in his pocket. It seemed so out of place, so alive and vibrant surrounded by his black suit coat. The image haunted her throughout the remainder of her childhood. She would have nightmares in which she would see her father’s face, waving back at her from behind a school bus, but then a soft green fabric would cover her entire field of vision. She would struggle madly to remove it, but it would just wrap itself tighter around her face until she would wake with a start, hug her knees and rock herself back to sleep under her faded pink blanket.


Blogger *k maria** said...

amazing, willie...her nose just kills me. and it does sound like your writing...

thanks for the inspiration. :)

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