dear april,

Prompt: write a letter to the 10-year old child you had been.

Dear April,

    You will be in 5th grade by now, almost a big girl, about to take on the harsh world of judgmental girls and hormone-raged boys. But you're safe for now, home schooled with only your brother. Right now your biggest questions in life are why your mom won't let you get your ears pierced and what you will get for Christmas. Your biggest decisions in life are what to do with the rest of your day when your best friend will get out of school and what notebook you want to write in that day. Cherish these moments of innocence and simple stresses. You want with all your heart to be an adult already, I know, just so you can eat a snack without asking Mom and so you can have a husband and play house all day long. I know you wish to grow up fast and have a woman's figure, to stop being a kid that is shushed and told, "I'll tell you when you're older." Adult life isn't the ideal you think it will be. Bills are more than just annoying. You won't be able to shop whenever you want. You will have to work and budget your time. Playing the piano for Dad won't get you out of doing the dishes. You will have responsibilities that entail more than just cleaning your room or Saturday morning chores. You will be forced to do boring stuff that whining won't fix. You will one day hit a wall of reality. Prepare yourself now.

    Slow down and enjoy the time with your brother when he helps you tie the kitchen table chairs together to make a bed to do your homework in. Yes, even when he picks on you and flicks your forehead. Enjoy learning the basics because it only gets more complicated from here. Be patient and enjoy that you only hear the positive things about people and the world. It was wonderful to not know the fullness of corruption in politics and what sin really looks like. When divorces and financial depressions do not affect you. Life really will zoom by like adults tell you. You will blink and then be 23, married with a college degree in English like you always dreamed you would. Enjoy your little girl's body before emotions take over your rational thoughts. Conquer that fear of failure now and so many more opportunities will open up for you that I was too afraid to take. As much as following God and being patient and saying no to what other people get to live through seems boring and dim in comparison to the splendors of popularity and style and boyfriends, it pays off in the end. Trust me.

Be excited though, your future is perfect. You will be happy, blessed, and successful. Your desires will change though and you will soon find what real happiness means. Oh man, and when you hear Mumford and  Sons for the first time, it will be a good 3 minutes.

Good luck and chin up.

Sincerely, the future you.

P.s. Hold on to your barbies, because they just won't make them as well in the future.

Bah Humbug

Prompt: Encouraged by a friend of mine to write about my bitter feelings for the holiday spirit (or lack there of), I want to put in words what my heart craves and why it is not getting what it needs from Christmas.

   Being called a "Scrooge" implies that you lack the Christmas spirit, the jovial, deep-bellied laughs of the ever generous Santa Claus. It means that you bring down the spirit of others around you and avoid the festivities of the season. I have been called a Scrooge and have often called myself one this year. It isn't the Christmas season that bothers me and causes me to crawl under my rock to wait it by. The problem is that I do not see the Christmas spirit anywhere to be jovial about. I see grumbling, entitled people pushing their way through line, fighting over meaningless objects in department stores, and demanding sales or freebies in the name of "Christmas spirit." The roads are packed with honking, impatient dirty cars, every store has a line with mothers tapping their toes glaring at you if you hold a conversation for too long with the cashier, and tacky figurines of the nativity in every yard next to blowups of Santa and images of materialism at every corner. I think we have forgotten what Christmas is really about.

    Christmas does not have to be only about the baby in a manger or pious thoughts all day long. I do choose to associate Christmas with the remembrance of Christ's birth, but I don't need a holiday to remind me about that every year. Christmas can also be for the secular as well, which does not only have to be about the large spending and millions of presents under a overly decorated tree. My religious definition of the Christmas spirit is a celebration in the midst of a cold dark winter with the hope of spring. It signifies the hope in the midst of a cold dark life with the coming of Christ. The secular Christmas spirit is the enjoyment of the beauty of winter surrounded by family, friends, or even strangers. All over, it is the generosity of those with to give to those without.

    Christmas should be about community. When the winter meant potential starvation and death by freezing, the community of the village would work together, giving to those in need, sharing their homes, etc. Huge feasts would be held in the town hall, stories would be shared and songs sung together to pass the winter boredom. All that has been lost with the individualism of America and we have to be persuaded, bribed, or scheduled to give to the community around us. Sharing does not come easily when the entire year we have been living for ourselves. I think Christmas is a reflection of that sharing within the community in the past with the gifts that we give to one another, gathered around a Christmas tree and a fireplace. Warmth and community.

     I have struggled with the urge to follow the flow of our culture to buy buy buy gifts and want want want useless clutters of objects. Giving is hard. Giving without expecting anything in return is harder. This is what my heart craves. Snowflakes on the tongue, hot chocolates, delicate lights and the smell of garland everywhere, holding mittened hands with a loved one, sharing stories with friends around a fireplace, and helping people along the road.

     My favorite example of Christmas giving is in the story of Little Women. Video Clip.

Merry Christmas!

Leaf

Prompt 9: Write a poem about an object that describes you.

The beginning: a bud, curled and tight inside a shell. 

Anchored to strength, the wisdom of a Mother, and arms of a Father.

 A touch of warmth on my shoulder bids me spread open my arms

Stretch towards the sun, breathe in deeply of the cool breezes of spring.

A flower, delicate to Frost, vulnerable. 

The Endurance: the fire above drys me, feeds me, hardens my skin to the harshness of weather: 

Wind, rain and darkness.

I'm darkened in the brightness, a deep green, a sign of life, one hidden among many

 Reaching, stretching, fighting for the sun. 

I grow and flourish in the cool breezes of summer, 

I wither in the heat.

The Adolescence: my tastes change. Red, orange, purple, the new green. 

Dancing is not enough, I long to be free, to fly with the wind

Discover new places, to make ripples in the glass.

I feel my ties to my mother slipping.

The time is coming.

The Rest: I've seen the tree tops, I've explored open garages, swept out again to explore more

I saw beautiful colors in the fields and forests, touched cold rivers.

I decorate the world, the paths, and people's windows wrapped in wax.

I found a new home where I feel the sun's warmth in the cold of winter. 

A reflection of my color on the wall. 

Smelling Mixed Feelings

Prompt 8: Describe what you feel right now using your sense of smell. If you are feeling frustrated, write about what your frustration feels like.

I must figure out how I feel first. Like I'm in a airtight box, made of hard plastic obviously. I'm trapped in this play-place of little kids' urine and static electricity. The air is suffocating, overwhelming, intoxicating. Crowds of people surround me, bounce sheet clean clothes, oily hair and body odor, cold ash cigarette smoke masked by cheap perfume. Where is the rain to wash out the air molecules? Where are the crisp breezes carrying the scent of wet pine and soil? Where is the salty spray of the ocean over my face? Even the smell of the rotting wood washed up on the shore is preferable to the traffic fumes and angry breath in my face. Solitude, the scent of a loved one's skin, my nose craves relief.

Can you guess the feeling?

When the Lights Go Out

Prompt 7: Electricity is a recent invention. Think of 12 things to do when there is no power.

1. The Romantic Obvious
2. Entertain your spouse/roommate with a shadow puppet show to candlelight.
3. Play a guitar around a campfire
4. Hide and Seek
5. Marco Polo (No need for blindfolds).
6. Go for a walk. You will be able to see stars that would usually be masked by the city lights.
7. Read a play. Each of the members in your family would read aloud a different character. Shakespeare preferably.
8. Paint on a canvas with no lights. When the power comes back on, see what you created!
9. Read a scary novel.
10. Take the opportunity to take creative portraits of your household. Everyone looks better in candlelight. ;)
11. Seance. (Just kidding. Could be scary).
12. Board games, duh.

Body of White, Home of the Pigeons

Prompt 6: Write a list of cliches and choose one to write a poem about.
I decided to write a poem about a cliche I saw the other day. Pigeons on a statue.

Pale stone wrapping around a smooth graceful body of white, Marbled arms frozen in time
A cloudy day moves overhead, a gentle cooing falls over the stone
One, two, three, ten, twelve
They dot the stairs, perch on pointing fingers, extended arms
As if calling, beckoning them home, convincing them to rest from their journey
Nineteen, Twenty
Forgotten by the crowds, remembered by the feathered

Once proud, beautiful, now humble

Until Then I Am a Red Balloon...

Prompt 5: Choose a poem you like. Take the last line of that poem and use it as the first line in your own poem.
Poem: Vignette from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros.

Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor
Bouncing upon the breeze, fighting to be free.
Until then I am a red balloon, bright against the sky
The color of happy, but I don't know why
Until then I am a red balloon, an easy target to be seen
A marker, a symbol, the place to be
Until then I am a red balloon, pretending to get away
But actually content and wishing I could stay
Because then, I will be a red balloon, homeless
With nowhere to go but up, until I reach the sun.