DFA Writes

Motionless Dancer February 15, 2007

Shadows dance across a temporarily stationary figure.  The cold material stands still against the flurry of pencils on paper.  The space is filled with quick scratching and fluttering, but the harsh object remains motionless.  Poised for the next pose, it awaits the time to change its position.  It always sits at the ready.  It never stays in the moment.  It is a dancer of sorts.  It is graceful in the ways of the unmoving.

Learn to Love a Life of Lies February 15, 2007

Excuse me, but I don’t remember ever telling you that I was perfect.  I only remember being straightforward about my imperfections.  If you could remember what I looked like before you gave me my mask, you’d recall that honesty has always been one of my flaws.  I warned you from the beginning to not be fooled by my innocent eyes and charming personality.  It’s just the calm before the storm of flooding emotions. 

Where I’m From November 5, 2006

I am from houses that look the same,
except for Halloween and Christmas time.
I’m from spotlights shining
on the seasonal wreaths
hanging on the front door.
I’m from Georgia clay, grass stains,
and brown dirt on skinned knees.
I am from Sesame Street swing sets
and elephant slides at the park.
I’m from hand-me-downs from my sister
and sharing toys with my baby cousins.
I’m from Barbie dolls and teddy bears,
coloring books and play dough,
hide-and-seek,
and playing house.
I’m from tee-ball practice to ballet recitals.
I’m from swimming lessons to Girl Scouts.
I’m from grits with cheese and bacon,
hot dogs, curly fries, and cherry kool-aid.
I’m from naps always at one o’clock
and an afternoon snack when I wake up.
I’m from memories of much simpler times.

The Calmness of My Room November 5, 2006

The bare white walls enclose a rush of calm.
A soothing hush of peace envelopes the space.
The only music heard is the gentle humming of the computer
and the ticking of the clock in the corner.
Sunlight floats in between the cracks in the blinds.
It catches specks of dust in its embrace
as the specks and light dance together
in the serenity of the environment.
Then, the specks find their escape from the warmth
as they make their way down
to the cold shadows.

Yellow November 5, 2006

No one is there, except for her. For the first time in her life, she is truly alone in the small apartment with pale yellow walls. Her hand brushes her hair out of her face as she looks at her new home. She lets it soak in that she has finally found her way into adulthood. It is like a dream that she has made it this far. Her eyes sweep around the closed in space that she would inhabit, with its small kitchenette, cozy living room, tiny bathroom, and one bedroom. She smiles at the new freedom. She rolls up her sleeves and sets to work unpacking. She wishes that she didn’t have so much to get done. While she is setting up her new place, she wonders if she should get a cat to keep her company. Then she thinks about the time, energy, and money that cat care consumes that she does not yet have. She also realizes that she must first learn to live by herself before she can learn to take care of something else, even if cats can mostly handle themselves. She sniffs at the red cherry-scented candle that she is currently trying to find a place for. The apartment is as small as her old dorm room. The only difference is that this space is all hers. The last item that she unpacks is an old photo collage of her family and friends that she hangs on one of the pale yellow walls.

Titles Are Overrated November 5, 2006

Waiting for words that refused to come out, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She tossed different scenarios around in her head about what would happen if she just spoke from her heart for once. None of the scenes playing in her mind gave her much hope of getting out of the mess she made. She tried to go inside of herself to find the courage to speak, but all she found was numbness too heavy to take. She opened her mouth, wanting her emotions to pour out of her. She wanted him to feel what she was feeling. She wanted him to understand her thoughts. And all he did was stare at her, confusion written clearly on her face. Finally, she took the plunge. She let go of all of her inhibitions and said what she wanted to say all along. “Hi.”

Perfume November 5, 2006

There was yelling.  There was shouting, crying, and more yelling.  He wasn’t listening to her screaming at

him anymore.  He had his eyes focused on the wall in front of him.  He didn’t have to try anymore to block

out her voice filled with anger and hurt, both caused by him.  It just came easily to him now.  He had

stopped trying to console her a while ago after her anger had taken over her pain.  She started throwing

harmless things at him, at first, like the pillows on the bed they used to share.  Then, she tried to throw at

him whatever she could find.  At that point, he was too busy trying to duck away from her fury to be able

to plead his case.  The last thing that she threw at him before she started packing was a perfume bottle that

he had given her for their one-year anniversary.  The glass had shattered as it hit the wall.  Its liquid

contents started to seep down to the bare hardwood floors.  All he could do was stare at the spot where

the bottle made impact, as she continued to gather whatever she could and walked out of the door.