the family

daughter: the babies were here. you can tell because of the way the grass is indented: rather than be broken at the base of the blade as would be the case under 100 pounds or more, the blade looks folded like an accordion because of the lesser weight a baby carries.

mother: who taught you that?

daughter: doesn't matter, does it?

mother: does it?

daughter: (clutching hands to sides of head) DOES IT?

mother: I'll fix you a blackberry muffin. got the recipe from the woman down the road who sells her cookies and things from her garage.

daughter: (takes a bite, considers the taste) it is delicious but I've never been able to think clearly after blackberry.

mother: well then give it here, I'll take the berries out

daughter: take them out? why then it wouldn't be a blackberry muffin anymore!

daughter: not anymore.

mother: I'll have it just the way it is, then.

daughter: watch out for that stone

mother: (points) that one?

daughter: that's it. it's been moving for days, I'd assume it'll be here in the exact spot we're standing some time soon.

mother: well what am i watching out for?

daughter: so it doesn't roll over you and crush your bones into the dust you're kicking around right now.

mother: that's a good thought. I suppose I owe you something now.

daughter: a favor?

mother: sure

daughter: here, then, help me get this knot out of my shoelace.

mother: what do you have a shoelace for? to lace up your bare toes?

daughter: (looks down at feet) where did my shoes go? thought you'd play a prank on my while I'm saving your life, huh?

mother: i don't have any use for your shoes. got my own right here. (pats bag hanging from shoulder)

daughter: its a national crisis, the shoe crisis

mother: what about the acrobats?

daughter: what about 'em?

mother: they're not wearing shoes. they don't want to. so it's not their crisis.

daughter: (squints into the distance) here! here they are!

mother: get the blanket, they're going to be cold.

daughter: (to babies) did you find it?

mother: they're too small, bet they couldn't see over the bushes.

daughter: did you find it?

babies: no. we're too small, couldn't even see over the bushes.

The deer are on our side, they have been for nearly three weeks

you don't choose your enemies, you know

no. you make them.

as in create?

as in destroy. a relationship. and thus an enemy is born.

i had no prior relationship with croutons who attempted to gauge my eyes out of my head. Nor was i acquainted with the 'shrooms and sharp cheddar cheese which turned on me the instant they detected an oil and vinegar combination.

was this salad given to you, free of charge?

of course not. nothing is free anymore. i bought the lettuce and toppings from the market.

you shouldn't give your business to that market. they're no good.

well the rain has nearly drowned the entire back field, do you suggest i learn to grow vegetables in a river?

i don't think they would do very well. do you not see exchange of money as a relation?

that's ridiculous. of course it's a relation, it is what has brought us here in the first place.

Steinese

many saints can be many (saints)
(can) a saint that saint be many saints?
use a saint in a saint it's saint

would it be better if there were a celebration?

in my hand a saint a smile a dress a card
mr. saint mrs. saint "good day"
saints greet saints dance they bid farewell
good saints upset saints

perhaps many more should even more should

what a saint (what) a saint inside
inside (you'll find) saints hide in (side)

why i write

My first piece of writing came to me when I was three years old. I was in the playhouse that used to sit in my parents backyard, with the sad and unused sandbox underneath. The dog was the only one who ever put his paws in there (we found his toys buried beneath the surface after the snow melted each winter). "Don't touch" my mom would warn from her position in the garden, the sweat from physical labor under the sun darkening her salmon colored tank top. I had a notebook and pencil, and sat up in that play structure with it in my lap, drawing horizontal spiral lines across the page. My first one completed, I went to the next line and repeated the process. It was exhilarating, I was doing what my parents and older sister and grown ups could do! I filled up several pages of that seemingly nonsensical scribble, and it was my writing. Later came diaries, journals, reading Black Beauty in the empty baseball diamond after school (the cover was such a beautiful black, and the title the prettiest of gold lettering!). I wrote through the hard times in my life. They still hurt, but somehow the world I could create with my language helped me to understand that pain would eventually fade, if not end. My best friend called me a bookworm when I didn't want to play outside. I wanted to stay inside and read!! I wanted to write the story of the world! So here I am, majoring in Language, Literature and Writing in college, where I've met so many wonderful and inspiring writers- my professors- whom are what I want to be when I "grow up" if I must. My creative writing minor is the best thing that has happened to be, because for a while I only spent time with Oedipus and Odysseus and wondered what the hell I was going to do with this cannon. I might not know that answer yet, but I don't mind experimenting for now.