»
Archives
»
Critical Analysis #1
»
This is Where I'm From (A Trilogy)
| Critical Analysis #1 |
|
This is Where I'm From (A Trilogy) |
|
|
Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
**This is kind of long, and I apologise fot that, but I have to ask that if you start reading it, that you finish all three. I'd really appreciate it. Thanks.*** -wen ==================================================== This is where I'm from. This is where I'm from: A 2-storey house my father had built While he and my mother and sister huddled And waited in a small clapboard house next door Waited for the stone house to be finished, With its 3-car garage that only ever housed 1 At a time. It was in a neighborhood that consisted Of the upper-middle class who wanted to live Outside the bustle of town. There's an expanse of A field to the west, and the small airport to the east, A cattle field to the north, and the Expo center to The south, where they show animals and have the rodeo. Right behind our house to the south is my grandparents House that they had built in the 50s. We got our land From them - they gave it to my parents as a wedding Present. They met when my Papa was stationed at Tinker AFB in WWII. Grandma was a secretary for the judge At the courthouse. She met him with his two children - Ages 1 and 3 - that his wife had run off and left with him. They married and had my mom. They lived in that same Clap-board house while they huddled and waited for Their brick house to be built. That was 1954. Papa has A candy-apple red 1967 Quarmangia that he drove to the High school where he taught for 25 years, the same high School I went to. It was his signature car that he'd gotten From the shop class. They'd put in a Porche engine for him. The highway is west of the field, and at night From the western window of the second storey you Can see the headlights of cars for miles, 'cause It's all flat out there, where I'm from. The tiny airport Is mostly for small jet planes - not that anybody in my Town could afford one - and in the middle of the cow Pasture to the north there's a Catholic monastery-turned-college. On the east side of the airport is the Baptist college where my Mom and dad met, where they fell in love and got married, And where I took piano for 5 years. South of the Expo center Is a street that runs east-west. It can take you right by My dad's Photography studio - the most prominent Photographer in the county, that's my dad. Everybody knows Him. "He took my kid's school picture . . . my daughter's Wedding . . . our family portrait last Christmas . . ." Across The street to the east from the Baptist college is the Baptist Church I grew up in. My dad's been a deacon there for years, I was a toddler in the nursery there, and worked in that same Nursery with another generation of toddlers once I turned 13 until I left for college, and still work there when I go back. Northeast of my house is the mall that was only built 7 or 8 Years ago. It was a big to-do when it came. Straight south From my dad's studio is the high school I went to, and my sister Went to, and my step-brother goes to, and my mom went to . . . The principle was a jr-high counselor with my mom when she Was alive. Many of the teachers there went to high school or College with my mom. South of the high school is the dying Main Street of the town . . . south of that are the railroad tracks, South of that is South-town where all the blacks have lived since The founding of the town. It's not that they are made to live There - it's just that they've never moved out of it. De-facto Segregation. South of South-town is the river that my town Originally grew up alongside. Over the last century the town Has migrated slowly north, away from the river with its Hidden quicksand that can suck a horse and wagon down Instantly . . . This is why Main Street is dying. The town Has moved away from it. As have I. Away from the eyes That have known me my whole life. Where as soon as my Name is mentioned, the question comes: "Oh, are you Tom's Daughter?" "Yes." "He did my daughter's wedding . . ." or " . . . my wedding." Or "I went to school with your mother. She sure was a wonderful lady . . ." "Yes, I know." But I don't know. I didn't know her. She died when I was 5. All I know is that "she sure was a wonderful lady." This is where I'm from: where in the summer the June bugs climb on the screens and the rodeo lights burn Brighter than the sweeping airport light that shines in my Window and keeps me awake, where I can walk outside and See straight to the horizon-line, where my grandparents live on The other side of my backyard, where everything is cocooned In a corn-silk bubble, where the sky is always azure blue and The wind never stops blowing . . . This is where I'm from. My Mother's Last Dog I was twelve (Maybe I was thirteen . . .) Her name was Cupcake. (I know, I know, the name is weird, but bear with me) My mother had always taken In strays . . . cats, dogs, turtles . . . Whatever. The two dogs I Remember were Buttons and Cupcake. Buttons passed when I was too young to remember How she died. But Cupcake . . . She was adorable. She had Soft caramel ears and deep Milk chocolate eyes, a rough Pink nose. . . My mom had told me her nose was pink because someone had spilled flour on it. (I know, it's as silly as the name, but work with me here.) My mom died when I was 5. I don't remember much of her Death either. Buttons followed. But Cupcake stayed. She was my Last link to my mom. When mom Died dad took down all the pictures Of her. Nobody talked about her. Dad remarried six months later, and The new wife made lots of changes - New paint, wallpaper, furniture . . . It was almost like a different house. But I could always touch that dog And know that her hand had touched there Her voice had called that name She had loved what I loved . . . When I was twelve, (maybe I was thirteen) Cupcake disappeared for three days. We didn't think much of it - after All, dogs sometimes go off and return And three days isn't a very long time. My papa found her under his old car. She was shaking and her nose was dry. They took her to the vet, and after school My step-mom took me there to see her. They said she had worms in her heart, Lungs, and stomach, along with kidney Failure. They said we should put her to sleep. A skunk had gotten her in the eyes, So she was half-blind and reeked, but I held her. I held on to her, shaking and Crying as much for her suffering as for my own. I knew it was right, I knew it was for the best, But I was going to miss her. How would I remember her now? Where would I see my mommy's face If not in her eyes? My dad took pictures Of her for me, with me all red-faced and Puffy-eyed, still refusing to let go. And this is my last memory Of my mother's last dog. I Never Cried for My Mother Sometime between 1982 and 1985 My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Technology was just coming into its own then, But not quite there yet. And so it was that In June of 1986, she died. I was only 5 And not allowed at the hospital when it Happened. I remember watching the Mickey Mouse Club at my grandma's house, and People began to arrive. All my aunts, uncles, Cousins, neighbors, family friends . . . Lastly my dad and sister. My dad Took me and my sister in his arms and said "Your mother went to be with Jesus this morning." My sister began to cry. And around the room A unified wailing rose, but I did not cry. People try to tell me it's because I was too young, That I didn't understand. Bull****. I knew what my dad meant, but I did not cry. Six months later when my dad remarried I started to call the new lady 'mom' Because that's what my new brother called her My sister took me aside and blazed "Don't you ever call that woman mom. She is not your mother. You are disgracing Mom's memory." Even though I didn't know The word 'disgracing,' I got the idea, and I felt Guilty, because of course I believed everything My older sister said, and I never called that woman Mom again, but I did not cry. When I got older, my 'family' turned out To be just 5 people living in the same house By some quirk of fate, and the yelling Started and the blaming and the displaced Frustration, and I'd go into the shower to Cry, where the rushing water would muffle The sound and the steam would camouflage The redness, and I'd lean against the wall and Sob, "Mommy where are you? Mommy why Aren't you here? GOD WHY DID YOU TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME! . . . " even then I wasn't Crying for her. I cried for me, for life, for what Could have been . . . but not for her. Because people said I was too young To understand, and they were right in one Case - I never knew my mother. When I close My eyes I can't hear her voice. I can't Remember her smell. The only face I see Is the one picture I have of her, and the Only touch I remember is the cold of her hand My dad let me touch as she lay in her casket. I've cried for a million years . . . but I've never cried for my mother. |
||
| © Copyright 2000 Wendy Flora - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
(sorry for getting so personal... i was up until 3 in the morning with one of those "gotta write" things, and this is the result. it's long, but it wouldn't let me go to sleep until i'd finished all three) |
||
|
haze Senior Member
since 1999-11-03
Posts 528Bethlehem, PA USA |
Wendy I do know that feeling. I printed this (truly) and will read it in depth later, when all is quiet. I don't think its being ignored-but it is dauntingly long. It may go easier if you split it up in 3 parts. What I read of thus far is very good, I will give you my humble opinions after. Til Again (tomorrow) `haze ~haze "I shall leave nothing before matchsticks." |
||
|
jenni Member
since 1999-09-11
Posts 478Washington D.C. |
wendy-- hey, yes, don't think anyone's ignoring this. i like to read things over a few times and think about them before commenting, especially something like this. i've printed it out, too, and i'll get back to you on it, i promise. jenni |
||
|
John Foulstone Member
since 2000-01-01
Posts 100Australia |
Hi, Wendy. I'm not a fan of free verse, but I do try to read all the posts. So I'll just say you kept me reading to the end, and I enjoyed the read. Thanks. It's never too late to have a happy childhood ... |
||
|
Kirk T Walker Member
since 2000-01-13
Posts 357Liberty, MO |
I'm sorry I only read the first one, but I will try to read the other two later. This free-verse has really long lines and that is okay with me, but sometimes where you ended the lines (or didn't) threw me a little and by the end I want to read it like prose more than like a poem. I think it would make a fine local color prose piece but I think it can also work well as a poem. I also call my grandparents Papa and Grandma and the "June bugs climb on the screens" where I am from also. Out of curiosity, what state are you from, Kansas maybe? |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
