Jan 11, 2008

if my name was hazelwood

i remember being a little girl (the weather was i don't know maybe nice i was with my brothers) we were at the house trailer my mom grew up in the country of ohio state (red and gray buckeye state) there was a school bus renovated yellow and black like a bumble bee and there were candy bars in the fridge and we loved our mom's sister's husband cause he was a welder and not dad (i didn't know once uncle drank my mom) he hated our uncle (but mom stayed inside where it was so dark we played outside) i knew uncle looked so old because he smelled different (my mom was older than she looked)

i remember the braided trees around grandma's white house (they were indian huts and towers for princesses—not in distress—and home for ewoks) i would desert the boys in the fruit-papered kitchen and eat with the grown-ups trying to be smart for my dad and me too (think think think) they were so old and intelligent spouting noise on religion and politics while i colored stories on my metal tray images of childhood fantasies near strawberry shortcake (my brothers wanted me to play g.i. joe with them but i couldn't make gun sounds)

there were girls on my mom's side but i wasn't pretty (i wore my hair in a ponytail every day i could climb trees) they weren't smart i heard my dad act but they were mom so i wanted the white-trash trailer house

fireworks were my favorite holiday cause i wore all red, white, and blue ribbons in my didn't want curly hair and sang america and watched the candy parade past grandma's white house (the sirens hurt my ears) i got to play with sparklers like a welsh fairie and aaaaahhhhh at the brilliance exploding on the dark curtain hanging up

it was dusk on my childhood but i was already old (writing stories with my barbie dolls) and the hazelwoods multiplied and the glovers retired into their theory-lives and i grew to love my curly hair and blue eyes (my brothers have pretty eyes too) i didn't know but i remember now i am both and neither the same and different i am simply me

2 comments:

Okie said...

Okay. I'm going to make this comment at the risk of hurting your feelings:

This post and the January 9 post are OUTSTANDING! So full of energy, emotion, lyrical whimsy, character . . . . They look as though you didn't try, but simply wrote; and they're potent, potent, potent.

And I feel that your Jan 7 and 13 posts are a little over thought.

I may be too much in the Kerouac school to give you and accurate assessment of your "more polished" work, so I hope another reader can put me in my place or rebutt this comment if they feel differently.

I just wanted to tell you that, because I, too, often overwork the life out of my drafts. But you're getting feeback from publishers, and, ultimately, no your own heart better.

Love this post.

Lindsey said...

I love this. It perfectly captures wanting to be an adult, clumsily trying to more than a child with "and eat with the grown-ups trying to be smart for my dad and me too (think think think) they were so old and intelligent spouting noise on religion and politics while i colored stories on my metal tray images of childhood fantasies near strawberry shortcake."