Nicole Cooley and Julia Kasdorf

            During the poetry reading, Nicole Cooley and Julia Kasdorf would alternate reading different poems from the book they chose to share. Cooley explained how she would give her first drafts of poetry to Kasdorf to edit. She described how awful her originals were and how Kasdorf is credited for making them good enough to publish. They seem to have a very close relationship and said that they became partners before either of them had books. A large amount of the poems that Cooley read were about hurricane Katrina and how it affected New Orleans. She also read a poem about how the levees in New Orleans were used to save the white neighborhoods by having the water flow into the black neighborhoods. This was new information to her and was moved by not knowing about this earlier while she was living in Louisiana. She was also affected by hurricane Katrina because her parents lived in New Orleans during the time and she did not hear from them for days so this affected her emotionally. The details in this poem were very vivid in regards to the emotions she was feeling during the time, what her siblings told her, when she finally got in contact with her parents, and also the damage caused by the hurricane. My favorite poem that she read was about these notes posted on the building of this one local restaurant. Based off of the note, as the listener, I was able to tell that this restaurant meant a lot to the people located in the community. Cooley said that there were hundreds of notes and she spent an hour in front of the restaurant writing them down. The poems Kasdorf read I found hard to follow. There was one about a kickboxing class and another I think that was about her childhood, but I was not exactly sure. With the poems that she read, I felt that it would be more effective if I read them myself so that I can analyze them and have a better understanding. Other than some slight confusion during the reading, I enjoyed listening to their poetry.

Playing God

Katherine used to be beautiful. She once had flowing black hair and green eyes that shined with life, but now her hair still dark is now dull and her green eyes always appear tired. She’s skinny, maybe too skinny, and her limbs just dangle about. Her meek hands wrap around the handles of her shopping bags. Her knuckles are white from gripping so tightly. She prefers to walk home rather than to drive since the grocery store is only a few blocks away from her house.

            On a typical day, Katherine would walk on the main road to get to the grocery store, but today there is construction being done so she decides to cut through a different street. She’s been this way once or twice, but doesn’t prefer it because she thinks it seems a little sketchy.

            Leaving the store, she makes her way with her bags through the parking lot and goes down a short street to get to the back road. The weight of the bags slows down her pace as she goes on. The road is empty of cars and the sidewalk is empty people. The only thing scenic about the back road is the expansive orange grove across the street. The few times that she took this road, she always admired the never ending forest of orange trees. The trees are dotted with oranges that are perfectly ripe for picking. She looks upon the grove as she walks by just thinking about how great those oranges probably are.

Walking pass and getting closer to home, her desire for the oranges keeps growing. “Taking one or two oranges wouldn’t be a crime,” she thinks to herself. She didn’t think of buying any when she was at the market nor did she have enough money to do so anyway. She glances to her left then to her right and crosses the streets with her long, boney legs guiding her. She goes to the closest tree to her and places her bags on the grass. She reaches up and tenderly grips an orange and forces it off of the tree. She takes the orange and stuffs it into one of her already filled bags. “I have room for a few more,” she thinks to herself again. Simple enough of a task, she picks about seven oranges and forces her bags to make room for them.

She was able to fit them all in, except for one. Even though the bag in her left hand is causing her enough strain and is just as heavy as the bad in her right hand, she forces her right hand to hold onto both of these bags. She takes the orange, puts it up to her face, and starts to peel it with her teeth. With half of the orange peeled, she takes a bit as she walks across the street. As her teeth sink into the orange, a faded black pick up truck is driving up the street. The more her teeth sink into the orange, the closer the truck gets. She successfully takes a bite. The truck smashes into her. The truck with only a dent on its grill smoothly rides along. Katherine is left there on the black gravel with her groceries and blood spread about.

Cracked Knuckles

            Quietly, sitting in the middle of class, I take my hand and make a loose fist. I then take my other hand and push pressure on it causing my knuckles interrupt the teacher’s lecture with a shattering crack.

“Emma!” the teacher exclaims in shock to the noise.

“Sorry,” is my automatic response and sunk into my chair embarrassed while seeing all the other classmates’ eyes fixed upon me.

            I always crack my knuckles. I rarely even notice when I’m doing it. I’ll be sitting down or walking and casually crack them without realizing I’m doing so. The only time I notice that I’m cracking my knuckles is when someone points it out or if my knuckles fail to make the snapping noise because I already cracked them not too recently.

            My mother always scorns me over this. Ever time she catches me doing this action, she’ll remark, “Stop that! You are going to ruin your hands!” Rumor has it, that if you crack your knuckles an excessive amount, you can get arthritis and thick knuckles. I keep hearing mixed comments about that theory. I hear that it is either true or false, but I don’t care enough to do research on it. I enjoy the feeling and sound of cracking my knuckles and it has now become part of my everyday life.

            A few weeks ago, this boy Chris in one of my classes decided to ask me on a date. We agreed that the date should be today. He picks me up from house and we go dine at Fridays. While we wait for our food to arrive after we ordered, he takes my hand and starts lacing his fingers through mine. He takes my small, delicate hand and is playing with my fingers looking at them. “You have musician hands. Do you play the piano?” He comments still examining my fingers. Chris is a musician himself. He plays various instruments including the banjo, so it took me by surprise when he mentioned that I have musician hands.

“No? Is that bad?” I respond.

 “Not really, your hands just seem overworked,” he says nonchalantly while sipping his ice tea.

            I take my hand back from him and stare at it. For the first time I see that my hands look rigid and most likely due to cracking my knuckles. My hands that I thought were thin and small now leave me self-conscious. I place my hands in my lap since I do not want him to stare at them anymore. I’m thirsty, but I don’t even want to grab for my drink.

Short Story

Right after I ended the call, I was more curious than concerned about what Brynn and Marissa had to tell me that was so urgent. Due to their reputation, I couldn’t help but assume that it had to do with their reckless partying habits. Scenarios raced through my mind. Was Brynn messed up on coke again? Did Marissa attempt to drive back drunk from her beach house? Or were police involved with their careless actions they tend to portray on a typical Saturday night.

I ran down the hallway towards my parents’ room. My mother was sleeping but my father was still awake since he tends not to go to bed till 3am and it was just about 1am at the moment.

“Hey Papa, um, Brynn and Marissa need me to meet them at Bell Tower. Can I go?”

“Why do they need you to meet them?”

“I’m not sure. They didn’t tell me. I’m assuming they’re incapable of driving at the moment.”

“They have parents. They can pick them up.”

“Dad, you know how they are and you know they’re not gonna call their parents.”

“Ok fine. Just be home by two so that Mom doesn’t start to worry if she wakes up.”

            I grabbed the keys to my pickup truck, deactivated the house alarm, and walked out. I then climbed into my truck and reluctantly pulled out of the driveway.  I was in no mood to go for a twenty-minute drive in the middle of the night to take care of my friends especially since my parents are going to give me shit for having such low life friends, but there are only so many people to choose from in this town. Plus, they are two of my best friends so I felt obligated to help them out.

            After driving through the empty streets while listening to Backstreet Boys to feel less lonely, I pulled into Bell Tower. Marissa was parked in the deserted parking lot waiting in her black Nissan Altima. Next to her car was and a police car where I saw Brynn being handcuffed with her face reddened from crying. There was another police officer talking to Marissa by her car. Right when I parked my truck, one of the police officers walked up to the window. They tapped on the window and I rolled it down to hear what he had to say.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Raven Blitz. The girl with the black hair called me to come meet her here but I’m not sure why.”

“Oh you were the person she called. She needs to be driven home. She’s too drunk to drive, but your blonde friend was drunk driving her car so we’re taking her in.”

Not quite sure what to say to all this, I only replied, “Thank you officer. Sorry about my friends.”

            I was unable to go up and comfort Brynn since the officers will just view me as an annoyance as ask me to leave. I refused to make eye contact with her. Not out of disappointment, but because there was nothing I could do for her so I did not want to bring her attention towards me. Marissa got in the passenger seat of my car and I started driving towards her house.

“What happened?” I asked so that I can get the full story of what happened.

“Ryan was having a party and the damn neighbors called cops so we had to leave before either of us were sober enough to drive.”

“So Brynn got a DUI?”

“Yeah and also arrested for possessing marijuana when they checked her, and I got a citation for underage drinking but luckily nothing more. Do you know what’s going to happen to Brynn?”

“I honestly have no idea and I am certainly not going to be the one to tell her parents.”

“My parents are going to be so pissed that I got a citation but whatever.”

            Once I dropped Marissa at her house she thanked me and was very appreciative that I drove her back instead of her being forced to call her parents. Marissa did not seem too concerned about Brynn. She was more focused on her parent’s reaction to getting in some trouble. I was worried for Brynn because she’s been in enough trouble as it is. She means well but just makes stupid decisions. I know when I get home and my dad will ask me what happened and I will obviously have to tell him. It’s guaranteed that my mom and dad are going to ridicule me for having a distasteful friend selection, but they can’t scorn me for helping a friend in need.  

The Blanket

Faded colors of green, pink, and yellow flowers

Are thrown upon the pillows of my bed.

With cotton exposed from the torn fabric,

Clean scent but a decaying appearance,

It maintains a soft and welcoming touch.

Woven into the decrepit cloth are my years

From the start of my life through my college days.

Resting in my bed I hold it tight to allow me to sleep,

The same way I use to when placed in my crib.

Though ragged and frayed, I shall never let go.

Optimistic Outlook

Optimistic Outlook

Ecstatic over the smallest of things,

While galloping through the wind’s breeze.

Love and joy is what he brings,

Though he thinks it is fun to tease.

He views the world as only kind,

That no harm will ever come his way.

When in regards to reality he is blind,

For he thinks all results in a brighter day.

Never in a disposition of gloom,

Because he only have a positive stance.

His personality brings happiness to bloom.

And his puppy face puts everyone in a trance.

This carefree personality is my inspiration,

How everything causes him a sense of adoration.

I decided to write my poem in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet. This is a form I have been familiar with, so I was more comfortable with writing a poem with this form instead of attempting another form. I also like this type of poem because it flows nicely and there are not too many rules to follow. I only have to remember the number of lines and the simple rhyme scheme. There is no set syllable rule to obey by. This form also fits the topic of my poem. My poem is about my dog that thinks everything in the world is perfect and does not see the bad in anything. He is very simplistic in personality but sometimes I think deep into his personality to try to figure out why he acts so happy. This poem form is similar to his personality. While reading the poem it seems simple enough with it’s rhyme scheme, but this structure is more complicated than it looks especially for someone who is writing it. The three rhyming quadrants all express the characteristics of my dog’s personality. The last two lines explain why I am writing about him. I chose to write about my dog because I truly do look up to him as a way to be a happy person even though he is just a dog. His love for all things intrigues me and I wish that I could, all the time, be as happy as my dog, to be happy just for happiness’ sake.

David Gessner

I expected David Gessner’s reading to be the same or similar to the Tayari Jones reading when I originally went to the reading. Instead it was quite different. He seemed like a funny and charismatic person, but I felt that he talked about himself a little too much. The concept of the book kind of bored me too because it is not a topic that interests me. Nature interests me while I’m around it, but not while I am reading it. Though I found the topic of his book kind of boring, he did keep me interested with his witty personality. I found the making of his book to be more interesting to his actual book. He gave me insight on what actually goes on when it comes to publishing a book. My favorite part of his reading was when he was talking about how he wrote in a part of his book is his belief on what is wild and the difference between wild and wilderness. He mentioned how he wrote about what he believes is the wild and gave it to his editor and his editor gave it back to him saying pretty much “no, that’s not what you believe,” and Gessner kept having to change what he believes to fit the editors view on what he “actually” believes, turning his “I believe” into “we believe.” He also gave me insight on how the publishing industry works by telling us how his book was bought by one of the publishing companies but they kept wanting him to make changes and kept pushing back the deadline before they actually published his book. I was disappointed that there was no Question and Answer section of his reading. For Tayari Jones, that was the most interesting part of her reading. Instead of just hearing Gessner talk about himself and read from his book, a Question and Answer sections would have kept the audience more interested in what he had to say. I enjoy audience interaction because it makes me feel that whoever is the speaker cares what everyone else has to say instead of his views about his own work. Other people’s insight and questions allows the speaker and the audience get a difference perspective about the work being discussed and also gives the audience more information about the reading and a better understand of the author’s intentions and ideas of the book.