Looking for Home
She Will Not Be Quiet: A (mostly unedited) daily writing practice
Jotting from my journal. Day #172 of (mostly unedited) daily writing/sharing
Looking for Home
My mom likes to tell the story of how, when I was just a few years old, I insisted on taking walks on my own. That was back when it was safe to allow three year olds to take walks on their own, back when walks on my own were safer than my home. She would watch as my pigtails slowly disappeared down White Street, toward the big maples, the big maples that never yelled, never argued, let me be just as I was. I walked away from the noise, the eggshells, the arguments, the arguments, the arguments— the ground so soft beneath my tiny feet. Like kindness. Like home.
UPCOMING EVENT
Poetry & Conversation
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Julia xo
Just re-read this piece of yours. "...back when walks on my own were safer than my home." So heartbreaking.
Putting Day 17 here as well.
Day 17, Jill's Morning writes, excerpt:
Feeling nervous about the march today. National March for Palestine. Can't say why exactly, except for big crowds, the possibility of violence, big anger, my challenge with big anger feelings. But I am not starving. I have house and home, safety and security. I must do something.
Bowing both to the difficult truth of this poem, and to its proffered consolation, gladly received.