The written

Cognitive Dissonance. While deciding my major in college, I experienced much of this. A few years later, when two of my closest friends began their graduate program in counseling, we had many conversations over my differing beliefs and behaviors.

After graduating with an English Writing degree, I finally realized that, yes I was supposed to teach. Now, in the middle of my Master of Arts in Teaching program, I again find myself questioning the future. However, the one thing I know how to do is write. The one ting I know I want to teach, is writing.

I remembered this again as I perused my neglected journal this afternoon. All my thoughts, dreams, quandaries, laid (lie, layed...still don't know that one) on the page, calling me back to it. Beckoning me to lay my heart on the black-bound white page.

While perhaps not necessarily a memory, part of one.

bittersweet and bloodied

The skin
here, is pebbled, smooth and shiny
with the wax they apply in the factory.
Underneath, sweet flesh is
sectioned, shared by small and sticky fingers
left on craft tables and sidewalks
discarded.
And the pith, holding the pieces
together, bitter and chill,
is tasted
and spit out.

What I want to say, I don't, because I know there is a chance you will read this.

Family Resemblance

This is my first go. Hope you enjoy!

My family is big. And bold, and brash and very European. My father's side of the family, that is. They color the sky with their eyes, and it's only my mother who, though carrying the dominant gene, has brown eyes. Thinking about my niece-to-be, I wondered not only who she would resemble, but who I resembled.

My sister is pregnant with her first child. Over the recent holiday, family members sang of the coming event, debating over whether she will be early, on time or late. Whether the kid will look like my sister-- dark hair and blues eyes-- or my brother-in-law-- blonde and bald with eyes I'm not sure the color of. The former is most likely, and the critter will come out at least three days late (I win!)

My sister and I are opposite in appearance: she with long jet hair, cerulean eyes, and a thin lean shape. The fact that she has no hips on which to hang her jeans has long frustrated her. While I, on the other hand, am tall (though not as tall as her) and with curves and hips to share. I reflect only disjointed pieces of my relatives: my paternal grandmother's ass, my mother's long Native nose, and, apparently, my maternal grandfathers penchant for slouching. I wonder if, perhaps, my shaky resemblance has aided in familial alienation. Is it possible to know those foreign, separate, of ourselves?

But what about my mother's mother? Tall, blonde, and striking. She caught and has since lost her Navy boy long ago. Lost first to the sea, and then to us all. Now she has been left to discover her own world, previously lived, and since forgotten. She is my most close mirror.