“we were exhausted” by Julia at J, W, and A’s house

Thursday, May 10, 2018
11:08pm
5 minutes
To The Beach
Brian Doyle

It was as if time travelled back into the clock and left us there, happy
The only thing we were waiting for was the still frame photograph of our lives once lived

At the end of the day there was a host of us bent over at the hip
hard and fast kiss at the moon, and a thank you brushing the cloud
We have lived here once, echoing like the faint buzz of a ghost pepper bleeding out from the lips
a lasting like this one and we were a donation
a giving of our bodies from one open wound to another
and we did not waver
we did not ask for cotton swabs or for distilled gin
We drank at the quiet like a dream coming home for the first time
We knew aching the way a mother of seven might.

“drove up to the prison” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday August 30, 2017
11:39pm
5 minutes
This American Life episode 282

can’t stop a freight train
on its way
it knows where it’s going
it goes
and goes
it doesn’t think to break to take
in the scenery
it doesn’t put off gettting to
its destination because there is
something easier to do
nothing is better than arriving
when all you’ve done is travel

can’t stop a freight train
on its way
it carries the load it was meant to
doesn’t complain about the weather
the speed of the tracks
doesn’t beg for something to make it
more fun
doesn’t whine about needing snacks
it definitely doesn’t light the Palo Santo
over and over again until it believes
it doesn’t call its mother on the
phone to ask for directions
it knows where it’s going
it goes

“The span of my hips.” by Julia on her couch


Sunday October 27, 2013
10:19pm
5 minutes
Phenomenal Woman
Maya Angelou


You don’t know this but I will roar. The size of me is greater than the size of you. My anger moves mountains. My kindness moves them back. I’m sick to my core when I think of the pit that lives there. It collects it all, shakes it around, and fills me to the brim with spite and power and rage and honesty. I cannot lie. I cannot, will not, cannot lie. And you don’t know this, but I will roar. I will blow the determination of a thousand armies through your heart and punish you there with the real hurt from my stomach lining. I will make you fear the day you see me at my most. I will make you rue the day you witness what my strength allows me to do. The journey of my mind, the span of my wings, my hips, my dreams. I’m everything and I am full of the aching. You don’t know this, but I will roar. From the ocean floor to the sky’s vast ceiling, I exist and I change, I sway and I remain. I am courageous. I am bright.
I am not waiting for you to know this.

“The sheriff nodded.” by Julia at her kitchen table


Sunday, November 25, 2012
9:49pm
5 minutes
A Lesson Before Dying
Ernest J. Gaines


I wasn’t going anywhere without Lucy. I would be damned if they locked me up this very moment and I had to watch her watch me get taken in. I knew damn well that Lucy wasn’t going to be coming with me. And suddenly I realized: I couldn’t go either. I was stuck to that girl like glue, you understand. Her freckles, her smile. I was lost in her baby blues the first time I laid eyes on her. She was shivering in the cold, wet from the rain, and alone. And I picked up that perfect little girl, with the coat off of my own back, and I cradled her there. Remember singing to her until she fell asleep, poor thing. Couldn’t stop shaking until she was dreaming. I wanted her to know I was there, and that I wasn’t going no place else because we had developed a perfect bond, you see. I never wanted children. Not in my whole life. I wanted a dog, maybe a cat if I got too lonely, but never ever a kid. Then that day, her tiny body sitting in a pothole on the road? You think I’m going to turn my back on her? Absolutely impossible. Some sorry excuse for a human being left her there on purpose. Couldn’t care for her. Well I couldn’t either, but that didn’t stop me, you see what I mean. I was going to keep this girl alive if it were the last thing I did.
I didn’t want to explain that whole story to the sheriff. Something about his smirk told me he wouldn’t understand. Or if he would, I knew he just wouldn’t believe me.