“it was just sort of whispered around my family” by Julia in her bed

By: Julia
creative writing, poetry, these five minutes, , , , , , , , , ,

Friday October 25, 2019
10:04pm
5 minutes
Choosing Happiness
Veronica Ray

the weird thing was we were all saying it just at different volumes

when dad tried to make us keep our doors open he didn’t really know why and he didn’t know how to tell us that so he stood his ground

unfair it’s unfair but it would not get brought up at the dinner tribunal

no one said it then or ever or louder than a whisper because it was all still in beta: what might happen if we disrespected any of them,
even unintentionally

better than what they got we were told, and sure, it was, and sure, they learned, but we had so many questions answered with “because I said so” it stopped making sense when you heard it

and “why” felt like the emptiest hug, the most out there on a limb next to I love you

that whispered around our family too but at least we fixed that one when it counted most

“Yes, that’s what you’ve told me to do.” By Julia in Kettle Valley

By: Julia
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Friday June 28, 2019
5:35pm
5 minutes
Dipped from a dream

I wait by the foot of the stairs because I hear your steps, softly
Beyond another life and yet
you do not make your way down
the hall and down to me
and maybe this is the last time I will think quietly that you might
I have been carrying you gently from year to year and not much has changed
Or if substantial is a measurement then nothing has
I wish to not be carrying you as if you might whisper into the cracks of my hands something I will remember
Something like the velvet of your ear lobe between my thumb and forefinger or the thicker skin on your neck that ties your skull and backbone together
Something I won’t even try to forget Something exactly like that

“silence that voice.” By Julia at her desk

By: Julia
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Wednesday October 3, 2018
9:41pm
5 minutes
Sitting in the Fire
Pema Chodron

She doesn’t whisper anymore
she begs
she wants me to be loud
that’s my goddamn mantra anyway
Yell Woman, Yell As Loud As The Moon
But the pull of this river is telling me something different
That I should quiet the voice quaking
that I should walk in silence and observe the wind moving
I am being tested every second and there are so many seconds
which mountains I’ve made and which I’ve climbed
I am fairly certain there have been no molehills worth dying on
I know that is what the pull is saying
the one that doesn’t whisper anymore
The one that doesn’t say anything at all
Wisdom is knowing you are right and not beating a love
over the skull with how right you are
and how wrong they have been
It is about knowing deep within and underneath bone
that sometimes saying less is saying more
and saying nothing is saying nothing

But what about the Yell Woman.
The Women of Yell that I have built all my bridges on
They rumble sometimes
and still
I must sit

“younger than before” by Julia in her bed

By: Julia
5 minutes, creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing project, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Saturday December 2, 2017
11:50pm
5 minutes
Place To Be
Nick Drake

The trees held open the door for us today. They asked us to step through, mind the roots.
When we entered, we lifted our heads to the sky, opened our mouths in preparation, and waited to catch a droplet on our tongues. You were close to getting one. I didn’t think the tree would give it up that easily. I couldn’t catch one because I was too busy staring at where they were beginning to form. The droplets fell from the crease of the branches like an armpit or the back of a knee. I suddenly realized how disrespectful it would be to drink someone else’s sweat; something they were trying to get rid of. Something that held the awful truth of them. Our vision got blurry there, as we wept among the openness of it all. The eyes lining the trunks watching our every move, our every step, our every promise. One in particular whispered something to you. When I asked, you said you couldn’t really hear.

“feeds your hunger for meaning” by Julia on her couch

By: these five minutes
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Sunday, October 11, 2015
12:00pm
5 minutes
An e-mail from The Sun

If there’s a moment like this again, I don’t know what I’ll do. I just don’t know how many more I can stomach. Seriously. It would be nice if Audrey wasn’t so entirely awkward, but she is, so we get moments like the one we just had when we never expected to get them. Everybody here is so full of shit it’s like I can’t escape my own blood. Fuck all of this! Seriously, it’s not working anymore. I can’t be the only one who sees that enough is enough. Or can I? I have big plans, Ramon. I’m not kidding, I’m bigger than this place and as soon as I can get out, I’ll be so far gone. I don’t want to have to defend my lifestyle choices to you, like what are you, my mother? It’s bad enough that Audrey says that shit in front of her, and gets her all riled up, but I thought you were my ally here. Now I know everyone is just whispering behind my back as if I can’t tell it’s all about me.

“She locked me in a room until I said a password” By Julia at her desk

By: these five minutes
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Friday, August 7, 2015
12:03am
5 minutes
from a story on The Moth

Come on Sid, I said, face buried into the wall. I’m right here. Right beside you.
I don’t want to come out, she said.
You don’t have to, I told her. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do.
Do you hear that? She asked me. Whispering just loud enough to make out.
What do you mean?
I didn’t hear a thing.
The music. It’s beautiful..you don’t hear it?
Describe it to me, I said, leaning my head back toward her.
It’s like a snowflake, dancing, and spinning, and falling softly on a bed of rose petals.
Beautiful?
Yeah. You should hear it, Ray.
I’d like to.
You’d truly feel it, she said.
It’s okay, I told her, don’t worry about me.
It’s not something I can keep, she said.

“MADE IN ITALY” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes
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Saturday October 25, 2014
3:05am
5 minutes
The back of a room spray

I’ve been feeling my roots being tugged deep down from within me. They reach reach into the ground and spread like a forrest fire on a mission. They dig and they wrap around the rocks below. They hold on tight so no one can pull them up. Not even magic can bring them to the surface, poking through the tops of the earth. I was born in this place many years ago. I know this because my heart sings when it hears the call of home. A singing heart is one thing to hope for in this life. Not all hearts sing. Some whisper. This one of mine likes a quiet hum to start it off, finishing with a lulling chant and a whoop every now and again. I was brought here once and made a promise to return. Threw my coins into the fountains, wished on bracelets and pizza crusts. It worked. I keep coming back. Like a cat through the window left open at night, crawling softly into the bed occupied by a lover.

“you want to be chosen” by Julia on her bed

By: these five minutes
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Tuesday June 3, 2014
1:01am
5 minutes
This American Life podcast

You want me to open up a store and sell candles. You tell me this in your half sleep as you kick up the duvet from under you. It’s like you’re mad at me for making us sleep with a cover at all even though the summer hasn’t fully started yet and it still gets really chilly at night.
I ask you what kind of store and you say one that welcomes bulls. I think you mean china shop but your reference is a little muddled in your groggy mind. You tell me, you’ve got to start selling those candles! And I ask you, which candles? And you say, with a cute laugh, the ones you make! As if it were the best idea you’ve ever expressed. I tell you I don’t make candles and you turn over and grunt into the sheets, probably because you resent those too and you’d sleep on the bare earth if I hadn’t bound you to all these societal norms like I have.
I can’t help in that moment to lean over to you and kiss your head.
Sell those too, you say in a whisper.

“primarily unoaked” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: these five minutes
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Thursday January 16, 2014
2:49am
5 minutes
the drinks card at FRESH

She’s been unoaked by him
She’s been de-barrelled by him
She’s been popped
She’s been bubbled
She’s been released by him
I watched it all from behind the lens
From under the table
From the kitchen
(Them in the living room)
I saw the lights dim and the candles glow
I heard nothing but the whisper that says
too much
She’s forgotten about her bunny
Fred
Her love of roast beef dinners on Sunday
She’s distracted by the quake of her chest
Against his
She’s dreaming only of the freckles on his back