Special post: a three-way conversation
Quite often these days—particularly in groups that meet weekly—a kind of synergy permeates the session, and the pieces start to be in conversation with one another. This happened last week in a particularly noticeable way in our Wednesday group, so we thought we’d share it here.
The three prompts were “Underneath all the words,” “Above and beyond,” and then a third write where we took a line from one of the first two pieces and made that our prompt.
The writers were Shailla Chand, Rachel Windsberg, and Eve Lindi.
Underneath all the words
Eve Lindi
I was singing, or trying to, way high up in that range where it’s possible to squeak out a pure,
soft tone with very little breath - a place my smoke-limited lungs and my over-used throat can
sometimes reach almost effortlessly. Like a little bell, a wordless song spooled out, and the
Maestro’s face lit with delight as he added a humming beat.
And then, I began to think:
“Oho! How wonderful!” and
“Ah, he hears me!” and
“Oh no, this can’t possibly last.”
I began to try, to try and make it last, as if that moment, the one just behind me, could never be
enough. I wanted to live there, but my throat caught the not-enough-ness, and closed. His face
faded, and the dream broke apart.
I said to my throat, “See, it was a dream. Take that little cough, and then go back.” Miracle,
wonder of wonders, I did. The song was still there, to be taken up again, though different.
And I said to Dave, “I dreamed I was singing with Bobby.”
Underneath all the words
Rachel Windsberg
holes in the sand
where once the tide rose and roared and lapped at the edges
leaving curves of shells in amorphous patterns
holes with trails of kicked out material
there to the discerning eye.
From underneath deep water
to underneath deep sand
these creatures – mostly unseen unnoticed unconsidered
have burrowed in
waiting
for the next tide
hidden but not hidden
underneath
like layers and levels
of meaning
infused in verse [confused in verse?]
depth – mystery – tantalizing riches
in the words
and underneath.
Observe.
Above and beyond
Rachel Windsberg
Above and beyond the call of duty
Sacrifice. Self-sacrifice.
or Love? Distorted? Shaped by eons of unseen hands into what it should be
what it should look like
what it should – what?
[po]or Love – Deep, rich, glowing
like the molten core of earth
sustained and sustaining
or both?
Hurtling through time and space
No brakes / a train shooting sparks and squealing, Not in pain
Just grace
and magic
and peace
What more does this piece call for? What more is called for than
Love
and Heat
Above and beyond
Shailla Chand
above and beyond
really the only visual i get is of space
going above and beyond anywhere we could imagine
getting to the moon, orbiting earth, creating satellites to learn more
about everything above and beyond
have you been to your above and beyond?
have you been to your moon?
sent out probes to understand the other planets around you?
how close have you gotten to your sun? does it scare you? why?
without the sun, life would not be sustainable
it's hot a fiery but brings light and warmth
how far outside of your atmosphere have you explored?
what takes you there? what makes you stop?
maybe you want to go deeper - inward
to the core - the stable center of the earth
the center of gravitational pull that keeps us grounded
below and beyond
above and beyond
imagine exploring in all directions
knowing yourself so fully
faults and shimmers
and everything in between
how unstoppable would you be?
not in a dominant way, either
but in a grounded way
grounded yet hopeful bc you've explored above and beyond
but also below and beyond
nothing can shake you
at least, not for very long
why not reach for the stars
and dig deep into the core
there's no knowing what you could - and so much more
Above and beyond
Eve Lindi
Push came to shove, and what happened between them? Who was that, in the space where
they met? I think it was me, fleeing the scene to let them fight it out.
Something in that flight feels right, as if finally those forces cancelled each other out, revealing
the true path - that choosable path they both deny but want un-endingly. Yes it will all be OK on
that path. It already is. Push comes, shove comes too, and OK somehow squeezes out between
them and leaves them to their struggle to remain relevant.
Big Men will meet to decide the fate of millions. One will think he’s the irresistible force, the other
will insist on being the immovable object. Outside of them both, Eternity smiles indulgently and
gets on with the business of being above, beyond, beneath, and rooted.
I began to think (line from a previous piece)
Shailla Chand
that’s how i was raised to get through life
thinking
think your way through this and that
think about what you’ve done, what you want
there’s no space for your sadness or anger
think about how to make it better
think think think
the mind was the center of my universe
the only part of me given any credit
all other parts pushed down, shoved aside, abandoned
then one day, i began to think
really think
except i wasn’t thinking
i just thought i was
i was feeling, listening, observing
words not yet available to me
i want to do life differently
i want to listen to what it is my soul wants
i want to feel my way into that
i want to follow the hell yeses
and turn away from anything that’s not exactly that
a hell yes
and then use this beautiful mind to execute
Push and shove (line from a previous piece)
Rachel Windsberg
When Push comes to Shove
and knocks on the door
Waiting impatiently foot tapping nerves wracking
Anger boiling over with stories rich in imagination
And Shove – opens that door
Sliding the glass to the side
And looks deep into those eyes...
Poor love (line from a previous piece)
Eve Lindi
Poor Love. There she is, trying to hold up the weight, the freight of all we expect from her. She’s
not even “she,” necessarily, but if we’re inclined to use a pronoun, which do we most often use?
What if Big Men could touch their own capacity to feel and be Love, and who says they can’t?
Poor Love, not so poor, not staying at all in the boxes we prescribe, will be all that lasts after the
other forces expire. Perhaps - neither he nor she but they - plural, communicating in spite of
where our words want to go.
