The cafeteria of my elementary school is now a shoebox -
a diorama made with paint that never fades.
The scene is set with dried glue: Cinco de Mayo
a Mariachi band plays for suburban youth
sipping chocolate milk cartons, eyeing the guitarist
who vaunted a three-fingered hand
We talked about it the rest of the day
over broken crayons. Missing limbs.
//
Alligators live in Connecticut rivers and
marshes, I insist. A stubborn girl
flipping through the CD binder, booster seat
nestled into worn leather. My Hello Kitty sandals
are peeling, planted on cigarette-strewn
beaches. Restless road trip legs.
The Fourth rolls around and I still
cover my ears like a child.
//
The parade of family photo albums never gets less
alarming, haunting glint of a wedding ring
purple PJs, and ancestors with familiar
faces that died young. Taut mouths.
I remember the crushing weight of a
Texas sun. Stung by fire ants.
How is one to survive the freefall
until morning?
//
Driving home on the cusp of 23, sheathed
by the rural dark of New England
I thrum through radio Christmas music -
my childhood self in the passenger seat.
"I never learned to French braid,"
I tell her with a dry throat, body heat waning
biding time is a gift
I lounge on memory slashed with dream ~
a woman in the pulpit on Christmas Eve
throwing oranges into the open hands of children
an offering; I've yet to learn the meaning of
worship divorced from grief.
//
Publication credit: 'Artificial Light' was first published in Ink and Marrow Issue 5
About the Creator
Erin Shea
New Englander
Grad Student
Living with Lupus and POTS
Instagram: @somebookishrambles
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
On-point and relevant
Writing reflected the title & theme
On Winning and Losing
Recently, the pleasant surprise of placement on the Vocal Bonus Leaderboard sent me down a rabbit hole. Now, rabbit holes are a pretty common place for me to spend time, but I don't always feel the call to write about them. To be honest, the thought of sharing some of them mortifies me.
By Dana Crandell3 days ago in Writers
Comments (16)
Cool 😎
Quaint lovely write!
Yeah, a TS all the way... And my Mom used to do French braids for the women in our neighbourhood. I'll give her a call... ;)
Cute picture and lovely poem. Congrats :)
A wistful, nostalgic and beautifully written piece. Loe the opening quote, too. Congfratulations!
What an adorable picture! Congrats on top story, well deserved!
Biding time is certainly a gift. Wise words poignantly put together. Lovely. ❤️
Congratulations on the Top Story!
Erin, you have a new subscriber and fan. This was enchanting, poignant, sad, nostalgic (like Brin said without using any of the traditional and cliched words associated with nostalgia) I imagined you almost telling me it...like in a conversational manner, if that makes sense? Rather than a very forced performance style. So glad Mackenzie shared this and that it got the Top Story it deserves. Well done.
very nice ,congratulations!
Fabulous work! Keep it up—congratulations!
Mackenzie shared this poem in the Discord channel and I’m so glad she did. Simply spare, deftly dense. Tracing your time from that smiling girl posing- posing- posing for the camera, until the you now.
First of all, what a poignant quote to choose. That is incredible and sent my mind into a full body dry sob (yes that makes sense to me, lol). What a masterpiece, Erin. I read it a second time and am just floored. FLOORED. I could break this down into a hugely long essay, if you want, but I'll be kind on your eyes, and just tell you how immensely I admire your work. My favorite example of your skill is how you connect missing limbs in the first stanza to alligators, then covering your ears on fourth of july, completing it all with a new concept: the impossibility of "worship divorced from grief." (I almost want that at the beginning because it is like a new idea, but at the same time, it functions here as a fantastic summary of all that came before.) These ideas all add up to at least one (but probably more) instances of childhood trauma, if not loss, which is stated later, but specifically it's the violence of each element, missing limbs, alligators, loud explosions, that really resonate with the reader. Favorite line: :I lounge on memory slashed with dream ~" WOW
"Haunting glint of a wedding ring". That line produced a lump in my throat. Your poem was so nostalgic and poignant.
Plaintively evocative. Of all the schools I've attended, only my high school remains. My grade school was closed, the junior high torn down, the college I attended is now a federal penitentiary, & the seminary where I earned my M.Div. moved from the inner city of Kansas City, Missouri out to where classes are hosted at Church of the Resurrection in Leawood, Kansas, located in the wealthiest county in Kansas. I never learned how to French braid, either, & after 42 years in ministry (30 of it professionally), I resonate thoroughly with its connection with grief. Powerfully written/expressed.
I could feel the nostalgia in the beginning without you ever needing to use the words "memory", "past", or "flashback". It's incredible how you established a mood by only sharing samples of your personal history with us. <3 Incredible writing skills, indeed.