Spelling

BY MARGARET ATWOOD
…………….
My daughter plays on the floor
with plastic letters,
red, blue & hard yellow,
learning how to spell,
spelling,
how to make spells.

I wonder how many women
denied themselves daughters,
closed themselves in rooms,
drew the curtains
so they could mainline words.

A child is not a poem,
a poem is not a child.
there is no either/or.
However.

I return to the story
of the woman caught in the war
& in labour, her thighs tied
together by the enemy
so she could not give birth.

Ancestress: the burning witch,
her mouth covered by leather
to strangle words.

A word after a word
after a word is power.

At the point where language falls away
from the hot bones, at the point
where the rock breaks open and darkness
flows out of it like blood, at
the melting point of granite
when the bones know
they are hollow & the word
splits & doubles & speaks
the truth & the body
itself becomes a mouth.

This is a metaphor.

How do you learn to spell?
Blood, sky & the sun,
your own name first,
your first naming, your first name,
your first word.

Brought to you by the letter R

Letter R, oh how I love you. Let me list thy ways:

Reject
Refuse
Reduce
Reuse
Repurpose
Repair
Recycle
Reform
Replenish
Restore
Reclaim
Reform
Respect

An illustration by graphic designer Diego Gutiérrez for those of you who just skimmed the above list of words and didn’t think about what they mean in the context of our blatant consumerism:

An aside: I saw Salatin talk last night and don’t have the energy to rehash the good, the bad, and the ugly. But one of the points he (very briefly) hit on was about the cost of buying local/organic/fresh vs. processed/convenience/fast foods. It’s a valid concern for people in many, many communities. But, the cost of food notwithstanding, he asked us to consider what non-food items we (and others) purchase that we don’t need.

Tongue halfway in cheek, I immediately shouted out “Apple products!” Of all the shocked and pissed off death glares that shot in my direction (there were some laughs, too), the one that surprised me most was from a kid who couldn’t have been more than nine years old. Kids these days.

Seriously.  If that had been my daughter giving someone a dirty look for suggesting she didn’t “need” her electronic gizmos, it would be a long ride home discussing the definition of the word need.  And if she still tried to convince me she “needs” any of that shit, I’d pull a Mommy Dearest and make her give it away to someone who would probably sell it in order to put food in a younger sibling’s mouth.

If your parents meet at a marathon, it’s inevitable. You’re going to want to run. (At least, until you’re old enough to think for yourself.)

My kiddo ran her first 5k this weekend. She’s 4.25 years old, and she is awesome.

My friend Melissa came with us.  Unfortunately for Nina, Melissa and I are probably the two most directionally-challenged people in N.C.  We were a bit late.

Nina didn’t “get the gold” as she’d been planning, but she still kicked (my) ass.

*Nina’s mantra all the way to the race was “I’m going to get the gold…I’m going to get the gold…”  I guess that’s what I should expect since we’re always watching televised marathons and Olympics track & field reruns.  Had Nina actually been on time for the race, and won (which she most definitely would have – I saw the “competition” in her age division straggling over the finish line), she would have been sorely disappointed not to get a gold medal around her neck.