Unapologetically Alive
Consider for Me: What do you desire to make of yourself?
Consider for You: Who do you wish to become? What drives your step?
Know what you want to make of yourself, because if you don’t, your future will be made for you, and this is not a service. It is not a gift, or something that will be bestowed upon you, but rather a prison within which you will be cared for just enough to keep you alive. But you will not live: fully, truly, unapologetically. You will not be able to sustain yourself.
Encourage each moment, but don’t let them keep you from your future. In doing so you are only detracting from yourself, withholding yourself, detaining yourself within your past. You can wait for your dreams, but they may never come to you. They don’t feel. They don’t chase. They don’t know how to yearn for themselves the way you do– the way only you can.
Your life began years ago, and your future starts tomorrow, tonight if you ask it nicely. I couldn't fathom telling you how to live, but I still must beg you to live. Live as much as you can in as little time as you may have. Live joyously, live proudly, and live with a love for yourself that only you are capable of. If you’re not gasping for air between the breaths of your own successes, what are you living for?
– Originally appeared on KUVR's "Town Talk"
Tell Me What I Am
For months I couldn’t have told you
Why we were so interconnected, breaking
Eachother. To this day I imagine there was
More of a bond in the fear of loss than
Anything else. As much as it haunts me,
I know who you are. I cannot be forever
Right, but there’s a perpetual understanding
That there was never anything left to hide.
Regretfully, you will have a greater memory
Of my mistakes than I could ever bear to hold.
Tell me what I am, so I may answer to you,
So I may answer for my faults, my sins,
My insecurities as they remind me of you,
And my past as it fades into a story of us.
The Prairie Girl’s Awakening
She grew up in a skirt the length of her knees.
It blew about and flipped over itself in the wind,
Asking for attention from the dawn’s light. When
Midday crept around, it brought with it promises:
Nebraska promises. They were deemed ceaseless
By some, but reprimanded by others in kind.
In between brick walls she began to miss old
Pasture thoughts. They always intended to choose
What was right based on the care of every soul,
Departing values from the sun’s chosen tinge.
She grew up with one foot buried in the ground.
It dug itself into the soybean roots and settled
There, begging to grow. She hoped the birdsong
Afternoon would salvage their differences,
Tossing pieces of gravel out among the cornstalks,
Watching them arch themselves in midair.
She spat out laughter into the creases of the dust.
It settled deep within the soil’s line that divides
Our future from the ever-growing distance between
Letters in the news and raw outreaches of hope.
The dusk knew better than most as it turned out
Prairie lights in a gentle nod of forgiveness to our
Grievances, now fixed firmly in rearview spaces
Of her mind: The Prairie Girl.
The Cliff That Wasn’t
There weren’t ruins or empty houses. There was nothing left to show just how much the cliffs had seen but the empty space itself, the wind, the waves, the sound.
___
Over a century prior, the little inlet had been the makings of a bustling town. Even though the houses were new and the construction was always ongoing, the people were convinced that there was nothing between them and their future. Those who lived there were obsessed with the idea that the city was meant to be the next best thing, after all the views were stunning. Nothing compared to the serenity that was found just off the ledge, where the sky and sea melted into one. Tourists flocked from hundreds of miles to catch a glimpse of the sunset over the water. There was something about it that seemed to reflect their joy back to them. They were always the same—the people, that is—mesmerized.
The town, however, was not by any means the most interesting part of the cliffs. For miles in each direction the coast was lined with wildlife and harsh jungle vines. You couldn't take one step without finding a rock or root underfoot. This however, only made life more complicated for the people. For the Sun, the wild parts of the cliff were far better. There was always something to see. Whether it was the stunning wild flowers, or butterflies, or even the leopards that hid deep within the trees, the Sun was invested in the stories between the vines, the stories of the jungle.
The first day a building fell into the water below marked the change of the Sun. While the people had usually been viewed as rather uneventful, this was seen as a tragedy. They were apparently shocked by the receding of the coastline, as if it hadn't been doing that for centuries. The city was old by the standards of its citizens, but incredibly young in the grand scheme of the wild. It had stood not too tall for just over fifty years. There had been a passage of time unlike anything the people had ever seen shown by the deterioration of the chiefs themselves. Having originally settled along the edge for the views of the Sun, the town was beginning to realize how close it was to the threats of the ocean below.
Beyond the cries of the townsmen, little had changed within the jungle. There were predators and prey. There was life and slowly over time, decay. While the vines themselves grew old and were eventually replaced one by one, the jungle changed its shape without evolving much of its composition. It did not mourn the edges of the cliff as they fell away. It simply shifted, quietly reclaiming what had always been its own. Roots crept over foundations, trees leaned a little further toward the sun. It prospered within the silence that followed the town’s slow disappearance.
___
There weren’t ruins or empty houses. There was nothing left to show just how much the cliffs had seen but the empty space itself, the wind, the waves, the sound. At the turn of the century the solar flares along the ridges of the sun had grown a bit themselves. Seeing this human number as a way to measure their own lifespan, they took to retirement and handed down their record-keeping to the next generation of the sun.
Midwest Traditions
On the hottest middle Saturday of June a small town came together in an attempt to celebrate their community. There’s little to see in your standard midwest town: a highway crossing, a Dollar General, a Casey's. As a part of rural Nebraska, the area didn’t aid much in the way of entertainment either. I’ve been neighbors with the middle of nowhere for my entire life, and as a teenager, my friends and I did not always enjoy the never-ending rows or corn. Searching for something fun to do was always a struggle. We quickly grew tired of our sore lack of options. Maybe we could go to the movie theater today? No, it’s closed. Maybe we could drive around? No, we have nowhere important to be. Maybe we could hang out at the park? It was possible, but that was about all we could ever think of.
Once in a great while you could find some kind of town-wide event to partake in. There were two parades a year, small Christmas parties, and over the summer, a heritage festival. June was by far the most interesting time of the year to be a teenager because there were just a few more options. One of the best weekends for my friends and I was the celebration of Swedish Days. While not everyone participated, it was one of the largest community celebrations we had, drawing people of all ages out of their homes. Over the course of this one singular weekend there was a parade, a farmer’s market, classic car show, downtown shopping, and even bounce houses and yard games on the front lawn of the courthouse for the kids. Between all of the open spaces the county held its annual barbeque competition.
There were always rows and rows of food trucks and options to choose between. The city planned ahead every year and closed down multiple streets. Our classic small town’s brick streets became the home for our little celebrations. After having put on the same event for years, it wasn’t too difficult to replicate. Plastic tables and folding chairs were set up in patches around the trucks. The smell of barbecue filled the air and gave an odd but traditional signature scent to the whole event. Some people came for the competition, but most just wanted to get out of the house and connect with their friends and family. The teenagers found it a little easier to find entertainment around the busy courthouse lawn.
As the band wrapped up and the smoke from all the rows of food trucks began to thin, my friends and I found a spot on the courthouse lawn. We enjoyed the mildly overpriced food alongside the mac and cheese that I had managed to snag for free as they were closing down one of the trucks. I’m sure the pork and ribs were all judged by someone officially. I have heard before that they at least used to be, but over time that seemed to matter less and less. While the vendors came to compete and win, we were really only in it for something to do. Like I said, being a teenager in the midwest leads to some real creativity. Having gone to the Swedish Days celebration about every year since I was born, I always looked forward to it. It was more about the community. The band, the tickets, the music, the laughter—it all contributed to what made our story something worthy of sharing.
“Mass Shootings: A Biography” by David Kirby. rattle. Volume 28, Number 1. 2022.
On David Kirby's "Mass Shootings: A Biography"
David Kirby’s poem takes on the topic of gun violence in a completely new way. The piece is a refreshing new take on what originally led to our current violence issue. Rather than focusing on the familiar angles such as legislative failures or shocking stories, Kirby dives deeper into the roots of societal tension. Through his words, he explores the evolution of the problem beginning centuries ago and points out the contributions from our increased collective anxiety. A mental problem that the poem discusses, showing how the news and the faster spread of media and information in our society has caused more people to harbor more worry regarding physical safety. This viewpoint takes a closer look at the effects of our rapid human development on our own safety. His further understanding of the problem suggests that we as a species were not adequately prepared for guns of the caliber that we are capable of creating. This piece made me feel conflicted about our long term growth, making me question if we are actually good for ourselves or rather a danger. Our emotional and ethical evolution simply hasn’t kept pace with our technological advances. He concludes by comparing the struggles to early adventures in the Arctic Circle, expressing “men carried food in tin cans, / an invention so new that there were / as yet no can openers” (23). This metaphor is an incredible way to portray how simply ill-equipped we are for our current situation.