Poetry Anthology “Leg Brook”

photoMy father was digging around for things to sell in his latest neighborhood garage sale and found this dime piece. ——–>

In the letter I wrote to myself in kindergarden, I said I wanted to be a veterinarian and go to NC State.  I got one of those goals accomplished, but learned rather quickly that the only thing I loved about biology was dissecting a frog.  It seemed my grandfather’s frog catching rubbed off in the classroom.  Fried frog legs are a delicacy in the Shealy house.

The world should have known I was coming out to write when my father found me making Poetry Anthologies for class projects.  It seemed this was also during my Wizard of Oz phase if that spiked raggedy-ann is in fact a scarecrow.  You never know though, it could just be a creature of the night.  I believe the green thing is a UFO.  I wasn’t only into far away places like Oz, but faraway places like Mars.

I liked to think I was more neat when I was in second grade.  I like to think I was born with these immense organizational skills that I use in my classroom, however it seems I dealt easily with scratched out letters and wrinkled paper.  It gets better.

emenyMy spelling was probably the best part of my childhood writing.  Turtle became tortul, which is another form of the word “torture.”  It all becomes clear to me in the spelling of that word.  I clearly wasn’t riddled with enemies, but “emenies.”  I don’t even want to think about how I would sound out “sea anemones.”  Too bad Nemo wasn’t out when I was a small child.  We had to stick with the “There once was a…” Disney Princess movies.

Now I write poems and stories about Southern women and their deep history of waiting.  Women who have spent retirement listening to the heartbeat of a rocking chair, the creak and thump.  Women who can rub their fingers together to make the sound of a cricket’s switch back legs.  Girls with the patience of a firefly.  Women who wear shawls of weight across their shoulders while they watch pastures dry.  Back then I wrote poems about “losers” and “emenies.”  I wrote limericks about ducks named “qwuackers” because I knew somewhere in the cobblestones of my brain that U came somewhere after Q most of the time.  There’s definitely a W in there though when you sound it out, really gives it that onomatopoeia.

rittedWe should probably talk about how perfect my cursive is.  What happened to students knowing how to sign their name at the bottom of a check?  Apparently that’s of no use anymore because we live in a world of instant credit cards and square machines.  Well, back then, I had the cursive of a “Dear John” letter.  I had the cursive of a man’s dusty pocket, folded into the square of his chest.  I wonder what a hand-writing analysis would say about this cursive.

legIf the poem to your right is “the fourth worst pome I ever ritted” than what were the three before that?  I need to practice my cursive in order to figure that one out.  Maybe these poems came in my later years when I thought I was a poet writing about college boys and the way they open their whole mouth to kiss as if they’re rewriting Moby Dick.

I just like that this poem discusses a farmer’s wife who is highlighted in the majority of my latest short stories.  The wives in my stories carry around mud in the cracks of their boots.  They pick the clumps with a butter knife underneath their kitchen tables.  Eat with those same mud-caked hands.  I’m writing these women still.  I must have had an inkling of this in second grade.  I must have known myself, led lives before this one where I lived on a cattle farm and found milking a religious experience.  Did I know then that lives later I would write to be.

My characters are telling a story of ages.  A story of a second grade girl who loved poetry so much that she made a glitter cover page and wrote each poem in her best cursive.  What she didn’t know was that she’d be staying up nights after work to get the story down.  She’d be writing a marsh stranded with Carolina girls who knew what waiting felt like, holding heat in their crossed arms.

15 thoughts on “Poetry Anthology “Leg Brook”

  1. debzywebzy says:

    It’s amazing reading stories I wrote when I was little. I have a bunch of them on my blog. I’m so glad I kept all those books, although it made me realise what a twisted imagination I had. I guess that’s why I can’t escape writing even now, to get the twistedness out.

    • Cassie says:

      I wrote some very strange things. I didn’t post the “my book” assignment but it had some doozy stories. I loved looking through those.

  2. Brianna Soloski says:

    Love it. I have two books I wrote – one when I was in second grade and one when I was in fifth grade. Maybe one of these days I’ll share them.

    • Cassie says:

      I had another one called “my book” which is a bunch of three sentence stories that start with “There once was..” and my mom said to my boyfriend, “You can tell we read her a lot of fairytales when she was little.” Haha. : ) You should totally share yours. They’re so funny and interesting.

      • Brianna Soloski says:

        We’ll see. I get nervous about sharing my work. It’s not always well-received.

      • Cassie says:

        Don’t be silly. There’s so many books out there that people absolutely love and that I loathe, and vice versa. Someone will be happy you posted that and someone will be changed because they can say, “even if my work isn’t well-received, I still have the confidence to share it occasionally.” I don’t ever want to say SHARE YOUR WORK ALL THE TIME because book publisher’s and literary mags DO NOT want already published work (on a blog or anything). However, it’s always nice to see a little part of someone else, ya know?

  3. Let's CUT the Crap! says:

    Lucky you. I have found some of my writing from wayyyy back then. It’s crazy trying to patch together that longing passion with today’s grown up self. Gives me chills.

    Like this as post material. Makes us all look back. Thank you.

    • Cassie says:

      Isn’t it?! My mom always says she should have seen me teaching way back when because I was always so involved in youth organizations. However, no one in my family saw this one coming even though the signs were there. It’s as if we’re set-up to do something from day 1 :)

  4. Bea says:

    I am so glad that your Dad saved all of your things. There are probably many more stories up in that closet. It’s full!!! I also enjoy looking back on any of your drawings. You never just colored a bunny, horse, cat, etc. They were always patchwork quilts, bunnies with multi-colors, and cats that looked like a rainbow ran over them. I am not sure if you saw the world in a multitude of bright colors, or if you just couldn’t decide what color that bunny should be, and so you “diversified” him.

DISCUSSION:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s