YWP Newsletter- 2/6/21
Happy February, YWP!
I hope you’ve all had a chill start to 2021. It’s important to take time to create writing or art that you’re proud of, and to congratulate yourself on all you’ve accomplished. Huzzah for making it through the first month of the year! Even when the winter is dark and dreary, you can always come to YWP to enjoy writing and art.
This newsletter features writing, audio, images, and any happenings in the YWP Community. We are a small band of YWP Community Leaders who also help create Challenges, select Daily Reads, and Recommend work for publication. As the editors of the newsletter, our role is to bring you, authors and artists, extra audience and shine, and to bring you, readers, some very special pieces of work. Please pass along this newsletter or the links to the writing and art to bring the authors even more viewers.
Writers and artists featured in this newsletter: laurenm, gaia_lenox, GreyBean, MadsPads.3411, Moonsand, cedar, Ice Blink, Treblemaker, and IceGalaxy.
Join eyesofiris and Yellow Sweater for another Oh Snap! Online Open Mic on February 27 here!
Take a pause and listen to Episode 30, Part 2 of Line Break here!
This month’s Book Club pick is Pride and Prejudice! Read more about the book club here!
Check out the February issue of The Voice here!
READ ALL THE NEWSLETTERS HERE!
Photo credit above: Same Time Next Year...Right Here by laurenm
i wish so badly to be
a specific type of beauty
defined by silk sheets
and a mysterious expressions
but instead i am
waking up with bloody noses
and forgetting to put the caps
back on tubes of tooth paste
and the place in my tongue
that used to be laced with gold
is now covered
in scribbled calculus
that i spit out
along with a question as to where
you parked the car
and you are telling me
to trust you
and I am saying that
i have trusted no one
since a branch broke under my feet
and i fell to the ground
and you are saying
please go to sleep
and I am saying that the color
of room is no longer
and you are saying lovely things
and I am getting
the paint cans
Photo credit: Swirl by Ice Blink
We've never been to this park before. I've never heard of it before. We sit in an isolated, slightly shady cement area with tables. Behind us is a dark wood fence, with ivy crawling up its boards and pine needles drowning in its depths. Tall pine trees line the perimeter of the park, from where we are to the edge of the large field that seems to go on forever. There's a play-set, swing-set, and sand box a bit further past us.
The sky's clear. There are no clouds, just endless blue.
It's a bit chilly, with a light breeze blowing through the park. My sisters, parents, and I are sitting at one of the tables, while my grandpa is sitting at the other. My grandmother, in her wheelchair, is at the edge of his table.
She's bundled up in a heap of blankets, with gloves and a scarf and wool socks and a hat. My grandpa hands her his phone, from which German music is playing. As her eyes travel across the playground, I wonder what she's thinking about. Is she even thinking about anything?
Of course she is. The human mind shouldn't be empty. It shouldn't be missing important links. It shouldn't let you not be able to talk in the language your family understands. It shouldn't be able to not connect the faces of people you love to your recognition of them. I'm her sister's daughter one day, her neighbor another.
I wonder if she's thinking about Germany, about when she was a little girl growing up during World War II. I wonder if she's thinking about the time her brother's eye got blown out by a grenade. I wonder if she's thinking about when she heard her older brother was killed. I wonder if she's thinking about how much she hated that goat that seemed to chase her to the barn that one day. I wonder if she's thinking about the dancing club where she met my grandpa. I wonder if she's thinking about the days my uncle, other uncle, and mom were born. I wonder if she's thinking about the days my sisters and I were born.
I miss her voice.
I miss her hugs.
I miss her stubbornness and grit.
I miss seeing her cook in the kitchen with my mom.
I miss her making my mom smile instead of cry.
I miss her being able to have a real conversation with me.
I miss her mac and cheese.
I miss how once she got mad at my little sister for spilling milk at the dinner table.
I miss the life that used to flow through her veins and be shown so clearly in her actions.
I miss her.
"My angels," my grandpa says, gazing at me and my sisters in turn.
I look at my grandmother, at her chestnut brown eyes mindfully taking in her surroundings. I feel the quiet air around her, calm and peaceful. I want to believe that she's here with us, but is she really?
Even though her hair isn't gold, even though she's not wearing white, even though she doesn't have a halo or wings, she looks like an angel.
Yes, I think. Yes, she is an angel.
Photo credit: Silhouette by Moonsand
more random questions!!!
1. favorite movie of all time
2. favorite outfit down to the exact detail
3. food you'd eat all day
4. favorite project in school
5. summer or winter and why
6. three things that have kept you sane in 2020
Ok so maybe this is just me but...exploring any other writing website besides ywp
is like walking into the wrong classroom where you don't know any of the students.
And you're all learning the same thing but they teach it so differently.
And you try to find, say, a piece of lined paper but everything is so out of place
you get a card bored box instead and then you just kinda slowly
back through the door again and sprint back to the welcoming
beanbag chairs and maple ice cream of ywp XD