Fearsome and loathsome hormonal intrusions,
these things we call fights are the sparkling of fireworks
the blasting of dynamite through a sharp mountain, the crushing of flesh under prize-fighter's fists and
the crying of mothers in bathrooms with vent fans.
As ancient as typical Biblical tales or
as common as ire between female and male,
I do not dare look to the crowds for my answers, I
do not dare ask if our anger is healthy, I
do not dare step in your pathway toward manhood, I
do not dare love you so much you don't grow.
Lovingly touching your graded school papers,
these things we call memories, proof that you live here
the blasting of heatwaves through ribs of our mothers, the crushing of time passing sharply,
stealth lapses
the crying of mothers in bathrooms with vent fans,
the blasting of freedom, he needs me no longer, the
blasting of time, child to man, small to strong so we weather these fearsome hormonal intrusions and
cling to delusions, the days come and go.
sea 09/25/2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Infinity
"Mom, does space go on forever?" says the 7-year-old.
"Well, research supports that theory, and most of our science points to the possibility that it does go on forever, is infinite, has no boundaries." I leave out what I want to say next, which is that space has no boundaries, like Fantasia. She will not understand this reference, even though she is smart enough to understand a conversation about infinite time and space.
My daughter crosses her arms, scowls, and says, "That is going to bother me."
A little while later, she reports, "That is still bothering me." Later, after a snack, an update from the couch, "I am going to be thinking about this for awhile."
I call my mother and tell her the above conversation and she reports that she, as a child, was petrified by the thought of space going on forever.
My mother and my daughter, both concerned about infinite space, infinite time, when we have neither with each other, at least here on this plane. Those who will call us their past, those future generations with Mom and me and Belle all mixed up in their DNA can have the same conversations with their mothers and children with the same result, same unknowns, same vague illusion of the edges of things.
That is going to bother me.
I am going to be thinking about this for awhile.
SEA 8/11/13
"Well, research supports that theory, and most of our science points to the possibility that it does go on forever, is infinite, has no boundaries." I leave out what I want to say next, which is that space has no boundaries, like Fantasia. She will not understand this reference, even though she is smart enough to understand a conversation about infinite time and space.
My daughter crosses her arms, scowls, and says, "That is going to bother me."
A little while later, she reports, "That is still bothering me." Later, after a snack, an update from the couch, "I am going to be thinking about this for awhile."
I call my mother and tell her the above conversation and she reports that she, as a child, was petrified by the thought of space going on forever.
My mother and my daughter, both concerned about infinite space, infinite time, when we have neither with each other, at least here on this plane. Those who will call us their past, those future generations with Mom and me and Belle all mixed up in their DNA can have the same conversations with their mothers and children with the same result, same unknowns, same vague illusion of the edges of things.
That is going to bother me.
I am going to be thinking about this for awhile.
SEA 8/11/13
Monday, June 3, 2013
Bell Laboratories and the Mysteries of New Jersey
Bell Laboratories
By Sara Elizabeth McNeilly Ammon
You were invited to come help the men who were developing
C language and microchip technology, among other items,
you list them plainly as I put in another load of laundry.
Seven were chosen country-wide, you were one of them and you
casually mentioned tonight
you have a VHS tape of some of your stay there, some of the
talks, you in a lab coat and Bell Labs and you wondered
if you should just get rid of it, whether it would be worth
trying to convert, whether we should watch it.
I was a
little girl and you were in New Jersey. You
came home with a present for me, a new purple swimsuit, and I was sure the
color was so bright and classy because it was from exotic New Jersey with its
beaches and its scientific mysteries.
You
turned down robotics but chose working with gallium arsenide wafers, disks that
were layered and etched with acid, spun and thinned, and you helped with this
as well as fixed the engineer’s overhead light so it would not shine in his
face. You gave him a racy nickname, and
the guy who didn’t want to like you ended up inviting you to the beach with
himself and his wife, you made friends and hung out with Nobel Laureates.
My son asked if a laureate was a runner up.
Tears in my eyes,
no, they were the real thing, talking to Dad,
he said he stopped counting how many were there for the
workshops, how many he spoke to, said he regretted not taping the entire summer
and
I made a note quickly on a shopping list next to me to find
the tape, find my Dad, the guy in the lab coat who turned down the job and came
back to Nebraska and took my sister and I to every single swim meet every single
summer, never missed one, and spoke to us in the same language he would have
used in New Jersey.
Acid corrodes, thins the plate, new language, C language, Find the
robotics, technology, language, fix it, find it and fix it, fix the light and
make the microchip,
Now, NOW. Now, find the
chemical, find the compound and engineer a solution for the current
situation. The 2013 situation, bracing
for impact,
The acid corroded, find it, Find IT, cure
it, fix it all.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Just Because Something is Sleeping Doesn't Mean It's Not Growing.
Hi sleepy/please don't eat me.
Part I
Upon awakening a long-asleep tiger,
ancient but ageless, old in years but
vibrant, healthy, and so very strong,
approach slowly, crouched.
As she stretches, yawns, gathers herself together and
rises, takes in her surroundings, including you,
extend your arms in a surrender pose,
smile, and say in a light, breezy tone,
"Well, hi there!"
Do not mistake her puzzled expression for passivity.
Do not mistake her lack of pouncing-motion for apathy.
Do not think for one moment that she was built for anything other than your
complete and utter dismissal via destruction and digestion. Do not
think that she is interested in your purpose here, that she will run her actions past her God first, or
will meditate and make sure destroying you is the best next right thing.
Cautions understood, you are aware of the risks associated with
facing a carnivore with the foggy mind of one long dreaming, the achy empty
stomach of one long hibernating.
You can look her in the eye, and there is no need to run. It would excite her anyway, running
would make her want to exercise her long muscles and the game-like quality of your form prancing away, reeking of adrenaline and the sweat of fear would only please her oldest instincts.
You do not need to run.
There is a conversation the two of you need to have, a silent but serious
communication, occurring between one who was once a cute, cuddly ball of fur, and one who was once an innocent girl who didn't think such a small thing could do such large scale damage. (she remembers when the drooling kitten gnawed on her small hands, napped next to her, shared her blankie, binky. both so small, the small that can tumble and snarl but then laugh and come running when mom calls.)
So sit down, slowly, and look her in the eye. She is not angry, she just needs you to show her that you are not afraid and are willing to face her.
She is NOT ANGRY!
(just hungry.)
sara elizabeth mcneilly ammon, 05/21/2013
Part I
Upon awakening a long-asleep tiger,
ancient but ageless, old in years but
vibrant, healthy, and so very strong,
approach slowly, crouched.
As she stretches, yawns, gathers herself together and
rises, takes in her surroundings, including you,
extend your arms in a surrender pose,
smile, and say in a light, breezy tone,
"Well, hi there!"
Do not mistake her puzzled expression for passivity.
Do not mistake her lack of pouncing-motion for apathy.
Do not think for one moment that she was built for anything other than your
complete and utter dismissal via destruction and digestion. Do not
think that she is interested in your purpose here, that she will run her actions past her God first, or
will meditate and make sure destroying you is the best next right thing.
Cautions understood, you are aware of the risks associated with
facing a carnivore with the foggy mind of one long dreaming, the achy empty
stomach of one long hibernating.
You can look her in the eye, and there is no need to run. It would excite her anyway, running
would make her want to exercise her long muscles and the game-like quality of your form prancing away, reeking of adrenaline and the sweat of fear would only please her oldest instincts.
You do not need to run.
There is a conversation the two of you need to have, a silent but serious
communication, occurring between one who was once a cute, cuddly ball of fur, and one who was once an innocent girl who didn't think such a small thing could do such large scale damage. (she remembers when the drooling kitten gnawed on her small hands, napped next to her, shared her blankie, binky. both so small, the small that can tumble and snarl but then laugh and come running when mom calls.)
So sit down, slowly, and look her in the eye. She is not angry, she just needs you to show her that you are not afraid and are willing to face her.
She is NOT ANGRY!
(just hungry.)
sara elizabeth mcneilly ammon, 05/21/2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
Submit!
As I prepare to
send you some of the things that were
born in my brain and came out of my
hands onto this page or
onto that paper, I pause for a moment
and think of how odd it is, the fear
the gut aches and the
fuzziness of mind accompanying
the simple act of
submitting ones innermost self
for another's approval.
Assuming that you are not
repulsed or annoyed
embarrassed for me, indifferent or
simply off work the day my
envelope graces your desk
or file appears in your inbox
or portfolio rests upon your lap,
I implore you to be kind, and yet
welcome the dismantling of my
ego, as it should not be presenting papers
under my name.
I give you tiny chunks of my past in paragraphs
or throw a story at you hoping you catch it and
want to throw it into some else's
arms, like it enough to think on it later, I give you
small portions of my experiences or my
imagination or the synaptic firings of mere
boredom, I give these to you freely, and welcome
the absence of the feelings I get when I realize how long I have
waited to be who I am.
SEA 5/13/2013
send you some of the things that were
born in my brain and came out of my
hands onto this page or
onto that paper, I pause for a moment
and think of how odd it is, the fear
the gut aches and the
fuzziness of mind accompanying
the simple act of
submitting ones innermost self
for another's approval.
Assuming that you are not
repulsed or annoyed
embarrassed for me, indifferent or
simply off work the day my
envelope graces your desk
or file appears in your inbox
or portfolio rests upon your lap,
I implore you to be kind, and yet
welcome the dismantling of my
ego, as it should not be presenting papers
under my name.
I give you tiny chunks of my past in paragraphs
or throw a story at you hoping you catch it and
want to throw it into some else's
arms, like it enough to think on it later, I give you
small portions of my experiences or my
imagination or the synaptic firings of mere
boredom, I give these to you freely, and welcome
the absence of the feelings I get when I realize how long I have
waited to be who I am.
SEA 5/13/2013
Thursday, May 2, 2013
small poem for small thoughts
tending to ramble,
the struggle is to keep things little
and the small fact and small thought is
as important as the big and glorious.
even a small scratch can infect, and
I will not wait for the Big moment and the Big idea anymore.
my days are numbered as are all who breathe and waiting for the Huge Big moments is a Big waste of time, I want
small things like my daughter's eyes glinting as she draws, my son's laugh and peaceful humming to himself
the scar on my hand, small as the tip of a cigarette, shows me the tiny calm moment when
I knew I was
alive despite my best intentions, and was, for a small moment, relieved.
a little smile and a small breathe, my lungs work and I am here, now, and you are no longer here. You can't write anymore, sing anymore, and I can. If I don't, that's more than a small insult.
so jot down the
short story ideas and
sketch a 5-minute moment fuzzy from a short dream
I put away my Big fear and stop being a Big baby so in a small way
i pay a small bit of homage to you, I say goodbye to you a little at a time, and do the things you
told me to do when you were here.
sara ammon 5/2/2013
the struggle is to keep things little
and the small fact and small thought is
as important as the big and glorious.
even a small scratch can infect, and
I will not wait for the Big moment and the Big idea anymore.
my days are numbered as are all who breathe and waiting for the Huge Big moments is a Big waste of time, I want
small things like my daughter's eyes glinting as she draws, my son's laugh and peaceful humming to himself
the scar on my hand, small as the tip of a cigarette, shows me the tiny calm moment when
I knew I was
alive despite my best intentions, and was, for a small moment, relieved.
a little smile and a small breathe, my lungs work and I am here, now, and you are no longer here. You can't write anymore, sing anymore, and I can. If I don't, that's more than a small insult.
so jot down the
short story ideas and
sketch a 5-minute moment fuzzy from a short dream
I put away my Big fear and stop being a Big baby so in a small way
i pay a small bit of homage to you, I say goodbye to you a little at a time, and do the things you
told me to do when you were here.
sara ammon 5/2/2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
Zumba for Beginners
(Note: I do enjoy the days where nothing else creative comes to mind but the simple, every-day weird stuff we do to occupy our time. Humans are the only creatures who pay others to help them get in shape. I do not think there are any animals who need to be coaxed into staying healthy enough to live.)
Zumba for Beginners
Combat class, I understood.
I can logically accept the burning of calories, the practicing of uppercuts.
Running makes sense.
Dancing as well and
the shaking of body fat is the only way to convince it to fall off.
Apparently
you have to move fat cells around, almost like grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them
yelling at them
telling them they are no longer wanted, and humiliating them and then they dissolve in embarrassment the pain of being unwanted too much to bear.
I get the concept of aerobic exercise.
Logic brain says yes, but this amazon-sized mama needs some convincing before she
buys a beaded skirt on amazon (ironic) and
shakes her plus sized body parts in the face of a total stranger on a Monday morning.
I apologized to the instructor for the confused looks and the times during class that I stopped in place and stared at the wall, laughing. My body needs some convincing to partake in the salsa rumba
cha chas and the madness that was
walking into and advanced Zumba class late with a Scooters cup and
wearing the wrong clothes.
My brain needs some convincing that there is a time and place for that kind of loudness outside of a dance club.
A bit much for a Monday morning.
Dancing and laughing and loudness and madness, sweat and forty different women of forty different sizes, jumping around as kids walk past and stare into the windows of the studio, staring in amazement as these women of various ages go aerobic-mental in a dancing hyper mass.
Synopsis? Sweat through three shirts, survived. Still not buying a beaded skirt. Yet.
SEA 4.29.2013
Zumba for Beginners
Combat class, I understood.
I can logically accept the burning of calories, the practicing of uppercuts.
Running makes sense.
Dancing as well and
the shaking of body fat is the only way to convince it to fall off.
Apparently
you have to move fat cells around, almost like grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them
yelling at them
telling them they are no longer wanted, and humiliating them and then they dissolve in embarrassment the pain of being unwanted too much to bear.
I get the concept of aerobic exercise.
Logic brain says yes, but this amazon-sized mama needs some convincing before she
buys a beaded skirt on amazon (ironic) and
shakes her plus sized body parts in the face of a total stranger on a Monday morning.
I apologized to the instructor for the confused looks and the times during class that I stopped in place and stared at the wall, laughing. My body needs some convincing to partake in the salsa rumba
cha chas and the madness that was
walking into and advanced Zumba class late with a Scooters cup and
wearing the wrong clothes.
My brain needs some convincing that there is a time and place for that kind of loudness outside of a dance club.
A bit much for a Monday morning.
Dancing and laughing and loudness and madness, sweat and forty different women of forty different sizes, jumping around as kids walk past and stare into the windows of the studio, staring in amazement as these women of various ages go aerobic-mental in a dancing hyper mass.
Synopsis? Sweat through three shirts, survived. Still not buying a beaded skirt. Yet.
SEA 4.29.2013
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