Day 253 – Because I Like It.

Because I Like It.

Day 253

by Wendy Rose

The way they do
this old woman
no longer cares
what we think
but spits
her black tobacco
any which way
full length
From her bumpy bed.
Finally up
she sprinkles
ash on the snow,
cold buttes
promise nothing
but the walk
of winter.
Centuries of cedar
have bound her
to earth,
huckleberry ropes
lay prickly
on her neck.
Around her
machinery growls,
snarls and ploughs
great patches of her skin.
She crouches
in the north,
her trembling
the source
of dawn.

Light appears
with the shudder
of her slopes,
the movement
of her arm.
Blackberries unravel,
stones dislodge;
it’s not as if
they were not warned.
She was sleeping
but she heard the boot scrape,
the creaking floor,
felt the pull of the blanket
from her shoulder.
With one hand free
she finds her weapons
and raises them high;
clearing the twigs from her throat
she sings, she sings, shaking the sky
like a blanket about her
Loo-wit sings and sings and sings!

People collect things.  They collect thimbles, spoons, rocks, teacups, sports memorabilia, cameras, baseball cards, Snow Babies, Avon bottles, angels, eggs.  They collect any manner of things.  I knew a woman once who collected her own fingernail clippings.  Eek!  Once upon a time as a high school senior, I made the mistake of telling people I liked bells.  Soon I had a bell collection.  I had crystal bells, silver bells, porcelain bells, glass bells, copper bells and even a cow bell.  Some were pretty, but most had the look of an item that had been picked up for a quarter at a garage sale (and I suspect that is how they were procured) and the collection sat, collected dust and grew into a bit of a monster.  Back then, I was a very nice person and so I kept accepting them and stacking them on shelves and tables all over my bedroom.  Thank God, I went to college and moved in with a friend because it gave me an excuse to unload the bells, every single one of them.

I like Mt. St. Helen’s ash glass.  I can tell everyone this with no fear and no worry about a monster growing.  It can not be found at a garage sale, at the local Salvation Army or Goodwill, and it can’t be found at Walmart.  The smallest piece is costs a bit more than most people want to spend on a small bit of glass.   I get one piece a year from my mother who picks it up at Bronner’s (who have adjusted the price for inflation).  The fact that they are a special gift from my mother to me makes them all the more valuable to me.

(The poem is about Loo-wit, an Indian maiden, who was transformed into Mt. St. Helen)

On a side note – my sister needs to hire a photographer in the Dayton, Ohio area to shoot my niece’s wedding.  It is going to be a small wedding and since it is going to be so small, the photos are the one thing that they want to really stand out.  If any of you is in the Dayton area or knows someone in that area, can you please leave contact info in the comment section?  Thank you!

21 thoughts on “Day 253 – Because I Like It.

  1. Oh I do like it too!
    Back in high school when you were nice…funny! : ) we all know you to be “nice” now too…but nice manifests differently as we (ahem) mature, doesn’t it, becoming more the strength of kindness.

  2. What a cool poem. It was so recognizable as a tale of a native woman, and to know that it’s the spirit of Mt St Helens makes it all the richer. I’ve only been up there once, but it’s truly memorable, and I did actually feel the explosion of the mountain and see the mushroom cloud from her blowup, right from my own street. So between that and our shared admiration of all things beautifully shiny, you can easily imagine how beautiful I find that glass piece of yours. Very sensitively photographed, too–the complement of the soft peachy background suits it perfectly. I assume you know about that other kind of MSH glass, ’emerald obsidianite’–the emerald-lookalike, man-made semiprecious gemstone from melted MSH ash. You will not be surprised that I think *that’s* really pretty, too. 😉

  3. That swirl is like a small universe. I love that it comes from the heart of the mountain, just as the poem does. And I love the image

    of clearing the twigs from her throat
    she sings, she sings, shaking the sky
    like a blanket about her

  4. I like it too. I think that’s a wonderful way to have a collection. Something with meaning rather than all helter skelter.

    Wonderful poem. Thank you for sharing it. 🙂

    I’m in Ohio, but nowhere near Dayton and I’m not good with photographing people. I can’t think of anyone that I know in that area offhand, but if I cross paths with someone in or near that area, I’ll let you know.

  5. I love the contrast between the photograph and the poem.
    The photograph has such a feeling of fragility and the poem is so earthy and strong. And yet the two are related. Fascinating!

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