My Cardboard Balcony

Sometimes, I don't have much to say when I write this section of my blog. Sometimes, I believe I have everything to say when truth be told it's just a wrap-up of my week and my perfectly tangible experiences. Every Friday is different. Circumstances produce what I type on this tiny compact screen, with font commands and arrows and html coding procedures. What happens, happens. Tonight, it's a moment in which I have everything to say, but I don't know how to say it. The short answer: I had a whirlwind of a phone conversation with my beautiful cousin, Lara. What about? Everything. Poetry, art (and the fact that to be an artist, you don't have to exude art, that's just cheesy and not authentic), teaching, experience, life, love, religion, faith, belief, certainty versus uncertainty, the concept of choice. Not cut and dry, but instead exposing a throbbing vein without any way of truly seeing what moves under the glass. I am a writer who lives in uncertainty. But

The Park by Belinda Roddie The park was lively with people, laughter, and soccer games, shoes squeaking in the grass as the checkered orb spiraled in the air. We had a picnic there of sandwiches, sodas, and candy, clothed in all colors; my mom was clad in orange hues, my dad in white, and my sister proudly displayed her pigtails in blue and violet ribbons. I passed children twirling and tumbling on the playground and sat on a bench, watching. Then Dad joined me and said, It's hard, isn't it, to grow but yearn to be free and young? And he gave me some chocolates from the picnic basket and said, this is for trying. The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since spring of 2005.

"The next president of the United States...Milo the cat!" I rolled my eyes as my brother carried our large orange tabby into the room, humming a very awkward theme song. I threw some popcorn at him in response. "What are you watching?" he asked. "V for Vendetta on demand." He snorted. "You a communist?" "No, I'm an anti-fascist. There's a difference." He sat down beside me and Milo squirmed to get away. In the corner of my eye, I saw my mother cooking in the kitchen.