Jane Roop reading North Richland Childhood April 1st at the opening of "The Particles on the Wall" Exhibit at the Maxey Museum at Whitman Collete, Walla Walla Washington
North Richland Childhood We came from Oklahoma, momma, daddy and me, after the war, dirt poor, to live in a twenty by eight foot trailer, on a thirty by thirty foot lot, with other electricians, pipefitters, teamsters, janitors, proud to be part of this “atomic business” living in the Largest Trailer Court in the World, big enough to have our own ghetto, two blocks of dark, delicious smells -- frying fish, boiled greens, hot cornbread. Once a month from the top of tall poles warning sirens wailed. The school children, black and white, raced past swings, monkey bars, the tether ball ring to the sandy ditch behind John Ball Elementary, strung ourselves face down like paper dolls, clenching our fear behind closed eyes. A useless defense against nuclear attack, but we would have been easy to bury there. |
North Richland Childhood is included in "Particles on the Wall", a traveling exhibit sponsored by Washington Physicians for Social Responsibility with additional support from the Institute for Neurotoxicology and Neurological Disorder.
Particles on the Wall is an interdisciplinary exhibit connecting science and art in exploring major themes of today's nuclear age. To learn more visit their website. North Richland Childhood was published in The Soundings Review in the Spring/Summer 2011 by The Northwest Institute of Literary Arts |
Small Spaces -- A Pantoum
A small space is all that I need. My legs don’t work like they used to. A chair by the window will do, as morning comes, the coffee brews. My legs don’t work like they used to. I watch the sky, the blue satin sky as morning comes. The coffee brews. While I sit, come memories of mama. I watch the sky, the blue satin sky, see crows drop walnuts on the road. While I sit, come memories of mama. She never saw me grow old, get gray See crows drop walnuts on the road. Some shells, like me, are hard to crack. She never saw me grow old, get gray, momma. She passed young. Some shells, like me, are hard to crack. A chair by the window will do. Momma, she passed young. A small space is all that we need. Published in The Soundings Review Spring/Summer 2011 by The Northwest Institute of Literary Arts 5 |
Happily Ever After*
is not for me. No thanks Cinderella, Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood. I didn’t like you as a kid and you didn’t improve with age. Humpty Dumpty perhaps might get my approving nod. Broken things stay broken. Remember Sondheim’s “Into The Woods”? Princes are charming, not necessarily faithful. *published in Cynic Magazine in 2011 |
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