Stephanie's Daily Affirmations

Scrawled this down after a recent conversation with Jon.
Put the scrap of paper on the back of my door.

They may particularly strike a chord with fellow college graduates trying to figure out how to do life now.


"Take it one step at a time.

Be here.

It is enough, so enjoy it.

Appreciate what you've done and what you are doing.

And never forget, the point of it all is to love people."


More daily affirmations

Returning

Getting to South Africa took 

many papers.

Today they are in the trash.

My bedroom has changed little since 

leaving and

the house 

is quiet.

I don't know how I like my tea anymore.

Where can I go to remember myself?

The church, the mall,

a book, a meal, 

my studio, my music,

running down the road?

Instead of myself, 

I find new life 

sprouting from 

return to old ritual:

pen to page, 

paint to canvas, 

knife to carrots and cucumbers, 

the walk down the driveway in the morning

where Americans are

the most important 

war casualties to be announced.

White

I was born with skin shown in my country's history

I see it on the band-aids and faces of dollbabies

I see it on the runways, in glossy magazines

See-it on the CEOs and on celebrities

my skin wont make you question

my self-sufficiency

to almost all the world

my skin looks like money

almost never represents illiteracy

born into the skin of learnin capacity.

I dont speak for my race

when speakin just for me

but I like to think

about this one reality:

when walking down your road

on the bottom of my feet

my souls can turn into the hue

of all humanity.

Leaves

Every night I run home crying

because I think the trees are dying.

Dad holds me close as he explains

how leaves must fall when seasons change.

But I am not yet one year old

and can't understand what I'm being told.

Summer

Summer lives

in a peach colored house

with fishing poles

against the wall.

Summer bikes

with mosquito-bit legs,

plays scratch-off cards

and volleyball.

Summer's sister is

on a date.

her brother

works on his car.

Crickets whir and

twighlight comes

from the middle

of their yard.

Her mother tucks

the ocean in.

Her father turns

the soil.

Sweat shines

from her brother's brow.

He smells of salt

and motor oil.

An Allegory

One day

you forget the locker combination

you've used for the last five years.

You try hundreds of numbers

and then give up

because you have forgotten

what you are looking for.

When you remember

you go back.

The locker doors swing open

and five years of drawings spill out.

The one you wanted

is the only one

not there.

Dad

When I was a baby, my mom tells me

it was him who walked my small sobbing body around

the house at two am.

He's always done the dishes at night and

he coached my p.e. class in pre-school. He doesn't talk much, but

last winter when I came home the house was warm and

glowing, and very clean, which is not usually the case.

He was there waiting for me, in the threadbare grey shirt

he's always worn to bed.

He gave me a kiss on the cheek,

kind of discreet, and he smelled like soap.