The Naming Grove

Here's a blast I did today in my fiction writing class. I actually read it out loud, at last.

I am looking for a name. Not exactly for myself, as much as for a character. I figure a good name does wonders for discovering who a character is.

So I walk down a path between a grove of oak trees, looking for a name. Moss is growing on all the barren branches, and if I look high enough, I can see the tips of the moss hairs electrified in sunlight.

It's such a pretty day in this grove, and I wish I could walk through this place in actuality, but for now I can only imagine it. Didn't Picasso say, though, that everything we imagine is real?

I'm sort of afraid of that thought. I'm afraid that this imaginary grove is more beautiful in my imagination than any grove that exists geographically.

I've been to some beautiful places, but usually it takes a while for me to recognize how beautiful they are.

A small bird with a yellow crest has just darted between two branch shadows. I wonder what kind of bird that is. I can't name it, because it's probably already been named. Nor can I give it a personal name. Who am I to name this bird? Naming assumes ownership. To whom does God give the right to name things?

He gave Adam that job. And we've been naming all sorts of things ever since then.

The trail is getting thicker. I think the woods are now in the foot of some mountain range. Now I'm walking on train tracks, and they lead into that tunnel which goes through the mountain.

To Winter (poem)

I woke to stacks of light imprinted on window blinds
softly swaying,
and to the wheels and wood of Sammy's skateboard
slamming the street.

"Spring, Spring," I said,
"I wish you were here."

The moon sank slowly behind black fingers of trees.

But Winter, Winter,
stay until I sleep.

Senioritis (poem)

Hey
Hello
Good morning
It's a nice day
It's supposed to rain again
Dang, I left my cell phone at home
I guess I don't really need it
How was your weekend?
Let's see, what did I do?
The waves look like white dashes marching to the shore
How do you feel?
Ugh
Why?
Whatever
Can you please do me a favor?
Sure
I'm scared
I like you
I don't
know
That was funny
What'd you think of chapel?
"! ? ! . ! . ! ! . ! ? ! . !"
".
"?
","
I wonder what's over here
The loquats aren't ready yet
I can't live on just my memories
Guess I'll need to find a new place to one day miss
I am a first-rate subconscious pen thief
I wonder what he's thinking
Mmm sushi
How are you?
I'm fine, how are you?
Uhh, what time is it?
Welcome
Thanks
I have a question
Yes?
Let's make time fly
I'm so sleepy, I can't concentrate
This textbook is so boring, it's like I can just skim it
So this is senioritis; I think I need a vaccine
Nah
I don't want to twist your arm,
but who'd like to read what they've written?
Of course I would, perhaps if no one were here
How's your book coming?
That was really good
I'm glad you wrote
Is it weird to say "Thanks" when she hands me the page?
Good, they didn't mess it up or misspell my name
Can I trespass if the sign says "No Tresspassing?"
Is that Matt?
Hey Matt
Do you have any cool classes?
That waffle looks real good
So do those French fries
I haven't had a Caf pizza in like a year
I love summer. Remember summer?
I'm ready for each season when it comes around
Let's pray
Wow
Amen
Let's sing
Non nobis, Domine
O schone nacht!
Thank you, Lord
You've been so good
You heard my cry!
You called my name
I just want to thank you, Lord
Ouch
It was nice meeting you
Bye
Good night
See ya

Now that it had rained

While Alec filled the gas tank, I was sitting in the passenger seat, enjoying the golden sun on a swaying jacaranda tree, when a drop of rain plopped on the window, then another, and more. Each of the few drops landed with soft thuds, diamond beads scattered around clear, colorful globes, hanging there like commas. When we left, we drove down Market Street by the cemetary fresh with grass and green weeds, damp shoulders tapped by the sun. San Diego was full of color again. Without the rain, San Diego had dried and withered, like a paragraph that doesn't end, like waking up before getting any sleep.

Earlier today, when we were leaving school, we saw two rainbows. One was dim, and one was full, like the blank space at the end of a chapter, like those minutes of falling asleep, like dancing again.

Winter (poem)

The air is soft like a poem being whispered,
and warm like a piece of the sun in a vase, and thin
like our shoulders greeting when we half-embrace.