| Saturday, November 24, 2007 |
| giving |
she drove through city blocks of
those less fortunate than her;
arrived at the child's front porch
knocked on his door and presented
him with a yellow toy truck,
"merry christmas." |
posted by erinederbo @ 1:40 PM  |
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| Tuesday, November 6, 2007 |
| coffee |
If I could, I'd be your coffee,
warm your soul each morning
with slow sips.
You'd let me inside and
I'd become part of you;
paste my caffienated grounds
on the walls of your stomach
like we'd paste boy band pictures
on your bedroom walls.
Nestled between your fingers,
there would be no more driving
over state lines because
you could take me anywhere. |
| posted by erinederbo @ 6:20 PM |
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| ode to china town |
three dollar tins of loose tea leaves
decorated with geisha beauties
behind paper fans
clothe mary janes-two for five
the best kind of slippers
orange chicken and rice,
seven bucks settling
deep inside my stomach
an hour long slice
of red line riding
and the language of your sidewalks
following me home.
priceless. |
| posted by erinederbo @ 6:17 PM |
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| Friday, November 2, 2007 |
| To: Erin Nederbo-An 8th Grade Graduate |
You mumble into Thear Nubani's ear, "Are we throwing our caps off?" You look around in anticipation and notice that everyone is doing the same thing as you are, asking their neighbor if your class is going to partake in the one thing that Sister Mary Michael told you wasn't allowed. As Father Phil says, "Congratulations to the class of 2004," you each look around again, and decide not to do it. Not to send blue fabric flying through the air and create havoc in Church; this is the most important thing on your mind as the claps of your 40 classmates' friends and families are bellowing throughout the building and out its doors behind you.
Until this moment, you've only known this. You've only known the same people for the last ten years of your life; they are your world, and you cannot wait to leave them. As the mass ends and you go in peace to serve the Lord and each other, you promise yourself you will never come back. You promise that you will leave behind the last ten years spent kneeling in these pews and whispering to your neighbor.
I wish I could tell you what I know now. I wish I could tell you that you are lying to yourself, because even if you didn't listen to me, my advice would always be in the back of your mind. Because high school is nothing like what you expected. It is not an escape.
People will be mean to you and it will hurt, but it is better to be on the receiving end.
Keep reading; no matter how dorky it is or how much time you don't have.
Breathe.
Don't yell at your parents so much, they are just trying to help you.
Some Friday nights are better spent resting.
Talk to strangers.
Don't lose touch of who you are and where you come from; because for the first time in your life, you won't be comforted with the faces of your zip code.
Never judge someone; because chances are you have something in common with each person you will encounter.
Write.
Don't be afraid to raise your hand and speak your mind.
People aren't always going to like what you say and they won't always listen.
Open up.
Dream big, expect less, and hope for more.
Do what you want to do and what you love; even if it's not the same as your friends.
And most importantly; take in each moment of your days at school and the nights
spent with the girls you meet there; because before you know it...
It'll be over. |
| posted by erinederbo @ 9:30 PM |
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| Thursday, November 1, 2007 |
| black pens |
| While writing upright in a computer chair with a cup of tea is ideal, it is not always at my disposal, and, therefore, the only writing tools I am completely comfortable with are black pens. I always have a pen in my pocket and can often be found writing inside the current book I am reading or (unless it is a loaned one) text books. Post-it notes must always be at my disposal as I enjoy writing little sayings, images, and lyrics down whenever they come to me and then posting them inside my purse or Chandler. It might seem weird that I only write in black pens; however, anything else feels "alien." Pencils are too light and hard for me to see and remind me of my worst academic enemy, math, and blue pens remind me of hospital gowns and the too clean and generic smell of a waiting room. A black pen can go with any subject, can be seen on any medium, and is my most comfortable writing tool. |
| posted by erinederbo @ 6:36 PM |
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