12/24/2025
gumption part five-point one
dear reader,
(hey-
there’s tender material below here. so please make the conscious decision to turn the page, or dive in. the story remains the same.)
i’ve been thinkin about
ma, mrs. joad (grapes of wrath by john steinbeck*) tellin casy that men should keep their sins to themselves
so as not to burden others
that a man’s sins are his own
but i also
believe in courage
and bravery
i get stuck between these two ideas
so i am going to unstick myself
with the poem below
to see what happens
the scene:
its a warm spring night
you can smell apple blossoms
you’ve snuck out of your house
to meet friends
the morning is approaching
friends are dropping off
one by one
and someone you only know through friends is walking on the other side of latta road
heading in the same direction
and its just the two of you now
and one of you makes up a line
(sends it softly through the quiet of night)
and one of you makes up the next line
(responding)
you beginning writing a story together
going back and forth
line for line
as you walk
and what becomes are summers where It feels strange
to spend a day a part
fires on the beach
chinese buffets
auctions
running off a greyhound bus after missing your stop
port in that hookah lounge
salvia on the train tracks
listening to the jazzfest from a scaffold
crossing that log
your hair in the morning
how you held your cigarette when lost in a song
us by regina spector
bricks of beer in boats docked along the genessee river
how you loved it when i sang
insistance
and i wonder if other people
who love you
think of you when they hear or say
‘woah.’
i had never met someone cool like you
cool like day drinking and turn me on im a radio by joni mitchell
cool like porches and basements
cool like a razor’s edge
cool like night drinking and blue
and i didnt say hello to you and your cousin at lux
and i didnt answer any of your pleading voicemails
(not even when you were struggling with terry (helovedyou))
and i didnt know how to ignore
the selfishness that had spread
i didnt say anything more
because we would’ve died
(how many times did we almost?)
we would’ve died
and you did.
the story remains the same.
—-
(with a nuzzle on your shoulder
as i stand up)
as alex small,
as a permanent thing,
*steinbeck aimed to devastate the reader with grapes of wrath. to create and offer a safe space for self evaluation in the face of devastation. the novel offers devastating clarity from the american vista, and a cool balming breeze. it’s helped- reading grapes of wrath. even devastation can help.
toolboxEarth 