[stylist] Song writing prompt

Mon Feb 11 21:16:58 UTC 2013

Bridgit, you took such a completely different route than I did
incorporating your lyric into your piece. At first I thought it was a bit
of a cop out to reference the song rather than use the line in your own
way, but no. You used it to bring us into a moment that expanded into a
life and it worked wonderfully. I especially liked how you said (and I do
not remember the exact wording) that you held him in your body for years.
Thanks for sharing. Eve

On Mon, Feb 11, 2013 at 12:09 PM, Jacobson, Shawn D <
Shawn.D.Jacobson at hud.gov> wrote:

> Wow, that was intense.
>
> From "The Wizard of Oz" to troubled pregnancy.  I think it was a very good
> piece, but it seems fragmented at times.
>
> Shawn
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Bridgit
> Pollpeter
> Sent: Monday, February 11, 2013 10:27 AM
> To: stylist at nfbnet.org
> Subject: [stylist] Song writing prompt
>
> Here is my attempt at this writing prompt. I think my song choice will be
> pretty clear, grin. I'm a bit rusty; this is the first thing I've written
> from scratch in six months. I'm still in mommy la-la land, so forgive me
> for the subject matter, grin. It's rough, so comments welcomed. It's only
> 880 words.
>
> Somewhere over the rainbow way up high, there's a land I dreamed of once
> in a lullaby. I croon to you in dulcet tones as the moon hangs low
> caressing your sleeping form. You sigh and turn towards me, arms extended
> above your head. I smile and snuggle your wiry frame. Your downy mound of
> hair tickles my face. My heart is about to burst from my chest, overflowing
> with love, with joy.
>
> The weight of your body has been felt in my embrace for years. I gasp,
> unsure if this moment is real. The stillness of the night creates my
> heaven. My baby boy cuddles against me as I hold him close.
>
> A river slides along breaking me into consciousness. Sprinting into the
> bathroom, I yell for Ross. Warm liquid gushes around me as I feel the
> tell-tell tightenings travel down my stomach. I feel no pain, just
> continual tightenings. His little body pushes up against my abdomen. But
> there's no pain; I'm unsure of what is happening. The pool of water I'm
> standing in, in the tub blares like a siren, and I shout, "Ross, I think
> I'm going into labor."
>
> The morning is fringed with a hazy glow. My breathing is steady as people
> whip around me. Ross holds my hand as nurse's remark on the intensity of my
> contractions- yet I still feel no pain. I speak to my baby, my son. In a
> little while I will feel his tangible weight in my arms.
>
> But the world falls around us. Rhythmic beating pulses, emanating from me.
> It shakes the world. They tell me you are showing signs of fetal distress,
> and that I can't handle a long labor. An emergency Caesarian is scheduled.
>
> Numbness swallows me from the waist down. A nurse whispers in my ear how
> well I'm doing. Ross grips my hand. I'm lost, focused solely on my son as a
> slight pressure pulls at my abdomen.
>
> They pull him from my body, bleeding and broken. Ross sniffles.
> Everything is muted except my baby, but he makes no noise. Don't they cry?
> Aren't they suppose to cry? Nurses giggle about how adorable he is, yet no
> sound. Finally he gives one squawk before they take him. I'm left alone as
> the doctor stitches me up.
>
> I feel disjointed. He's not with me. My mind hones in on his, but this
> fracturing feels wrong. Just a little longer and we will be fused together
> again, my sweet boy.
>
> Ross strokes my long hair as the doctor explains the unexplainable.
>
> "We didn't anticipate this. We're not entirely sure what is happening."
> The doctor clears his throat. Papers rustle between the heart beats.
> "We're sure this will all resolve in twenty-four hours though." The door
> clicks shut and he's gone.
>
> But it doesn't resolve in twenty-four hours, not forty-eight hours, not a
> week. Ross forces me to come home, to eat, to sleep. These daily,
> fundamental tasks allude me. I sit in your empty nursery gulping for air as
> my ragged cries fill the room. Tears drip in torrents down my pale face as
> I suffocate from the silence.
>
> I'm terrified to name you, to claim you. I steal myself, not wanting to
> imprint you upon my heart, but it's too late. Your soul has fused with
> mine. Long ago I felt you touch me, claim me. Yet I'm terrified, seeing
> only darkness in the distance.
>
> I wait each day hoping for good change for you, my darling baby boy. My
> standard reserve of strength threatens to run dry. I lock myself away,
> trying to handle my emotions as I deal with doctors, nurses and your
> precarious situation.
>
> Darkness seems near the horizon. Your silent cries, from being in abated,
> shred my heart; my heart so swollen with fear and pain. I am brittle,
> fragile to the touch.
> I will not lose you; I will not lose my strength. I will shatter this
> moment and throw it into the winds.
>
> I pray the Lord, my soul to keep. Softly, gently, the words shape.
> Buzzing and humming, they breathe into the ebony silence, chiseling
> against solid darkness. Moonbeams puncture this drawn shade, silver
> filtering through shadows. Liquid silver laps my wounds, embracing me like
> a lost friend.
>
> And you're there, smiling, always smiling. Ross drapes an arm around my
> trembling shoulders. You move closer, tip-toeing through moonbeams.
> We're together- all together, safe, near, a family. Our hands graze, and
> my heart expands.
>
> In my arms, stroking my cheeks, you reassure my existence, and I can't
> contain my heart. It swells, pushing, arteries pumping liquid love. From
> behind, Ross wraps his arms around our bulk, cradling, protecting.
>
> Somewhere over the Rainbow trickles from my mouth. Ross strokes both our
> heads; experiencing his warmth inching through our veins. The moonbeams
> pixilated into silver drops, falling around us. Droplets moisten my cheeks
> as you kiss me. Sweet, golden kisses sealing our bond.
>
> And you are well, my baby, my Declan. We are leaving, going home.
> There's no place like home. I embrace you as we leave the hospital. The
> weight of the NICU pushes against our backs. I feel the pull, the draining
> sensation of desolation. But we are gone, gone. We follow our road home.
>
> I wished upon a star and have wake with the clouds far behind me. Our
> troubles have melted like lemon drops, and I have found you. Starlight
> grazes our rocking shadow. You sigh, arms around me, your head nestled into
> my neck. In this midnight tableau, we are cocooned with wisps of silver
> moonlight
>
> Sincerely,
> Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter, editor, Slate & Style Read my blog at:
> http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/
>
> "If we discover a desire within us that nothing in this world can satisfy,
> we should begin to wonder if perhaps we were created for another world."
> C. S. Lewis
>
>
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