N.

United States of America

Anxiety when Jeopardy plays at a different time while you're on vacation? That's me.
In reality:
LG(B)T+
INTP-A
Biology is the shit
Artist
Public School
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Lifeguard
Medusa is my gf
Dogs > Cats
Joined September 2018

Message to Readers

i'll have you know that i wrote this in the school cafeteria this afternoon and it's... it's something

louisville debutante is a gatsby allusion (actually so is "daisy"), the actual debutante was in pennsylvania

no this is not a joke one of my swim captains actually "came out into high society" in the good year of our lord 2020.
(also- i live in a small midwest town where at least 50% of the population is blue collar. she had to travel out of state for this. imagine.)

proud of my immigrant scum ancestors who worked their asses off so i could exist at this singular point in time and get the same quality education as little miss anglo-saxon

my captain is a debutante: an ode to workingwomen

February 15, 2020

FREE WRITING

18
in a long forgotten moment of the past, the clock strikes twelve and a woman snuffs out her candle for the night;
her hair hangs in thick blonde vines and her face is dressed in soot and grime;
two pairs of shoes sit at the foot of her bed, one for living and one for church;
for pennies a day she toils away for a city where her kind eat table scraps and get shot. 
and she is proud. 

a little up the road from boston laid farms where sturdy girls with thick brows and corded arms worked the earth with the virility of demeter herself. 
their tongues twisted in french, rejects who slipped across the border with canadian syrup and hogs into the open arms of lady liberty.
under a burning vermont sun, a woman holds the fate of her dinner in her hands;
the bone snaps between her deft fingers. 
and she is proud. 

maybe i should have been married for money like a louisville debutante 
but all of my ancestors were immigrant scum, so i’d never fit their corset-tight world of white gowns and dignified ignorance anyway. 
i sit at the foot of my bed at the witching hour and wonder if julie is a daisy who could’ve been a thorn or if she was happy to be auctioned off to the highest seller because at least she’d be comfortable. 
did she wish the same fortune for her daughters or the same punishment? 
my warrior of natatorriums, do you still call yourself a feminist now?

julie has the memory of fortune in a cage of cornfields and she lets it confound her, proud of it.
and maybe she’s proud of the money she was born into but i’m proud of the tanned and sun wrinkled hands that gave me the earth. 

funny how her people called my people dogs, but their descendants sit in the same classroom as me and mine.
julie is the mother not the captain

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6 Comments
  • Wicked!

    This is so good? And like, so powerful.


    4 days ago
  • Norah

    the New England vibes are impeccable


    4 days ago
  • Writers of the World

    https://bit.ly/3bOLQvP


    8 days ago
  • silvernight

    yo this is so amazing <3


    11 days ago
  • N.

    thank you!


    12 days ago
  • BurningMidnightOil

    such a brilliant piece. the imagery is lovely as are the literary devices. i love the enjambment/ the way you established the rhythm. well done!


    14 days ago