Kindred Reputation Poem
Kindred Validation I was born in 1947, six years after my brother, and I was a girl. According to my mom and dad, our family was perfectly complete. I had strawberry-blonde-red, curly hair, and a milky way of freckles across my nose. I was forever regarded as “cute”. My brother, Len, was handsome, gifted, and extremely talented in art. In my parents eyes he could do no wrong. I silently observed and heard the constant accolades of Len's talents. At a young age, he entered paintings in the county fair and won blue ribbons. He could swim and even scuba dive. He knew everything. I was always peeking out from behind Mom's apron strings, wondering how I could ever be as impressive as my brother; I wondered how I could ever measure up to his stature.
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He got a bicycle. It was sleek and steel blue, and the latest model. From then on, I seemed to always be wistfully watching Len hop onto his bike and pedal down the crooked foot trail, through our maturing orchard, past old Mr. Crist's house, to the paved street, and out into the world. I wanted to go with him, but our age difference wouldn't let me. My mother wouldn't let me go either. “He's a boy,” she would say, “he can just do more.” I never got the real why of that answer, I just knew I felt left out and unimportant. Len got a best friend, and was gone most of the time. Mom didn't drive, so I was stranded on that island of country between young housing developments. I wasn't allowed to walk very far; I guess it was because I was a …show more content…
I couldn't see the house from my meadow; it lay behind tall willow trees and a half-buried potato cellar. I could pretend I was anywhere. The long, heavy, grass had folded over in green, over-lapping waves. Tiny black spiders ran over the spongy fallen waves as I stepped and sank, stepped and sank. A forlorn, unusable, flatbed trailer lay dormant in the grass. The tongue end was on the ground, causing the other end to rise up and provide an exalted pulpit, where I could stand and let my voice be heard. At this sanctified podium, I prayed out loud. I fantasized and told stories. I sang songs from musicals. I quoted original poetry to an imagined, appreciative congregation made up of fence posts and tall milkweed. It would have been pure embarrassment if anyone had seen me or heard me in my outdoor church in the
He got a bicycle. It was sleek and steel blue, and the latest model. From then on, I seemed to always be wistfully watching Len hop onto his bike and pedal down the crooked foot trail, through our maturing orchard, past old Mr. Crist's house, to the paved street, and out into the world. I wanted to go with him, but our age difference wouldn't let me. My mother wouldn't let me go either. “He's a boy,” she would say, “he can just do more.” I never got the real why of that answer, I just knew I felt left out and unimportant. Len got a best friend, and was gone most of the time. Mom didn't drive, so I was stranded on that island of country between young housing developments. I wasn't allowed to walk very far; I guess it was because I was a …show more content…
I couldn't see the house from my meadow; it lay behind tall willow trees and a half-buried potato cellar. I could pretend I was anywhere. The long, heavy, grass had folded over in green, over-lapping waves. Tiny black spiders ran over the spongy fallen waves as I stepped and sank, stepped and sank. A forlorn, unusable, flatbed trailer lay dormant in the grass. The tongue end was on the ground, causing the other end to rise up and provide an exalted pulpit, where I could stand and let my voice be heard. At this sanctified podium, I prayed out loud. I fantasized and told stories. I sang songs from musicals. I quoted original poetry to an imagined, appreciative congregation made up of fence posts and tall milkweed. It would have been pure embarrassment if anyone had seen me or heard me in my outdoor church in the