When my husband and I were first
married in 1984, we were a cliché-come-to-life: happy but poor, with our
student loans (microscopic by today’s standards) and a desire to replace our
hand-me-down furniture with nicer things.
This was before I began my famed
love affair with thrift shops, where for about a dollar I can find a piece of
fabric that instantly transforms an ugly chair into a thing of beauty. No, back
in the early years of our marriage, we'd haunt an antique store in
Northwest Portland, where we'd admire a long elegant table and imagine
ourselves serving a holiday dinner set amongst flowers and candles. Or we’d
pass the carved doors of a French wardrobe and picture our own clothes hanging
inside, amidst the mingled scents of fresh paint and musty wood.
Another imaginary amusement of ours
was to drive to a small furniture shop in the suburbs and sigh over the long
cool white curves of an ultra-modern couch. The first time we entered the
store, a sales woman, neatly dressed in a business skirt and blouse, greeted us
with warmth. On our second visit, the same woman smiled and said to let her
know if she could help. The third time we walked through the doors, she glanced
in our direction with a dismissive look that clearly said, “You again?”
Feeling embarrassed, we resolved to
make at least one small purchase, a difficult endeavor since we couldn’t afford
so much as a lamp. Eventually, though, we did find
something in our price range – a calendar of poster-sized paintings. Among the
stylized still lifes, the pictures also included a portrait of a peach-toned
man and boy (“Tell Pere” and “Tell Fils,” the son with an apple atop his head)
and a strange scene featuring a woman, a hunter and some moonlit water.
For years, those posters graced the
walls of our various abodes before taking up permanent residence in the damp
basement of our current house. Last winter, though, when I was making plans for the last session of
an adult writing class, I suddenly remembered the posters. Bringing up both the William
Tell painting and the moonlit scene, I asked my son which one he would find
more inspiring as a writing prompt and he instantly chose the latter.
How right he was. When I asked my
students to look at the poster and write whatever came to mind, every one of
them created pieces that were filled with life. While my husband and I are not
quite so poor as we were 30 years ago, I can’t imagine buying anything now that
could bring me more pleasure than the poems and stories – including some dark beauties as well as one
comic piece – that my students read aloud that night.
Here is one of those pieces:
Freewrite
from a Poster by R. Smith
There is something about the moon,
tonight
Now I dance with the moon
when
I move, it follows
The moon (because it is
light-footed)
twirls
me like a top – lead, follow, lead, follow
I dance beside the waters whose
ripples tango, whose silence
restrains
(the waters reflect the moon)
The earth beneath my feet waits for
the rhythm of the trees
to
cut in on the moon
And
the
earth beneath my feet has no sound but is my orchestra
I dance like the wind
I dance with the moon
the
trees cut in, I sail with the trees
I dip with the clouds – Hey
Mr.
Huntsman: Put down the bow and let that creature breathe
another day (put down your bow and
join me)
No
Bring bow and pluck the string to
set the slope in motion
set
the trees spinning, send the moon into pirouette
