Five Selections Written By: Kristi Jo Thomas, Ed White Middle School
Hope
Hope is a white dove?
A small white fragile flower opening to the light?
A child peacefully sleeping?
A rainbow stretching across a brilliant blue sky?
Fear
The unknown is dark and cold,
You can?t find your way?
You can look inside until your eyes ache,
You won?t figure it out?
The great divide is waiting,
The bridge is out?
You stand to do what is right,
You are standing alone?
Madness raging?
Insanity consuming?
Peace fleeting?
The unknown has conquered?
You lose?
Scared?
Rose Was Not A Rose Today
As her mom handed her off she began to scream ? and not a, ?I want my mommy,? kind of a scream ? I?m talking a, ?Put me down, I don?t know you, your breath stinks!? kind of a scream. Her mom looked back as she was walking out and cheerfully said, ?She might cry, but she?ll be fine.? Right about then I was thinking very unchristian thoughts and sincerely trying to remember if I actually signed up to work in the nursery or if someone thought it would be funny to stick me in with the non-speaking, funny smelling, drooling ones they refer to as babies?God?s little angels. Holding the screaming child in my left arm, I peered through the window, all the while, waving my right arm, hopelessly attempting to get my Mom?s attention in the choir loft.
The whole ?screaming thing? was getting quite old. Looking through Rose?s (I think that was her name) diaper bag I found a set of rubbery keys. I shoved one in her mouth ? gently of course, and wiggled it from side to side and in my most, sweetest voice I told her, ?Now listen here. I need you to stop crying this very instant or I?m going to lock you in the closet until church is over!? She obviously didn?t understand but a toy xylophone did peek her interest and the crying subsided to a whimper. My friend Ruth, who is always tardy to church came in and said she would keep Rose entertained. We gave Rose blocks, books, bears, airplanes, ducks, puzzles, crayons, tape, plastic rings, a schoolhouse and a toy telephone. The child was not interested. Ruth sat in the rocker and I plopped the baby in her lap. Ruth said Rose smelled funny. Well of course she did! All babies smell like? well like babies. They don?t smell like Giorgio or Esteé Lauder. Ruth began to sniff Rose around her head, then around her arms and arm pits. Ruth insisted she smelled something that just wasn?t right. Rose tightened her fists and with her face beet-red ? let out the loudest grunt I had ever heard. Ruth stood up so fast Rose nearly flew up into the air! Ruth looked at me, and I at her, with an almost terrified look. ?I have to go to the bathroom,? we said simultaneously. Before I could even turn around Ruth was gone ? I mean gone! Nowhere in sight... And Rose was in my arms. Yes, yes she did smell funny to say the least. I knew what had to be done. I told myself I was the best diaper changer in the West and if I could scoop dog poo, I certainly could do this! I gently laid Rose on the changing table, undid one side of her diaper, then the other side. It was too much! I fastened them back up, tilted my head toward the ceiling, took a deep breath, reached over to her diaper bag, pulled out the container of wipes, opened them, held them to my nose, and inhaled slowly and deeply. Holding my breath I quickly unfastened her diaper and began to pull it out from under her, when - I ?saw - it! Why did I look at it? Why??? I knew what was in that diaper ? I knew, but still I looked!
That was it! It was over. The smell was unbearable! The nauseous-ness overwhelmed me, my vision blurred from the tears. I clutched the wipes and took several short shallow breaths of the fresh scent just to keep me conscious enough to finish the job. How I managed to slide the yucky diaper into the diaper-genii and get Rose cleaned up, I will never know. I don?t recall what happened after that. Perhaps it is a suppressed memory from the trauma of it all ? I don?t know. I have not changed a diaper since that day and for the record, I have no intentions of changing one any time soon? Perchance when I have children of my own I might? But you never know? You never know?