Flash writing: "Inventory," "Instructions to an adopted child," and "Earth Mother"
/Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m a bit wordy. My Master of Fine Arts program is working on improving that.
I’m headed for surgery next week, amid holidays, so things are hectic. Instead of writing another long post, I’m sending you a couple ultra short pieces that came out of school assignments. I couldn’t help but make them relevant to the times. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy something new and unconventional.
I have three short pieces to share: "Inventory of objects on a subject's desk," written from the perspective of a surveillance officer looking into protest activity; "Instructions to an adopted child," a snippet of dialogue that tells the story of the desperation white parents of adopted brown children feel when they start waking up to reality; and "Earth Mother," a super short prose poem from an uncommon perspective.
photo of protesters on a main road with signs reading “shop local,” “no thanks to corporate greed,” “shop small,” and “corporate greed kills community.” - image by julie farnam
Inventory of objects on subject’s desk
Three pens (Two dried up)
An old-fashioned manual nutcracker made of stainless steel
A check payable to the order of the subject from the State of Washington for $8.16
A Medicaid insurance card in subject’s name, ID no. BD78934A
An after-visit summary document for subject’s child from a dentist, outstanding bill $154
Electric bill in subject’s name for $216.29
A stack of seven stapled, hand-written papers in widely varied childish hands, with commas and editing marks added in blue pen
Empty packaging for an iPhone 13 screen protector
Samsung TV remote control (TV is in the other room)
Battered Apple MacBook with pieces of plastic flaking off corners, locked with code.
Sticky notes on computer reading: “Call Jen about getting on Signal.” “Sandy’s medication management appt – Tues. 2:30” “FREEZE WARNING! Cover garden on Mon. night!” “Call water company about brown, stinky water.” “Return call about Cascade editing gig.” “Call insurance fuckers and deal with fuckery” (punctures show extreme force in writing)
Nearly empty roll of packing tape
5 fat black markers, 2 fat red markers, 1 fat blue marker, all nearly used up
Scissors with pink plastic handles
Long-neck lamp with stainless steel base
Small plastic bag with a child’s costume jewelry inside—a plastic ring, a locket with a yellow plastic fixture, and a metal broach
A bookmark advertising the subject’s book launch ten years ago
A laminated vaccination record in Spanish for the subject’s child
Canine heart-worm and tick medication in original packaging
Safeway receipt for cucumbers, lemon juice, chicken thighs and mozzarella cheese: $44.19 (Noted: SNAP balance remaining $3.22)
Letter from OHP denying care for mental health care for subject’s child
Letter from OHP denying care for subject’s postoperative recovery medication
Stack of more than 100 fliers for protest at City Hall: Saturday at 1:00 pm, decorated with a red-painted fist
Fidget toy made of interconnected triangles in blue and purple designs
Instructions to an adopted child (2025 edition)
“Honey, please sit down a minute.”
“I want you to listen, just for a bit because this is important. When you’re in town, you know what to do if you’re stopped by police, right? Just like we practiced, you call them ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am.’ You keep your hands out to your sides where they can see them. You ask, ‘Am I free to go?’ And if they say, ‘yes,’ you walk away slowly.”
“You remember all that, right? We practiced.”
“Well, now we need to add something. You also need to say, ‘I’m an American citizen.’ Can you repeat that for me?”
“Yeah, that’s great! If the police stop you, you tell them you’re a citizen. And even if someone who isn’t police stops you, you say that. ‘I’m an American citizen.’ Remember, okay?”
“If they don’t let you leave, you say, ‘I need to call my mom.” You keep saying those two things and say my phone number. Do you remember it? Go ahead. You might not get to use your phone. You have to remember it.”
“Good job! You just keep saying it. Don’t say anything else. Just ‘I’m an American citizen. I need to call my mom.’ Don’t answer questions. Just say that over and over.”
“No, honey! You can’t-- Don’t yell at them. It’s not funny! And you can’t call them names!”
“Listen! For real. Right now, kids with brown skin are being disappeared. This is how we try to keep you safe.”
Earth Mother
I call you up out of the humus of my soil, to rise with eyes and voice lifted toward hope, calling out your need for purpose—you, children of this wayward ape species, called into awareness by fire, by flint, by these damnable words that you call your exceptional birthright—and calling hopelessly, as you do, for mercy when you are in the pain of a body; I call you into being not because I am cruel or devoid of meaning, but because my molten heart could not resist your poignant voices calling.
