FIXING MY LIPSTICK IN THE REFLECTION OF EVERY YELLOW LAWN
2024
for this assignment I was asked to observe repeated phenomena, like checking the clock or the sun setting. obviously they wanted something a little deeper than that and when I was walking around that day on campus during break I couldn’t help but notice how many patches of yellow grass I saw. how familiar a yellow lawn looks to me, as someone who has been in North Texas her whole life I believe it’s an iconic symbol of suburbia. I started to notice trees trying to grow through brick cracks and how they wouldn’t be thriving or making any significant progress with themselves, but they wouldn’t be dead, either. and lets forget life or death for a minute and talk more about form and color. blades of grass that stand tall and stay together but turn yellow, they become these thirsty, crispy little things that even sprinkler systems can’t fix because really the reason they’re dying is because they should have never been planted there anyway and it just doesn’t feel natural for them to truly take root. yet still they remain, spirit not knocked out of them but never there in the first place. needless to say I relate to a yellow lawn or a shaded area that gets a little less love because it’s inconvenient — or a tiny tree that thinks she can trust certain nooks and crannies to keep her safe and guarantee her growth — yet I do not fall down. I break, sure — get kicked around by feet preoccupied with destination and let the wind rustle through my limbs a little too much sometimes. I’ve never felt I had stable ground to root in and so although I exist just as I always have, I am ceasing to grow. I could say I feel dead inside but the truth is that there is this subtle nuance between desisting a full life but rejecting a death that swallows me whole…a line that I walk up and down all day but hey at least I get my steps in, just enough for anyone else to see me actively existing, even yellowwing away.
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