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Joanna Bateman Writes

Saturday, March 17, 2018. St Patrick's brings up all my greenest heartsongs. Of when I was a simple blade of grass. Growing across the world. Wide and all at once. Of when I drank Guinness. In my grandmother's sweater. When laughter was a language I spoke fluently. Posted by Joanna Bateman. Friday, February 9, 2018. What my mom said. You were born into the arms of wonder. Of wonder who i am without all these children. Or wonder what i could have been without all this marriage. Because i stayed quiet.

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Saturday, March 17, 2018. St Patrick's brings up all my greenest heartsongs. Of when I was a simple blade of grass. Growing across the world. Wide and all at once. Of when I drank Guinness. In my grandmother's sweater. When laughter was a language I spoke fluently. Posted by Joanna Bateman. Friday, February 9, 2018. What my mom said. You were born into the arms of wonder. Of wonder who i am without all these children. Or wonder what i could have been without all this marriage. Because i stayed quiet.

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1 joanna bateman writes

2 with you

3 no comments

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6 share to twitter

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9 with a clock

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Joanna Bateman Writes | joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com Reviews

https://joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com

Saturday, March 17, 2018. St Patrick's brings up all my greenest heartsongs. Of when I was a simple blade of grass. Growing across the world. Wide and all at once. Of when I drank Guinness. In my grandmother's sweater. When laughter was a language I spoke fluently. Posted by Joanna Bateman. Friday, February 9, 2018. What my mom said. You were born into the arms of wonder. Of wonder who i am without all these children. Or wonder what i could have been without all this marriage. Because i stayed quiet.

INTERNAL PAGES

joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com

1

Joanna Bateman Writes : November 2011

http://joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html

Saturday, November 26, 2011. Why they shut my circus down. They said I was too touchy feely with the cheetahs. They didn’t know I used to be one. Fast, skinny, hungry for grass. For chalk and four-square. For my brothers before they started drinking. For my mother, before she stopped. Before the missionaries dunked her. Made her wear a jumpsuit. All of a sudden we felt bad for wanting coffee. They shut my circus down, it’s November’s fault. The month her eyes crusted up so thick. To make the team. Made t...

2

Joanna Bateman Writes : August 2011

http://joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html

Wednesday, August 17, 2011. I miss the 'p' of your name / You were born a plosive. My thermal blanket I called you once. Something to put my unsocked toes under. I just remember feeling warm. In a good way. Like a baby duck. Circling the kiddy pool. Warm like coming up with excuses for the mall Santa,. Warm like you were born blind and just smelled waffles for the first time,. Warm like if I get pregnant I won’t even mind,. Melted hands dripped maple syrup,. Always knotted my hair, made us change. They&#...

3

Joanna Bateman Writes : October 2011

http://joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com/2011_10_01_archive.html

Tuesday, October 11, 2011. Apology Attempt # 7. The dawn coughs,. I taste cavities, must have eaten sawdust again last night. This isn’t glamorous. There is popcorn syruped in my hair. Whenever I exhale,. I listen for your fever. I have tried calling the shore, to the god between my thumbs. They say I'm the only one. Who can't make you better. I wonder if you’re standing up straight,. Or who you’re dancing with,. Seriously I want to—. That’s not what this is about, I'm sorry. La luna, piu' tempo.

4

Joanna Bateman Writes : January 2013

http://joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com/2013_01_01_archive.html

Tuesday, January 29, 2013. Posted by Joanna Bateman. If I push you away, will you push back? A Joanna Bateman Story. The sky mellows into nectarine. It's quite the scene. To be with you is to know that love is mean. The way your father kicked your brother. You watched it all through the summer screen. Looking back in the book of time,. Thumbing through history to climb. It doesn't repeat itself, it rhymes. Remember once you told me that? After that, I heard it all the time. Does that ever happen to you?

5

Joanna Bateman Writes : August 2012

http://joannabatemanwrites.blogspot.com/2012_08_01_archive.html

Thursday, August 30, 2012. There is a piece of you. That wont go away. Cuz i wont let it. I write your name. So i wont forget it. Take away the the air that you displace. Watch me paint a wall a thousand colors. Every coat i try to trace the way it felt to wear your clothes. Lay underneath your breath. But There was space. Inside our bodies, a hollow trap. Felt thick and brittle, the leaves of Fall-. A shadowed lung would pull,. I'd turn and hug the wall. I hoped in both my hands. I know you heard it too.

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Saturday, March 17, 2018. St Patrick's brings up all my greenest heartsongs. Of when I was a simple blade of grass. Growing across the world. Wide and all at once. Of when I drank Guinness. In my grandmother's sweater. When laughter was a language I spoke fluently. Posted by Joanna Bateman. Friday, February 9, 2018. What my mom said. You were born into the arms of wonder. Of wonder who i am without all these children. Or wonder what i could have been without all this marriage. Because i stayed quiet.

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