The vegetation crowded out the ovaries, using their eggs and the vestiges of monthly blood as fertilizer for their growth. On the other side was a citrus orchard like the one my grandma had when I was younger – oranges, tangerines, grapefruit and lemons.
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There was a vegetable patch on one side with tomatoes and zucchini and pumpkins. It worked on its own, forming its own little habitat, its own world inside me. Meanwhile, I decided that it did feel empty in me, so I planted a garden and over time it grew and I hardly had to do any tending to it. I liked knowing that it was really best for both of us that it not be inside me anymore. It looked happy there, happier than it had ever been inside me and at first this made me happy too. The uterus fit perfectly in the box, it seemed to even breath – expanding and contracting with ease in its new case. I felt that I didn’t care so he placed it in a glass box which rested on the mantel in our living room. I let him in and he wept seeing my uterus outside my body. My husband begged from outside the bathroom for me not to do it, but it was too late.
The blood flowed out right after it, but I felt it immediately begin to heal me from the inside. My uterus didn’t even try to fight me – it slipped right out. It was a rather bloody affair, but less painful than one would expect. So, after the miscarriage I went into the bathroom and reached up into my vagina with both hands, gripped the dammed thing and pulled it right out. It made it difficult to walk and almost impossible to run. It weighed me down with all the expectations placed on it. Its sharp corners would poke out, stabbing me when I sat down. It felt like a box trying to fit in an oval. But they didn’t know what I knew – it was defective. The doctor and my husband seemed to think this was an extreme reaction – it had only been one miscarriage after all. Originally published in the February 2015 Issue. As I watched their tires spin on still-wet paint, I suddenly realized I was not. The motorcycles thought they were invincible.
The road could have been woven from caution tape and I doubt their behavior would change.
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I clung to the window, watching as motorcycles squirmed around cars, often riding right down the crack of a painted yellow heart. But the story of the hearts broke my own. I could feel the song rumble through his chestĪt fourteen, I rarely thought of death. Those hands who held me when that heart stopped.ĭid you know he used to sing me to sleep? Please enjoy some of our favorite pieces from the past 10 years. We hope all of you continue your amazing support and appreciate your hand in our success. It is our hope that See Spot Run builds and continues our legacy as an amazing opportunity for all artists and creators. This year we celebrate our 10 th year as a part of this campus, and for several years we have increased our reach to the digital world.
Over the years we have had several different reimaginations of our style and format, but we have still had the continuous support of all of you. Each person involved with the creation and the appreciation of See Spot Run has made an impact on our work, our education, and our creativity. Thank you to everyone that has helped create our See Spot Run legacy. Through the dedication of the staff, authors, artists, and especially our readers, we have been able to grow and spread our wings. In 2007 a student at Alma College, Krista, began See Spot Run as a creative outlet for students to share their work on campus and in our community. Click here for a list of DVDs.“People will walk in and walk out of your life, but the one whose footstep made a long lasting impression is the one you should never allow to walk out.” – Michael Bassey Johnson Below is an index of movies in our database.
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