Greetings and Salutations,
I have started a new site on this here thing machine and I will be updating it more frequently than Dearbird. If you like pictures, poems, and stitchings, you may want to take a look-see. It’s still a work in progress, like all good things. I just thought I should share it because it’s happening.
Happy Saturday Turtles
He told me that no matter what anyone else tried to tell me, I was a writer and there’s no getting around that. He was right about that. He told me not to be a Winnie Cooper, because Winnie Cooper was a bitch, I had never heard a teacher cuss before that and rewatching The Wonder Years now, confirms that. She was pretty cold. He nominated me for Who’s Who and paid for the hardbound book just so I could see my name in print. He played tennis with us on his days off and made us memorize the poetry of Robert Frost. He gave me my first paperback book of poetry by Ralph Waldo Emerson and told me to write in it so I would remember it. I still note the date inside the cover of every book I read, because reading is about remembering not to forget.
He treated his students with a rare dignity, we were all capable of greatness. It was our duty to be ourselves. We were each on a unique mission, he respected us. Years later he sent me a message just to tell me he was proud of me. I responded in thanks for his kindness with a pun about bowling. Looking back, I should have said thank you for actually seeing me and paying true attention to the person I was bound to be. Thank you for pointing out that my superpower was my vulnerability. Thank you for equipping me with the tools and knowledge necessary to always be learning. Thank you for your love of words and thank you, Mr. Bruni, for caring.
You will be forever remembered, honored, and missed.
Noelle Labrousse AKA
Proud Bruni Bunch Alum
Holy Cross Alum
Don’t be a Winnie Club President
“You are born alone. You die alone. The value of the space in between is trust and love. That is why geometrically speaking the circle is a one.” -Louise Bourgeois
Someone close to me once mocked, that my paintings of circles were “fun”. Not to be taken seriously, much like myself. It was wrong then. I know that now.
If I drew you from a hat
Would you recognize my hand?
It was never simple, it was quiet.
When a brush had to be plucked
we could make words into art.
Once the tears dry and the last of the laughs take flight, we will still be you and me; ready, reborn and ripe.
What do you choose dear muppet?
Should we play this play and hear him out?
Should we strap on our loud voice boxes and shout?
Should we take up this blanket, and hide away?
Should we make reconcile in this domicile and stay?
Should we create a life small enough not to concede?
Should we seek open spaces and learn again, how to breathe?
What do you say dear muppet, my love?
Should we carry on or rise above?
There are a few at the top
Some in the center, some on the sides
But the most are on the bottom.
They are called ‘the forgotten’.