Twitterive: A Journey of Recognition
by: Taylor Pilla
Prologue
Wendell Berry was my muse throughout the creation of my Twitterive. His “becoming one with nature” resonated with me. This notion was the inspiration for my repetend, which is that although we are not all genetically related, the land we occupy keeps us connected. The multimodal narrative that follows includes two original poems titled, “Stepping Stones” and “Coming Home” and a micro fiction piece titled, “L’avvenire.” I have adorned each with vivid descriptions and photographs of authentic observations from my own backyard, while encompassing the dramatic recognition that nature intertwines generations. The result is my own transformation in recognizing, appreciating, and becoming cognizant that my backyard isn’t really my backyard. It is our backyard, the backyard of those who were here and those who will be here. My hope is that what I have created will resonate with my audience the way Berry’s writing has resonated with me.
Wendell Berry was my muse throughout the creation of my Twitterive. His “becoming one with nature” resonated with me. This notion was the inspiration for my repetend, which is that although we are not all genetically related, the land we occupy keeps us connected. The multimodal narrative that follows includes two original poems titled, “Stepping Stones” and “Coming Home” and a micro fiction piece titled, “L’avvenire.” I have adorned each with vivid descriptions and photographs of authentic observations from my own backyard, while encompassing the dramatic recognition that nature intertwines generations. The result is my own transformation in recognizing, appreciating, and becoming cognizant that my backyard isn’t really my backyard. It is our backyard, the backyard of those who were here and those who will be here. My hope is that what I have created will resonate with my audience the way Berry’s writing has resonated with me.
fafafafafafafafafafa
Stepping Stones
The cement never felt so artificial as it gripped the arches of my feet.
I heard her in the distance. She was laughing and she seemed happy.
I used the sound of her breath and the creak of clanging chains to steer my direction.
I began feeling ill following the repeated sound of her worn-in Mary Jane outsoles brushing against tightly-packed dirt.
Soon, I was buckled over in an agonizing pain I had never felt.
Beads began slipping from my temple, falling softly along the contour of my chiseled cheekbones.
Beads of sweat carried my apricot blush all the way down my face, until my reflection resembled that of striped curtains.
My chest felt heavy and my heart felt weightless. I continued to walk.
The inhalations of fire-grilled dinners and citronella candles quickly soothed my stomach.
The wind began hesitating with each step I took.
I suddenly couldn’t hear the creaking of chains anymore.
I relied on her heavy breathing. It grew louder as it whispered my name.
Quiet. That is all I heard.
There she was, sitting on a rubber, hammock-like swing seat peering out at me.
She said nothing as she extended her arm forward.
I could see the dirt impacted under her chewed, fragile fingernails like it had been resting there for decades.
The cowlick separating her bangs, sprawled outward like the legs of a spider, but her paintbrush haircut sweetly shaped her apple round face.
I reached out and touched her stiff hand. It felt as if it had been smothered by bricks of ice.
She smiled. It was cockeyed and endearing.
I wanted to be gentle with her, for she resembled a little girl I saw once before.
Five steps away, holding her hand, I asked her her name.
The slits of her eyes widened like almonds as she glared up at me.
“I do not have a name yet.”
The cement never felt so artificial as it gripped the arches of my feet.
I heard her in the distance. She was laughing and she seemed happy.
I used the sound of her breath and the creak of clanging chains to steer my direction.
I began feeling ill following the repeated sound of her worn-in Mary Jane outsoles brushing against tightly-packed dirt.
Soon, I was buckled over in an agonizing pain I had never felt.
Beads began slipping from my temple, falling softly along the contour of my chiseled cheekbones.
Beads of sweat carried my apricot blush all the way down my face, until my reflection resembled that of striped curtains.
My chest felt heavy and my heart felt weightless. I continued to walk.
The inhalations of fire-grilled dinners and citronella candles quickly soothed my stomach.
The wind began hesitating with each step I took.
I suddenly couldn’t hear the creaking of chains anymore.
I relied on her heavy breathing. It grew louder as it whispered my name.
Quiet. That is all I heard.
There she was, sitting on a rubber, hammock-like swing seat peering out at me.
She said nothing as she extended her arm forward.
I could see the dirt impacted under her chewed, fragile fingernails like it had been resting there for decades.
The cowlick separating her bangs, sprawled outward like the legs of a spider, but her paintbrush haircut sweetly shaped her apple round face.
I reached out and touched her stiff hand. It felt as if it had been smothered by bricks of ice.
She smiled. It was cockeyed and endearing.
I wanted to be gentle with her, for she resembled a little girl I saw once before.
Five steps away, holding her hand, I asked her her name.
The slits of her eyes widened like almonds as she glared up at me.
“I do not have a name yet.”
fafafafafafafafafafa
L’avvenire
“Gab, just look at the life we’ve made for ourselves. Only twenty-seven years old and here we are, together, standing in our brand new backyard,” said Jaimie.
“I know, Jaim, it’s nice and all but I’m sorta regretting not getting a house built. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love this home. It’s lived in, has a beautiful patio overlooking a spacious yard, and it has those little stepping stones made of brick I’ve always wanted. There’s just something missing,” said Gabriella flicking a bug off her wrist.
“I don’t understand you, Gabriella. I worked so hard at the firm day in and day out to pay for this home for us to create a life in and all you’ve got to say about it is, ‘There’s just something missing.”
Jaimie stood up with his coffee, pushed the chair in, and walked up the steps, into the house.
Winter passed and Jaimie and Gabriella hadn’t spoken about their conversation. Jaimie continued his daily shuffle of waking up at 5:50 am every weekday morning, going to work, and coming home at 6:35 pm, while Gabriella kept herself busy by creating jobs around the house. She shampooed the carpets, worked on her and Jaimie’s wedding album, and painted the bathroom walls. Her favorite job, though, was to plant flowers in the backyard. It was fenced in and full of green. She often referred to it as, “Serenity in my own backyard.” It was a place where she could just “be.” It was a place where the early morning breeze could swim between the leaves and through her skin. She would often walk around the perimeter of the yard, stopping at each flower to bask in its beauty. She was proud to call it her own.
“I’ll see you when I get in tonight, sweetie,” said Jaimie kissing the top of Gabriella’s forehead.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting. I didn’t sleep much last night. My stomach was so queasy,” said Gabriella.
“It must have been those chives you ate in the pasta last night. You know they never settle well with your stomach. Just rest. I’ll be home normal time. Don’t go crazy planting anything either,” said Jaimie.
Spring passed and Jaimie and Gabriella settled in their home. They were happy and they were healthy. What more could they ask for?
“Hey hun, I’m home. Boy, that was a long day. I thought it’d never end,” said Jaimie ripping at his sport coat.
He heard nothing.
“Gab? Are you outside?”
“I’m in here, Jaim,” called Gabriella.
Jaimie followed her voice and walked into their master bathroom only to see Gabriella sitting on the cold, linoleum floor.
“What are you doing?” asked Jaimie.
Gabriella stood up slowly tightening the loops on her terrycloth robe.
“Remember that conversation we had a few months back when I said I felt like there was something missing?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Well, it looks like there was something missing from our new house after all. I’m pregnant.”
Summer passed and Gabriella was carrying a watermelon around with her. Her due date was in September.
“Hi hun, nice night out isn’t it?” Jaimie asked walking into the backyard.
“It’s perfect. I went for my check-up today, and I have a surprise for you. Remember how we said we didn’t want to know what the sex of the baby was?” asked Gabriella.
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, I got antsy and cheated. We’re having a little girl.”
Jaimie said nothing as he walked over to his wife and held her close. A tear fell down his face.
“I already know what we will name her, Avvenire. It means “future” in Italian,” said Gabriella.
Fall passed and Jaimie and Gabriella were living happily in their home with their new baby girl. Life was good.
Gabriella came home from the supermarket one Saturday and opened the kitchen door to find a tightly wrapped box with an oversized pink bow sitting on top of the table.
“What is this, Jaime?” asked Gabriella.
“Just open it. You’ll see,” said Jaimie.
“You know how much I hate surprises, Jaim,” said Gabriella.
“They’re not for you. Just open it already,” said Jaimie.
She hesitantly unraveled the pink bow and lifted the top off of the box.
“Oh, Jaim I love them. They’re so precious. Avvenire will love them too,” said Gabriella.
Avvenire did love them. She wore her Mary Janes everywhere. She even wore them outside when she swung on her swing. With each swing, the outsoles of her Mary Janes would brush against the tightly -packed dirt beneath her. For Gabriella, there was not a sound more soothing than this.
“Gab, just look at the life we’ve made for ourselves. Only twenty-seven years old and here we are, together, standing in our brand new backyard,” said Jaimie.
“I know, Jaim, it’s nice and all but I’m sorta regretting not getting a house built. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love this home. It’s lived in, has a beautiful patio overlooking a spacious yard, and it has those little stepping stones made of brick I’ve always wanted. There’s just something missing,” said Gabriella flicking a bug off her wrist.
“I don’t understand you, Gabriella. I worked so hard at the firm day in and day out to pay for this home for us to create a life in and all you’ve got to say about it is, ‘There’s just something missing.”
Jaimie stood up with his coffee, pushed the chair in, and walked up the steps, into the house.
Winter passed and Jaimie and Gabriella hadn’t spoken about their conversation. Jaimie continued his daily shuffle of waking up at 5:50 am every weekday morning, going to work, and coming home at 6:35 pm, while Gabriella kept herself busy by creating jobs around the house. She shampooed the carpets, worked on her and Jaimie’s wedding album, and painted the bathroom walls. Her favorite job, though, was to plant flowers in the backyard. It was fenced in and full of green. She often referred to it as, “Serenity in my own backyard.” It was a place where she could just “be.” It was a place where the early morning breeze could swim between the leaves and through her skin. She would often walk around the perimeter of the yard, stopping at each flower to bask in its beauty. She was proud to call it her own.
“I’ll see you when I get in tonight, sweetie,” said Jaimie kissing the top of Gabriella’s forehead.
“Okay, I’ll be waiting. I didn’t sleep much last night. My stomach was so queasy,” said Gabriella.
“It must have been those chives you ate in the pasta last night. You know they never settle well with your stomach. Just rest. I’ll be home normal time. Don’t go crazy planting anything either,” said Jaimie.
Spring passed and Jaimie and Gabriella settled in their home. They were happy and they were healthy. What more could they ask for?
“Hey hun, I’m home. Boy, that was a long day. I thought it’d never end,” said Jaimie ripping at his sport coat.
He heard nothing.
“Gab? Are you outside?”
“I’m in here, Jaim,” called Gabriella.
Jaimie followed her voice and walked into their master bathroom only to see Gabriella sitting on the cold, linoleum floor.
“What are you doing?” asked Jaimie.
Gabriella stood up slowly tightening the loops on her terrycloth robe.
“Remember that conversation we had a few months back when I said I felt like there was something missing?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Well, it looks like there was something missing from our new house after all. I’m pregnant.”
Summer passed and Gabriella was carrying a watermelon around with her. Her due date was in September.
“Hi hun, nice night out isn’t it?” Jaimie asked walking into the backyard.
“It’s perfect. I went for my check-up today, and I have a surprise for you. Remember how we said we didn’t want to know what the sex of the baby was?” asked Gabriella.
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, I got antsy and cheated. We’re having a little girl.”
Jaimie said nothing as he walked over to his wife and held her close. A tear fell down his face.
“I already know what we will name her, Avvenire. It means “future” in Italian,” said Gabriella.
Fall passed and Jaimie and Gabriella were living happily in their home with their new baby girl. Life was good.
Gabriella came home from the supermarket one Saturday and opened the kitchen door to find a tightly wrapped box with an oversized pink bow sitting on top of the table.
“What is this, Jaime?” asked Gabriella.
“Just open it. You’ll see,” said Jaimie.
“You know how much I hate surprises, Jaim,” said Gabriella.
“They’re not for you. Just open it already,” said Jaimie.
She hesitantly unraveled the pink bow and lifted the top off of the box.
“Oh, Jaim I love them. They’re so precious. Avvenire will love them too,” said Gabriella.
Avvenire did love them. She wore her Mary Janes everywhere. She even wore them outside when she swung on her swing. With each swing, the outsoles of her Mary Janes would brush against the tightly -packed dirt beneath her. For Gabriella, there was not a sound more soothing than this.
fafafafafafafafafafa
Coming Home
We are not related by blood, but by nature.
The trees are our greeter.
Their stability and strength welcome me with the same stillness that they will welcome those that I will never meet.
The dirt is our connector.
Its imprints will have vanished by the time I leave, but my feet and the feet of those I will never see will be connected by the indentations we have made in the dirt.
The wind is our link between then and now.
It touches my face with the same tenderness that it will touch the faces of those I will never know.
In shaking hands with nature, I am shaking hands with my predecessor.
I do not know her name, but through nature I have felt her touch.
We are not related by blood, but by nature.
The trees are our greeter.
Their stability and strength welcome me with the same stillness that they will welcome those that I will never meet.
The dirt is our connector.
Its imprints will have vanished by the time I leave, but my feet and the feet of those I will never see will be connected by the indentations we have made in the dirt.
The wind is our link between then and now.
It touches my face with the same tenderness that it will touch the faces of those I will never know.
In shaking hands with nature, I am shaking hands with my predecessor.
I do not know her name, but through nature I have felt her touch.