Jordan Eve Morral

We Are Little Children, Forever by Jordan Eve Morrall

(Jordan Eve Morrall returns today with a combination of insight and perhaps even advice–The Eds.)

Everyone is living life for the first time. I’ve written about it. I truly believe that, throughout their entire lives, people have no idea what they are doing. While they may have goals and feign being put together, the majority base their entire lives around social norms with no thought of individuality. Yet, we let our fear of judgement from these same people hold us back.

Now, here’s another thought: in relation to the age of the earth and all the centuries of civilization that has come before, everyone is–essentially–a child.

The idea is twofold.

First: why should we model our lives after other children who are still learning how to live contentedly and will still be figuring it out, even when they come to die? Just do your own thing. (This concept ties in with everyone living their lives for the first time and has already been covered.)

Second: why shouldn’t we feel compassion for these people, these children, in their confusion and naivety? They–like us–are lost in a world they will never understand. It’s a scary life with so many challenges, choices, and changes. We must try to be empathetic towards everyone around us, everyone in the whole world. How could you hate anyone who is wandering, lost and alone? By default, if someone is rude to you, they themselves are hurt or scared. If someone is lazy and unhelpful, they are overwhelmed by the demands placed on them; they don’t feel they are capable. They are children.

Scenario: a 40-year-old man insults you. So what? He is a literal child. Compared to the length of time people have been being born, going to war, inventing all manner of things, and dying, he is an infant who knows nothing. You can’t take his words personally or as truth.

We must love one another and work together. We must encourage one another and never lash out. If a child does something wrong, yelling never does any good. Gentle guidance does.

We are all children looking for a loving friend. Please be that friend.

Jordan Eve Morrall

I Grind My Teeth: Oral Poetry by Jordan Eve Morral

It was kindergarten.

The creepy guy on lunch duty

pulled my teeth out with a wrench.

They fell out in a clump

of enamel and gum.

Still, I felt convinced

they wouldn’t notice.

I lost my teeth again –

the four front ones on top.

They remained in my mouth

with Scotch tape, held down.

My teeth are so loose

they protrude at all angles;

My lips have parted,

forever alone.

It’s weird. In dreams

I’ll be endlessly falling,

my throat slit,

a child’s voice calling,

but I only wake up scared–

delirious and delusional–

when my fangs are not bared

and able to reflect the moon.

*Dreams of lost teeth commonly symbolize feelings of insecurity, loss, or transformation.

I have always been interested in the concept of dream interpretation, yet I am always going

back and forth between believing and not believing the accuracy of a real-life translation.

However, I have been dreaming about losing my teeth for as long as I can remember. Starting

in elementary school and continuing into the present day, I have had the lingering fear that I will

one day soon be without my teeth.

The hard thing about this constant worry is that I am afraid I will never be able to rid my mind of

it. Teeth are so often the focus of my dreams that I spend my waking hours thinking of them too.

Unfortunately, this leads to more of the same dreams. I cannot stop the cycle.

It is for no other reason than my recurring dreams that I wrote this poem. On some level, I think I

expected it to be a form of catharsis. In this aspect, I believe I have failed. I have simply

confirmed how much time I spend thinking about my teeth. I am perpetuating the cycle.

Jordan Eve Morral

(Image is of the author)

Oxymorons by Jordan Eve Morral

We know clouds are water vapor,

but we’re still amazed they float.

We know trees are turned to paper,

but how, we’ll never know.

So many little things,

make so little sense.

But since they are ordinary,

questions make us sound dense.

We may be too easily transfixed–

insane and dull and dumb–

but we see the world with wonder,

seeking all of its wisdom.

We are wise fools.

The “wise fool”:

An oxymoron that, like the rest,

is contradictory but makes perfect sense.

Jordan Eve Morral

(Image is of the author)

These Wood Entities by Jordan Eve Morral

It’s the trees that make me cry

more than anything.

The hemlock stands strong

with its twigs of green and cones

until the last moment

when snow hides the earth

and deer eat the branches bare.

The red cedar stands alone

in fields long abandoned.

Slow but steady it grows

Only to be chopped for chests and posts.

The blue spruce lives long,

valued for its beauty,

but outgrows its friends

well after they are gone.

The red pine feeds mice and birds of song,

but, in eating the seeds,

these creatures devour descendents.

The catalpa with its beans

would seem exempt from my sorrow,

but it too has flowers that quickly fade.

The syrup maple is kind with abundance,

and thus has its sweet sap stolen

before it ever has a taste of itself.

The reason, my friend, these wood entities

bring such strife and pain

is because of the human struggle they endure.

Mankind inflicts the destruction,

and suffers the denouement.

Jordan Eve Morral

(Image is of the author)

Creature Comfort by Jordan Eve Morral

This evening, there was a road crew

in the streets of a colonial town.

They blocked traffic and began work at dusk.

The sunset against the faded red bricks

made the scene–and the big-bellied crew–

look like guests at a late-day garden party.

It appeared that one man ran the excavator

while the rest looked on,

the audience of an outdoor theater performance.

Their mundanity and at-odds presence

made me want to cry

and become one of them.

Never did laboring over asphalt and drains

seem so appealing–just a step down from the divine.

More than anything, it was the unspoken comfort,

the unrecognized camaraderie,

that made these humans glorious,

made them creatures I wanted to embody.

Or maybe it’s just that I forget I am perceived

and felt seen by them.

Jordan Eve Morral