Let These Stories Stitch Us Together

by Benjamin Miles Dalgas

This anthology was pieced, patched and stitched together during the 2011 Oregon Writing Project at Willamette University.

2011 Benjamin Dalgas The following photos were modified from photos posted on www.morguefile.com. Thread: ardelfin, Disposable Cups: carolinajg, Glass: blary 54

I'm From Im from the water, the river, the mouth, the lake from hammers, worn out tools torn apart walls, bent-up rakes. Im from a do-it-yourself tree house dweller and an anything's possible cross country peddler. Im from salads with pepper-flavored flowers, artichokes, eggplant, brown rice and tahini, from zip lines, bee hives, and long walks through the orchard, up the mesa, soaking in the scenery. Im from questioning the unquestioned, loving through action, facing our trials, with hope and laughter.

Oh Father of Feathered Things (a response to Pied Beauty by Gerard Manly Hopkins) Hunched shrub shoots its mange. A doug-fir droops its branches, feeling the winds for change and supporting a finch that dances. My veins are ferns and God that placenta bush burns within me a reverence for a Father of feathered things.

Midnight Rafting Stop on the Colorado River I feel the apprehension and anticipation. I hear an internal debate devolve, each calming thought answered by a fear. Do you taste a dryness in your mouth? Lets watch timelessness take over. I want to go back to that river and stare at the cliff. I want to think about the space in between, the silent space. But I want to see you there. I want to be with you there. Fall from here to there. We took a risk together. Lets take another. Because every time I risk my life with you, I begin anew. A silver moon floats on the cold Colorado ripples, darkness hides her shores, Well trust each other tonight.

Ishi Utchu u How do you say ear in Mixteco? I asked a small group of Mixtecan boys and girls huddling around me. So o. Several shyly replied followed by heart-melting smiles. The Mixteco language and culture predates Spanish conquest by hundreds of years. This particular word sounds nothing like the Spanish word for ears: orejas. This colony of Indigenous Mixtecan Immigrant families from Oaxaca sits atop a hill on the outskirts of San Antonio, a small town in the foothills of Baja California. How do you say thank you? I asked Tasha biu, they answered sharply. I attempted to repeat, Tacha beeeuu. The children laughed, pointed and ran to find friends and share the hilarious sight, a gangly foreigner learning Mixteco. I felt a special honor to be learning an ancient language from these patient, helpful little teachers. How do you say hair? I said motioning to my hair. Ishi. touching their heads, several reaching out to feel mine as well. For a moment we study each others hair and I notice right away they are puzzled by my coloring. One boy blurts out the question they are all wanting to ask, Pintaste tu pelo? . I have dark brown hair and a red beard. The two colors are in such a contrast people always ask me if I dye my hair. Several little ones asked if they could feel my beard. Perhaps they didnt trust me when I tell them that my beard is real and naturally colored red. Feeling my course beard they began to say, Ishi Utchu u...

I dont hesitate to ask, What does Utchu u mean? Chivo laughing and pointing at a goat wandering on a hill nearby. My beard felt and looked like a goats beard to them. This totally made sense to me. I shared with them my best goat face to confirm their good observation. Goats are ordinary, playful and respected animals, so I was honored to be given this curious Mixtecan nickname by the children. How do you say, lets go swimming? Co eh a Jibee? Kids start scurrying around and motioning down the hill towards the river, Co eh, Co eh, Co eh a Jibee.

- our best goat faces -

Simplicity or Complexity? Simplicity: My daughter spills her milk. Complexity: Her curiosity in the physical properties of dribbling liquid. Simplicity: Ohhh.... Lil sweets, you need to clean that up, get a rag, I instruct. Complexity: Droplets of milk separate as they fall from their cling on the table edge. Simplicity: Nlida, dont just watch it spill everywhere. Heres a paper towel, start washing it up, I restate. Complexity: The milk finds its way back together in small pools on the floor. Simplicity or Complexity? My daughter looks from the shimmer in the puddle of milk to the glimmer in my eyes. We smile-- fascinated by the universe and each other.

Stitched Together What can wash away my sin, nothing but the blood o Jesus! Deep voices of weathered men reverberated through the Gospel Mission chapel. By the way we were belting it out, no one was doubting. As we filed out of the chapel towards dinner, my neighbor tilted his chin in my direction, How long you been here? Tonights my first night. I confessed. Amy and I were newlyweds camping in a dear friends backyard when we got news that Jake- a family member we'd recently reconnected with- had just been released from jail. His sentence didnt allow him to return home, so he was living at the Union Gospel Mission and searching for a job in order to pay for a place of his own. We were pained to think Jake was forced to move from one institution to another. Amy and I wanted to do something to encourage Jake during a difficult time as well as experience shelter life for ourselves, as a way to gain new perspective on homelessness. We decided that the right thing to do was leave our cozy tent for a night and head to the shelters-- I would try to meet up with Jake at the mens mission and Amy would experience a night at Simonka Place, the womens shelter. First night back for me too, I was in the state hospital, my neighbor shot back. Three square meals a day and cable TV. Cant beat that, he bragged. The louder voices in the dinner line took the stage. Whats for dinner tonight fellas? You never know... weve had it all, deer, llama, last week was bear. The bears good. I hope we having bear tonight. The food smelled so good and the portions were huge. Seconds! Yelled the chef. The line was immediate. I was shocked. I could barely finish all that Id been given the first time around-- meatloaf, mashed potatoes and a hefty slice of birthday cake. I wondered how many men were eating their first meal of the day. Showers! Gotta take one. Leave your backpacks, take a gown.

Jake and I met up when I was checking in for the night. I was encouraged because he seemed to be in good spirits. He took so much care in guiding me through all the nightly routines at the mission. Jake led me up to the second floor dormitory. It was filled with over 40 bunks orphan Annie style, but this was no institution. Worn out from another long day, the men dressed in delicate hand sewn patterned nightgowns and crawled into bunk beds covered in patchwork quilts. The fabrics for both the gowns and quilts were most definitely second hand scraps or throwaways. The significance was paralyzing. Trying not to stare, I tucked into my cozy handmade quilt and did my best to get comfortable in the gown I was given. First night huh? Whats your name brother? Yeah, its my first night. Im Ben. Nice to meet ya. Im Ricardo, My bunk neighbor introduced himself with a warm smile. Most of us... we just guys separated from the ones we love. Talk to any of these guys, theyll tell you who they love. You love someone? Yeah, Im married. Weve been staying in a tent. Ill probably only be here tonight. Its alright, you dont worry, youll get used to things here. In a single phrase Ricardo had calmed any final apprehensions Id had about the night. I glanced around the room and saw all the other men getting comfortable in their bunks and sharing a final word for the day as well. The lights snapped off and I lay staring into the words and images of the day. Ricardos wisdom returned to my thoughts. We just separated from the ones we love. Ripped, torn or cut off from their families like scraps of fabric. I hoped these men would be able to pick up the threads and be restitched into a patchwork family somewhere. I knew this was happening at the mission. It all reminded me of Christs rhetorical question, Who is my mother, and who are my brothers? and His inviting reply, Whoever does the will of my father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother. I love that Ricardo had chosen to call me brother. I want to be his brother.

displaced sustainability wrangle over poverty repair the spiraling damage and despair both sides of the aisle be a helping hand during tough times hang in the balance were on the verge of more than ever urgent

Children's Pilgrimage We became imaginary orphans. Ten pairs of eyes wandered around Nestucca cabin. Shyly they catch each other, flickering with anticipation and wonder. Whats it going to be like having nine brothers, living by a lake in a forest for the summer? This adoption is real! triumphed Tonka, our counselor. If you believe Him, our heavenly Dad says the eternal family starts here. Gripped, our eyes met again, this time we are brothers. We began our journey together, child pilgrims. We returned together, sojourning sherpa. To the mountain top, where we can watch the waves of soul work roll in. So we set out to heave our burdens toward God on the switchbacks. The Ghost replied, soaking our faith with downpours of mercy. A firelight greeted us, music weaved our testimonies into the majestic skyline sanctuary, pointing us towards the Word, Jesus loves, forgives... can we? Will we? Barreling down the hill rejoicing, filled with grace that overcomes hurt. Racing like lunatics to sunset point, simply to be staggered by glory. Weve come to join the children's pilgrimage.

Towering above transparent emotion the passage of time has brought the poet and the philosopher to spiritual depth.

Did You Mean Disposable When You Said Freedom? Your nation is known as consumers of disposable conveniences. You may believe this small ingenuity, part of making you the wealthiest nation in the world, began with disposable diapers and disposable film-- I have a different story for you. We were the predecessors to your Styrofoam cup. We were your disposable people. You packaged us in chains from an oversea factory, repurposed us by forbidding us to use our native languages or practice our native religions, and you sent us on ships to be sold for your service. You knew that half of us would die on the journey over, but to you, we were disposable. The rest of us would be a commodity to make you wealthy. If we no longer worked, your laws protected your right to dispose us, guilt free. When you said your nation was founded on freedom, did you mean to say it was founded on disposable?

I Cant Let Go (A response to William Staffords The Way it Is) A great love holding the molecules, a life giving force greets my soul in the morning. A voice that speaks so subtly, yet surrounds us so fully. A balance that rests between love and justice, guided by grace and mercy. I wont let go of my leader, that walks in peace, with arms stretched out, kneeling bathes me with joy and tears clothes me with wind and words lights a fire in my heart. This miracle is the central string of my thread, it leads me towards a kingdom that is here. A family, a father, a holy mother and a childs heart. I hold dear to this thread because I know when all falls apart, like Job, I will restart or join him resting in truth and beauty. I can only know this thread and cling to it more tightly if I walk towards the mercy that binds me, the mercy Ive been given, the sins Ive been forgiven, the words that direct me home to the center heart and back towards healing. My thread holds me upside-down, inside-out, I have an irreversible feeling.

What's Lost for a Lower Cost Fresh Squeezed Real Fruit Natural Flavor Organically Grown The redundant adjectives tell a story of a trust that has been lost as we strive to cut down the cost of an age old process.

Like a Tree Planted by Rivers of Water How can we bear fruit to feed the hungry and enrich the soil? Not alone, but connected, as branches grafted on the tree with deep roots in family. Reaching for the Sun, grounded in the earth.