Summer 2014: Young Voices

Wabi-Sabi

Fiction by Janet Webster

Wabi-Sabi: An ancient Japanese philosophy that accentuates and appreciates the beauty of deliberate imperfection.

The Woman was the first to throw a punch.

Her fist hit his jaw; her knuckles were callused, his skin was soft. She smiled. There was a sick enjoyment in the sound. The Man, however, was not smiling. He pushed his palm into her chest and watched as her head bashed into the wall. No one screamed. No one called for help.

This was a typical evening.

The couple standing before me had always been untraditional. Their meeting and their marriage took place in the same week. I, myself, was a traditional gift at the wedding. A vase. Red and simple, ceramic and smooth. It is a tradition in the Japanese culture to give a vase to every bride for protection and prosperity. I am to watch over The Woman and give her means in which to harness beauty.

The flowers I currently hold have been dead for years.

I remember when I first felt her hands, gentle and light, take me from her mother’s arms. She cradled me as if I were precious and she smiled at The Man. “Who says I need protection?”

It’s hard to imagine that those same hands were now curled into fists. The silence broke as The Man stormed into the bedroom.

“COWARD,” she screamed, ramming her shoulder into the door.

“GET OUT.” His voice was coarse and angry, a tone I’d come to know.

“THIS IS MY HOUSE.”

“THIS IS OUR HOUSE.”

“THIS IS MY HOUSE.”

The Man hit the wood and The Woman jumped. Revenge in her steps, she ran at the door and crashed her body into it. Slowly, she slid against the paint, knees pulled in. She carefully set her palm on the carpet, brought her ear to the floor and peered into the room. The Man’s feet were dangling off the bed. He had kicked off his shoes but his muscles were tense.

“Babe?” She spoke quietly this time.

“What?”

“Wanna come out here?”

They paused. After a moment The Man’s feet slowly touched the ground. The Woman scrambled to her feet and backed away from the bedroom. The door creaked as it opened. The Man stood tall and hesitant in the doorframe. She smiled. He smiled. They walked to the couch and sat together, hands and feet intertwined. They didn’t talk or read or turn on the television. The quiet was haunted, like it had fingers to cover mouths, sustaining the silence.

I had learned over the years that there were two outcomes of this quiet: The couple could fall asleep. They would seem perpetually peaceful, and even if there were a fight in the morning, they would wake up smiling. Their words soft and their hands kind, even if just for a moment. Or it could be the eye of the storm. The quiet could be feeding the fury of their fists, waiting to explode.

The latter occurred.

There was a torrent of punches and shouting and chaos and passion. The Man screamed and The Woman tore pictures off the walls and The Man emptied the kitchen cabinets onto the floor and The Woman wrapped her fingers around me.

This time she was not gentle.

I broke.

* * *

‪These humans had edges. The Man and The Woman were shards, sharp to the touch. Yet somehow, these fractions of people, who scar anyone who touches them, fit together. Just jagged enough to be whole. ‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬

Like a vase.

Traditionally, pottery in Japan is purposefully shattered and repaired to show the flaws in its past. Only then is it beautiful. Wabi-Sabi. A concept that lives in the veins of clay and the skin of this pair. ‪

‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬‬ I was put back together with gold glue; my cracks now my defining feature. The lines on my shell match the scars on hers.‬ I sit on the same shelf. I watch the same man and the same woman.

Poetry Sweet, evocative, haunting: Delight in 19 poems to please every palate.		Prose What does it take to be a woman, sister, mother, child, lover and friend? Share the struggles six non-fiction writers have with these roles.		Artwork Five local artists, a variety of media, and new insights into our world. Enjoy the unique visions of these extraordinary women.		Young Voices Savor the poetry and prose of five talented young authors whose voices you will want to hear again and again.		Contributors Meet the 25 authors and 5 artists whose voices and visions enliven the fifth edition of our journal.

LETTER FROM THE MANAGING EDITOR POETRY         Out of Eden by Melanie Green         Under the Tongue by Cindy Stewart-Rinier         it wasn’t the rain by Ann Sinclair         And the King Was in the Counting House by Geraldine Foote         Aurelia Aurita: Moon Jelly by Lois Rosen         What Cape Alava Was Like Then by Linda Strever         ʻAʻā by Burky Achilles         Still Life With Cabbage by Margaret Chula         Mother of the Drowned Child by Penelope Scambly Schott         Summer, When Green Turns by Cindy Stewart-Rinier         Relic by Jennifer Foreman         From the yes column of “is there a god?” checklist by Jennifer Foreman         Binders Full of Women by Shawn Aveningo         Even in February Every Woman Wants to Be a Feast by Claudia Savage         Weddings I Have Ruined by Tanya Jarvik         Thicker Than Water by Claudia Savage         Weekend Wayfarers by Elizabeth Stoessl         Wordscape by Tanya Jarvik         Talking Herself into Onward by Melanie Green PROSE         Tribes by Thea Constantine         Carnage by Heidi Beierle         Owyhee Barbie by Marylynne Diggs         Permeable Divide by Kamala Bremer         Pepper Anderson Meets the Amazon by Linda Ferguson         The Day I Stopped Typing by Kate Comings ART         Brooke by Oriana Lewton-Leopold         Elizabeth by Oriana Lewton-Leopold         Silence Considered by Carole Murphy         The Egg Sisters by Carole Murphy         Garden Gate by Koka Filipovic         Purple Shade in the Garden by Koka Filipovic         Untitled with a Flamingo by Amy Robinson         It's My Party by Amy Robinson YOUNG VOICES         A Work of Art by Leilani Garcia         What the Bees Did to Me by Colette Au         Things I never said by Molly Benson         Wabi-Sabi by Janet Webster         Foresters by Sophia Mautz CONTRIBUTORS