Let These Stories Stitch Us Together

8/3/2019 Let These Stories Stitch Us Together

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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

I’m from the water, the river,the mouth, the lake

from hammers, worn out toolstorn apart walls, bent-up rakes.

I’m from a do-it-yourself tree house dweller and an anything's possible cross country peddler.

I’m from salads with pepper-flavored flowers,artichokes, eggplant, brown rice and tahini,from zip lines, bee hives, and long walksthrough the orchard, up the mesa, soaking in the scenery.

I’m 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 changeand supporting a finch that dances.

My veins are fernsand God that placenta bush burnswithin me a reverencefor 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?Let’s 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.Let’s 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,We’ll trust each other tonight.



Ishi Utchu u

“How do you say ‘ear’ in Mixteco?” I asked a small group of Mixtecanboys and girls huddling around me.

“So o.” Several shyly replied followed by heart-melting smiles.

The Mixteco language and culture predates Spanish conquest byhundreds of years. This particular word sounds nothing like theSpanish word for ears: orejas. This colony of Indigenous MixtecanImmigrant 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 thehilarious sight, a gangly foreigner learning Mixteco. I felt a specialhonor to be learning an ancient language from these patient, helpfullittle 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 other’s hair and I notice right away

they are puzzled by my coloring. One boy blurts out the questionthey are all wanting to ask, “Pintaste tu pelo?” .

I have dark brown hair and a red beard. The two colors are in such acontrast people always ask me if I dye my hair. Several little onesasked if they could feel my beard. Perhaps they didn’t trust me whenI tell them that my beard is real and naturally colored red. Feeling mycourse beard they began to say, ‘Ishi Utchu u’ ...

I don’t 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 goat’s beard to them. This totallymade sense to me. I shared with them my best goat face to confirmtheir good observation. Goats are ordinary, playful and respectedanimals, so I was honored to be given this curious Mixtecannickname by the children.

How do you say, ‘let’s go swimming?’

“Co eh a Jibee?”

Kids start scurrying around and motioning down the hill towards theriver, “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,” Iinstruct.

Complexity:Droplets of milk separate as they fall from their cling on the tableedge.

Simplicity:“Nélida, don’t just watch it spill everywhere. Here’s 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 theglimmer in my eyes. We smile-- fascinated by the universe andeach other.



Stitched Together

“What can wash away my sin, nothing but the blood o’ Jesus!”Deep voices of weathered men reverberated through the GospelMission chapel. By the way we were belting it out, no one wasdoubting.

As we filed out of the chapel towards dinner, my neighbor tiltedhis chin in my direction, “How long you been here?”

“Tonight’s my first night.” I confessed.Amy and I were newlyweds camping in a dear friend’s backyard

when we got news that Jake- a family member we'd recentlyreconnected with- had just been released from jail. His sentencedidn’t allow him to return home, so he was living at the Union GospelMission and searching for a job in order to pay for a place of hisown. We were pained to think Jake was forced to move from oneinstitution to another.

Amy and I wanted to do something to encourage Jake during adifficult time as well as experience shelter life for ourselves, as a wayto gain new perspective on homelessness. We decided that the rightthing to do was leave our cozy tent for a night and head to theshelters-- I would try to meet up with Jake at the men’s mission andAmy would experience a night at Simonka Place, the women’sshelter.

“First night back for me too, I was in the state hospital,” myneighbor shot back. “Three square meals a day and cable TV. Can’tbeat that,” he bragged.

The louder voices in the dinner line took the stage.“What’s for dinner tonight fellas?”“You never know... we’ve had it all, deer, llama, last week was

bear. The bear‘s 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 I’d been given the first time around-- meatloaf, mashed potatoesand a hefty slice of birthday cake. I wondered how many men wereeating 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 wasencouraged because he seemed to be in good spirits. He took somuch care in guiding me through all the nightly routines at themission.

Jake led me up to the second floor dormitory. It was filled withover 40 bunks orphan Annie style, but this was no institution. Wornout from another long day, the men dressed in delicate hand sewnpatterned nightgowns and crawled into bunk beds covered inpatchwork quilts. The fabrics for both the gowns and quilts weremost definitely second hand scraps or throwaways. The significancewas paralyzing. Trying not to stare, I tucked into my cozy handmadequilt and did my best to get comfortable in the gown I was given.

“First night huh? What’s your name brother?”“Yeah, it’s my first night. I’m Ben.”“Nice to meet ya. I’m Ricardo,” My bunk neighbor introduced

himself with a warm smile. “Most of us... we just guys separatedfrom the ones we love. Talk to any of these guys, they’ll tell you whothey love. You love someone?”

“Yeah, I’m married. We’ve been staying in a tent. I’ll probablyonly be here tonight.”

“It’s alright, you don’t worry, you’ll get used to things here.”In a single phrase Ricardo had calmed any final apprehensions

I’d had about the night. I glanced around the room and saw all theother men getting comfortable in their bunks and sharing a final wordfor the day as well.

The lights snapped off and I lay staring into the words andimages of the day. Ricardo’s wisdom returned to my thoughts. “We

just separated from the ones we love.” Ripped, torn or cut off fromtheir families like scraps of fabric. I hoped these men would be able

to pick up the threads and be restitched into a patchwork familysomewhere. I knew this was happening at the mission.

It all reminded me of Christ’s rhetorical question, “Who is mymother, and who are my brothers?” and His inviting reply, “Whoever does the will of my father in heaven is my brother and sister andmother.” I love that Ricardo had chosen to call me brother. I want tobe his brother.



displaced sustainability

wrangle over povertyrepair the spiraling damage and despair both sides of the aisle

be a helping hand during tough timeshang in the balancewe’re 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.“What’s 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 theswitchbacks.The Ghost replied, soaking our faithwith 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.

We’ve come to join the children's pilgrimage.



Towering abovetransparent emotionthe passage of time has broughtthe poet andthe 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 thewealthiest nation in the world, began with disposable diapers anddisposable 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 overseafactory, repurposed us by forbidding us to use our native languagesor practice our native religions, and you sent us on ships to be soldfor 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 makeyou wealthy. If we no longer worked, your laws protected your rightto dispose us, guilt free.

When you said your nation was founded on freedom, did you meanto say it was founded on disposable?



I Can’t Let Go(A response to William Stafford’s “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 won’t let go of my leader, that walks in peace,with arms stretched out, kneelingbathes me with joy and tearsclothes 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 child’s heart.I hold dear to this thread because I know when all falls apart,like Job, I will restartor join him resting in truth and beauty.

I can only know this thread and cling to it more tightlyif I walk towards the mercy that binds me,the mercy I’ve been given, the sins I’ve been forgiven,

the words that direct me hometo 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 SqueezedReal FruitNatural Flavor Organically Grown

The redundant adjectives tell a storyof a trust that has been lostas 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 tofeed the hungry andenrich the soil?

Not alone, but connected,as branches grafted on the treewith deep roots in family.

Reaching for the Sun,grounded in the earth.

Let These Stories Stitch Us Together

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