by William Michaelian
Am I truly limited by my senses, or are they, too, imagined? Can I prove my own existence? Is such proof desirable, or even necessary? What of my childhood, and everything else I am in the habit of believing I remember? Is memory a thing of the present? Is it a story told, and then countless times retold, changing and continuing of its own volition and accord? Drawing and writing; waking and dreaming; fiction and reality; life and death — I simply feel no need to know where, or if, one ends and the other begins. Does that make me strange? And yet what is strangeness, but the very delight of a beautiful, unaccountable world, ever the more vivid once we have learned to let it go?
Going Home
By firmly gripping a pencil in grade school and beyond, I developed a callous on the middle finger of my right hand. It’s still there, to the left and just below the nail, despite the fact that I’ve been typing almost exclusively for decades.
When I was small, my father found a clump of white asparagus growing in the vineyard. He dug it out and planted it by our house well. It fed us faithfully each spring.
I remember my father
walking on the hard dirt avenue
at the end of the vineyard
rows behind our
house,
the cuffs turned up
on his jeans, the dust and sticks
and weeds, his impatient
stride, having to run
to stay beside
him
that hot July when I was four
and he was thirty-seven,
but I don’t recall our destination,
or what he did when we
arrived, what I said,
or his reply.
Once, on a hot summer evening, I aimed a BB gun at our old wooden basketball goal and fired. The shot bounced back and hit me in the forehead. I fished it out of the dust and put it in my pocket. I don’t remember what I did after that.
When I was about ten, I took nine snails from the irrigation ditch that ran alongside the east end of our farm and put them in the aquarium on top of my chest of drawers. A few weeks later, the aquarium was teeming with snails.
My first car was a bicycle. My first bicycle was a scooter. My first scooter was a tricycle. My first bus ride was in a dusty red wagon.
One night, my mother’s Aunt Mildred took out her teeth and showed them to me.
In the kitchen during a family get-together, with my mother looking on, I ate a piece of uncooked marinated lamb intended for shish kebab. It tasted good and I didn’t feel ill at all, but I never did it again.
We grew all of our tomatoes back then, and bought all of our onions and parsley.
Same as now, there were stars in those days that had no need of names.
If I were a lizard on a woodpile, I would still be able to write, but I would do it differently.
If I were a pumpkin on a vine, I would want to face east so I could watch the sun rise.
If I were a faithful old hound, my name would be Bill.
Late one night, driving home with some friends from the mountains, I pulled off the road, stopped the car, and told everyone to get out and look at the stars. They did, in amazed silence. I wonder if they remember that now.
I still feel thrilled when I find a marble.
Back in his heyday, Willie Mays lived near my cousin’s house in San Francisco. We rang his doorbell. No one answered.
My father used to chase them when he was a kid, but I myself have never seen a roadrunner.
The first thing I smoked was a nickel cigar.
To this day, I feel funny referring to myself as a man. A man was always someone older, someone responsible. My father and grandfather were men. I am still a boy.
I cannot blow my nose using my right hand. It has to be the left.
I always tie my left shoe first.
I kick with my left foot.
The first poem I remember reading is “O Captain! My Captain!”
When I first started piano lessons, I used to sing with every note. The teacher told my mother I had perfect pitch.
There are some things I will never write about. That, too, is how you will know me.
William Michaelian is an American writer, artist, and poet. His most recent book is the Tenth Anniversary Authorized Print Edition of his first novel, A Listening Thing. He lives in Salem, Oregon.
Website: http://www.william-michaelian.com
Creative Thresholds 
I don’t know how this showed up in my mailbox … while listening to Armenian music (Djivan Gasparian)… it was a perfect match. I read it over again… slowly, the pace of the music.
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Reblogged this on Jacob Russell's Magic Names and commented:
I don’t know how this showed up in my mailbox … while listening to Armenian music (Djivan Gasparian)… it was a perfect match. I read it over again… slowly, as I listened… the pace of the music. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvhU7Th9_OI
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This brings me peace. Beautiful.
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So Beautiful, Nice Job
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This was mesmerizing, enjoyed it alot
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This is an amazing piece. I loved it! So peaceful so mesmerizing. 🙂
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I keep reading this. I wonder if I wrote twenty five of my own things how many would be the same? How many would be different? My heart caught on so many of them, like the marble, but in twenty five, or s hundred, could two people ever have the same ones? Thanks for sharing. I’m really excited about following this and reading more.
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This is a very beautiful piece. Is this all based on personal experience? From your imagination? For some reason, tears were coming to my eyes when I read this.Considering that I have never teared up from reading something, I would say that this is a piece that really tugged at my heartstrings. I thoroughly enjoy your writing. It’s thought-provoking, beautiful, and it really feeds the soul. I want to strongly encourage you to keep writing and to share it with the world. Reach out to more publishers because this is true talent. I myself have recently started a writing blog ( poeticeloquence.wordpress.com ) and I’m trying to enhance my style of writing by getting feedback from others. It would really mean a lot if you gave us feedback on our writing because you clearly have the skills of an established author. I wish you good luck with your writing and all of your future writing endeavors!
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Beautiful piece☺.I enjoyed reading.
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Beautiful Art! 🙂 And by the way, please follow me and like and comment my posts! 😀
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Oh my did I love reading this peace.
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Interesting piece of work, questioning the very existence through memories.
This piece might go well with this
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http://adamneveblog.com/2016/03/20/today-i-had-an-experience/
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yes
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Your words are invoking, thank you, for now I know there are others!
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yes
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Absolutely love !
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this is stunning, i love it. check out my latest post everyone: https://vegtablessite.wordpress.com/?p=13
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Contacts
Contact Info
House-38,Sector-11,Rd No.-10,Uttara,Dhaka 1230.
01711-017384
info@milbd.com
Saturday-Thursday:10.00am-8.00pm
Friday :Close
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Hey I’m Bella! I’m a Bloggerin from Germany. Please watch me Blogs on Bellasblog1
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That is very refreshing, thxs, for sharing…. Health is very important, pls, share this link with our friends online. Click here Now.http://goo.gl/uBEx60, Share, Comment, and enjoy.
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Nice find to start my day! These days I often find myself laboring to change the memories of my childhood (for better or worse). And the story goes on.
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So awesome it is.
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You make me remember the way my father walked. Down the beach ahead of us on family vacations, toes pointed out, strong calf muscles bulging. Dependable. Strong. His name was Bill.
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What a beautiful story, i always love reading such interesting stories. I also love writing, PLEASE SUBSCRIBE – i will subscribe back 🙂 TY
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this was impressive, i feel like i just got out of a dream after reading this. Keep on writing, you do it so well !
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Nostalgia. Takes us back to childhood, no matter to which country we belong
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awsm….so nice
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Reblogged this on abstract relations vi and commented:
a soul that speaks to mine.
i love this.
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Your writing is beautiful. Are these personal experiences? I relate to many of them.
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Your writing is amazing. I enjoyed reading this article, very much!
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amazing:) such an inspiration!
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yes
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Great to see fellow Armenians creating amazing content for everyone to enjoy!
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I like this piece and want more people to read it!
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Great work, content was good
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https://pkgama.wordpress.com/2016/03/30/my-mile-2/?preview=true have a look at this post
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Loved this one!
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Beauty.
The seamless mind of a child for some reason drawing seams about himself.
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After searching for good blogs to read I finally found this link and its worth the read.. I enjoyed reading the whole post. Especially the first paragraph was so lovely and true .Later on, all those moments are so beautiful ..One should cherish little moments…Well written 🙂 I will be sharing this blog
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this was impressive !!
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I’m feeling happy after reading it. Is it spontaneous or I just lost in this? Really beautiful.
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i remembered my father through reading this…….his goodness,kindness.i took it all for granted.the most valuable writing is about the parent you had or the parent in you.
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Awesome!
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I love this!! Xx
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Time is such a funny non-thing, its like the wind, most of the time you barely feel if, others, it sweeps you away like a huracane.
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Love this!
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awesome!
check out my blog, I would be so happy
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