Kayla Walford’s Website

By Kayla Walford

Little Frog, Big Pond 

To capture the smallest moments of life 

Bubbles
Iridescent, pleasant, transparent
Fragile carriages of sweet baby's breath
While the same flower blooms among us.
You pick the white petals from the ground as the ant nestle further down
And I make this foam of adolescence surround us
And when we chase the carriages and ants away
And straighten the picnic from its disarray
We blow out the bleach and soap and start again.

Nutcracker
It’s December, and I’m eight
And wishing for Christmas break,
While Tchaikovshy plays from my teacher’s tube TV.
I listen to the sound crackle
and I watch the screen twitch
as Clara meets her statue.
I couldn’t understand
Why she would sob and squeal over a simple soldier
One didn’t know the difference between
A smile and a grimace.
Yet when the Mouse King appeared,
And they danced with silver swords,
Suddenly,
I knew and dreamt of something the same.

Garden
Opening the back door, and
Pretending I'm the barber
Pulling weeds, like cutting split ends
Trimming the bushes for a bob cut
Watering can for a simple trim and dry
Birds twitter their applause and
Blooming petals my currency

---

Catching Flies With Vinegar

Seraphim's Stage
The shelter of thick fabric protects me from
The tap-tap of the rain echoing from above
And offers a window to an angels’ new performance.
I listen to their songs
(that is,
If angels loved percussions)
And can’t help but want to join them.

As the seraphims above tap dance on my umbrella,
I’m thrown back to watching “Singing in the Rain”
From a CD, and I suddenly wish I could dance.
Comfort comes with the cherubims dancing for me,
As I give them their stage.

Then I reach my door and step inside,
And shake off the phantom wetness.
The angels politely finish as I settle into my covers, not knowing I want them to stay.
They shush me to sleep anyway, and leave by the time I close my eyes.
I fall asleep hoping their next performance to come soon.

Sunlight
Sun
Beams shining on my face
Arms wide open
My hands are tanned, yet my palms stay soft and white.
Sunlight reminds me of gingham and picnics,
Even though we hardly had any,
Even though the last one ended in a spilled drink and scowls and silent treatments.
I think of how I used to love the crawling black ants, but now I’m scared of them.
I talk about childhood but I had a boring one
“Why do you talk about the small things?”
Well, dear, because there is nothing else to talk about
Do you want me to talk about racism?
Because I can laugh about bad grades and being “black” like a reason and a curse.
Do you want me to talk about sexism?
Because I can gossip about “strong boys” and folded chairs and strange jokes.
But I don’t, because they are nothing to me, and there is nothing to talk about
And the only thing I wish to talk about is the sunlight on my face.

---

With Rounded Edges

To the childlike, nostalgic feeling of the most simplistic version of love. 

I have taken an affinity to shooting at the whales in the sky. 

It’s not like the bullets hit anywhere near them. The bullets probably landed somewhere further off, down into the forest, behind Amara’s vacation house. I didn’t shoot for my accuracy. It was for the thrill of the bang! and the backfire like someone roughly shoving my shoulders, and the smell of the muzzle after the bullet had shot off. I squinted again and focused. 

Bang! 

Bang! 

Footsteps thudded down the steps inside the house, and the screen door flapped open. Light footsteps joined me on the porch. “You know, the target range is always an option.” 

I shrugged. “I like the scenery here more.” I raised the pistol again and she shuffled closer. I lowered my arms and sighed. “Amara, if you stand too close I can't concentrate.” 

“I regret giving you my dad’s gun,” Amara shook her head. “But I came out to see if you wanted any of this!" She thrust a large cardboard box at me so forcefully the pistol in my hand clattered out of my grasp. 

I laughed. “Shut up, I don’t need that! My apartment’s too full of your stuff now, you know that.” I took the box anyway. 

While I ruffled through the hand-me-downs, Amara plopped down next to me. “Those whales sure are something, huh?” I hummed. “God, they’re so beautiful. They look lovely against the sunset too. Imagine if we were up high with them, we could like, run on their backs, or look at how small people are below, or watch the sunsets without any trees blocking.” She paused, then laughed. “I’m sorry, that sounded so silly." 

I laughed with her. “Yeah, a little.” 

We watched the whales in silence as the sunset started to deepen in color. I picked out a pretty dress from Amara’s box, and a weird little cat sculpture I found funny. When the sky reached a deep red, the whales started their cries. “Frickin’ amazing,” Amara commented. "What’re they doing, a uh, whaddayacallit, a mating call? Paige, you’re the one with the marine biology major.” 

I scoffed. “Yeah, but I’m only a freshman.” I paused. “But yeah, they’re mating calls.” 

Amara laughed and hefted herself up. “You're silly. I want to see them closer up, wanna come?” 

I followed her into the kitchen. Amara pulled out a bottle of wine her parents forgot to take out of the cabinet last year. She wiggled it and grinned, like we weren’t nineteen. 

We trudged up the hill we used to sneak out to as kids. It felt strange, being allowed to come up here now. We lied down on the grass and watched the whales pump their fins and glide on the breeze. I thought of Amara’s dad’s pistol, bang, bang, bang, and the bullets flying into the forest. We left the wine forgotten on our side and just talked instead. Sometime around when the sky was painted navy blue on the edges, our hands got tangled together. The whales started up a cry that was unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. Amara fell silent. 

“Man, that’s weird. Do whales really make that sound?” 

“Huh?” 

“Do whales sound like that. Like the actual one, under the sea.” 

“I have no idea.” 

---

Sales Pitch: Aloe-Melon

As known by my grandmother, the greatest cures come from nature herself. From homemade soup for colds to chrysanthemum tea for acne, her methods of organic healing were passed down to my mother, and then to me. Coming from a productive and knowledgeable woman, my grandmother makes the effort to grow the medicinal plants herself. Taking her advice, I started to grow and cultivate my own aloe plants for homemade face masks. With the addition of watermelon, this homemade face mask serum has lasted many years, trustworthy and effective, and leaving you feeling confident and beautiful. 

What is beauty to you? To us, it can simply be you. Aloe-Melon, with our homegrown aloe gel and watermelon, allows your natural beauty to shine though. Aloe-Melon is a peel-off face mask that leaves your skin dewy, set, and glowing with its all natural serum of aloe, watermelon, and a hint of green tea. Aloe and watermelon are known to moisturize, lighten scars, and cleanse skin, With this all-natural serum, the excess can be used on the body as well. To continue leads your skin to its fullest potential, follow up Aloe-Melon face mask with our Green Tea + Honey Cream to seal the moisture!

Rolling Skies

The sky is a rolling grey, with a chill that seeps into my toes. It mixes with a shy blue, which peeks right by the clouds. The grey and blue mix together, painted in layers like butter folded into dough. The clouds roll quickly for the wind, from which the chill has come from, but sometimes, they sit still as stone. They’re grey like the sky, but yellow, and pink, and blue too. The colors are dapped onto each other like staccato brush strokes, appearing and disappearing as they please. Melting and forming bridges for the birds, the clouds pass over my roof, and the sky changes to a brilliant blue.

Process

Making a website with Glitch was introduced early on in the Girls Write Now program year. I enjoyed editing all of the website’s parts and working in HMTL, so I decided early on that it would make a good piece for my multimedia final project. Throughout my year with Girls Write Now, I noticed that I tended to focus my writing on nostalgic tones, and highlighted themes of innocence and childhood. Therefore, I ended up taking my best works and compiling them into this website.

Meet the Pair

Mentee Kayla Walford & Mentor Allison Considine

Kayla’s Anecdote: Allison has always been encouraging in all subjects and hobbies I’ve talked about—whether it be writing, drawing, sewing, or managing my Dungeons & Dragons campaign. We continually find similarities between us, from pastimes to just having the same computer. Allison has never hesitated to compliment my work, and it only motivates me to make more pieces that we can both be proud of. I’m so grateful to have her as my mentor!

Allison’s Anecdote: Kayla continually impresses me with her confidence and boundless imagination. Whether she’s crafting a Dungeons & Dragons campaign, teaching herself a new language, or writing a novella, she gives it her all. I’m inspired by the worlds she builds through her writing. Our time together has taught me to set goals and to feed my creative spirit, and I’m so grateful.