The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
—Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”¹

For once—even with a substitute teacher—my fifth-grade classmates didn’t need shushing. A heavy thunderstorm had come in, and the tall windows to our left were utterly dark. So dark that fluorescent lights flicked on in the early afternoon. I think we all imagined vaguely that we had been kept after school for some mysterious reason. Missing supper, late for our favorite TV shows... The teacher, seeing our uniformly nervous looks, abandoned the lesson plan and read poems to us. Her voice was quiet, but her enunciation was clear. Two poems went by without comment, and then she read Robert Frost’s poem “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” I raised my hand while she was leafing through pages for the next poem. She glanced up. “Yes?”

“Will you read that part again, about the easy wind?” I asked.

She read the stanza and looked at me.

“That’s beautiful,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, a faint smile on her face. “It is.”

And that was the first time I ever felt seen in a realm of shared loveliness.

odor of rich soil
unexpectedly
reaching into me

from an older
past

to find my tears

:::

Not knowing how to cope with the immense happiness weighing her down, she gazed at the icon hanging at the head of her bed. “Lord, how marvelous!” she said.
—From Anton Chekhov’s “After the Theater”²

In my teens I fancied myself to be a good candidate for membership in an outlaw biker club, even though I had never been inclined to join any kind of group or team. I had the motorcycle. And my appearance seemed right: jeans and jean jacket; tall black engineer boots; a length of thick chain for a belt; long hair, and a full beard, way early for my age. I was so ignorant that I didn’t realize my posturing was more likely to invite the aggression I despised rather than ward it off. And I pressed on with the aim of showing that I would now be a poor choice for someone looking to apply more whippings.

“What’s with the notebook all the time?” Dogtooth asked me.

“I’m writing poems.”

“You mean like songs?”

“No, not really ... I write stories too.”

“And you’re just going to tell everybody you do that?”

All of the others looking away, embarrassed for me.

campfire’s myriad 
of sparks when fuel 
is added 

my mistakes     shuffled 
laid out 

at dawn’s faint approach 

:::

In strategy, it is important to see distant things as if they were close, and to take a distant view of close things.
—From Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings³

It’s hard to fathom now, how I managed the workload of my middle years. Simultaneously, a factory job, graduate school, and teaching martial arts part time. The miracle of a wife who loves me got me through it all, even as she had her own burden of work challenges to meet.

I was an instructor at one of a chain of karate schools, and I didn’t anticipate that my teaching there would become a model for my approach to all future teaching. A young person would arrive at the studio door and peer in, and I would greet them. Often, they would show signs of their need: bruises, a black eye; or they might mention worse troubles. Sometimes the person would look down or take a step back from me. And I would say—I can help you. There is a new strength you can find. Things can change.

The first teaching task: show the strength to be gained, so they will know you can lead the way to it, and they will want it. Then, show that they will be respected in their aims and efforts. And finally, show that peace can come from beautiful effort; that kindness is not precluded by self-defense; and that success lies in the lived way that life gets where it’s going.

not standing under 
the waterfall of thought 
but beside it 

not closing senses 
but opening the breath 

not fear     but motion 

:::

I will never total it all.
.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
My wisdom came too late.
—From Tillie Olsen’s “I Stand Here Ironing”⁴

December. The last day of class, in a favorite course I taught for years: Survey of the Short Story. Students are lost in thoughts of the holidays, so there’s not much work to do. I ask if anybody would like to mention stories they found particularly moving and memorable. Silence. Fidgeting. Then a young man mentioned Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried,” seconded by a few nods. A young woman mentioned Ursula K. Le Guin’s “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.” Then a woman somewhat older than her peers spoke up. “Yes,” she said, gathering herself. “I’m a single mother, so Tillie Olsen’s ‘I Stand Here Ironing’ really hit home with me.” The woman fell silent, a distant expression on her face. Tears, that she didn’t seem to notice, began to slide down her cheeks.

I remember the other students’ reactions to this. A touch of fear spread among them. They glanced away at the wall of windows. An evening class, so, darkness there. Perhaps they were contemplating a world of decisions to be made—with a little less confidence than they’d had moments before. I hope they noticed that a story can mean what one’s life means, even as it is being written.

tucking her in 
she wants the same story 
one she can now tell me 

why the same one 
after so many times I ask 

I want my friends alive again 

Daryl Scroggins

has taught creative writing and literature at The University of Texas at Dallas, The University of North Texas, and the Writer’s Garret, in Dallas. He now lives in Marfa, Texas with his wife, Cindy, whom he met 45 years ago.

Daryl is the author of a collection of flash literature, The Light I Want to Keep (MacQ Books, December 2024); The Scold’s Romance: A Story in Prose Poems (No. 3 in The Ravenna Triple Series; Ravenna Press, 2012); This Is Not the Way We Came In, a collection of flash fiction and a flash novel (Ravenna Press, 2008); Winter Investments: Stories (Trilobite Press, 2003); and Prairie Shapes: A Flash Novel (winner of the 2004 Robert J. DeMott Prose Contest).

His fictions, poems, and creative nonfictions have appeared in magazines and anthologies around the country and abroad, including *82 Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Blink-Ink, Carolina Quarterly, Chiron Review, Cutbank, Dime Show Review, Eastern Iowa Review, Egress, elimae, Fiction Southeast, Green Mountains Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, MacQueen’s Quinterly, The Memory Palace: An Ekphrastic Anthology, New Flash Fiction Review, New York Tyrant, Northwest Review, Portland Review, Quarter After Eight, The Quarterly, Quick Fiction, and Third Wednesday, among others.

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Vigilance, microfiction by Daryl Scroggins in MacQueen’s Quinterly, aka MacQ (Issue 25, September 2024); nominated by MacQ for The Pushcart Prize L

⚡ Suitcase Full of Clay: An Ekphrastic e-Collection by Scroggins in MacQ (Issue 18, April 2023)

⚡ Roadshow, microfiction in MacQ-15 (September 2022); one of three pieces by Scroggins selected as Finalists in “The Question of Questions” Ekphrastic Writing Challenge

⚡ Spring, microfiction in MacQ-12 (March 2022)

⚡ Writer Boy, microfiction in MacQ-4 (July 2020); nominated by MacQ for Best Microfiction 2021

⚡ Field Trips, flash fiction by Scroggins in KYSO Flash (Issue 12, Summer 2019)

⚡ New to School, microfiction in Eclectica (Jan/Feb 2018)

⚡ Two Fictions: “Almost Baptized” and “Against the Current” in New Flash Fiction Review (Issue 10, January 2018)

⚡ Eight Stories: A Mini-Chapbook by Daryl Scroggins at Web del Sol