Aspirin
in my dream you're dead
we're talking on the phone
the old fashioned kind with
a cord that embeds itself in
fingers then twirls and twirls
on its own fascinating cats
who jump on anything that moves
with a bit of strangeness
and you're talking about my
father how you've met him now
you say he's lost weight or so
he tells you
and I keep trying to change
the subject: do you wear shoes,
did your headache stop and is
there light everywhere
hung in the trees like apples
shooting from your fingertips
like spiderwebs
is there light and is there
soft cake in heaven?
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
So I'm waiting for my rejections from The New Yorker and Mississippi Review. I don't expect to get accepted, but maybe a personal note, if I'm lucky.
Still struggling with my personal statement with NYFA. I keep starting with "My poetry is about relationships" then I get bored and nod off.
I'm getting paid 100 smackeroos for the article on the galleries! It's like I'm a real writer.
Still struggling with my personal statement with NYFA. I keep starting with "My poetry is about relationships" then I get bored and nod off.
I'm getting paid 100 smackeroos for the article on the galleries! It's like I'm a real writer.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
I'm writing about menstruation, I must be Sharon Olds!
Period
chewing spearmint at times like these has been recommended
Or Chicken Soup applied to the abdomen has been rumored
to be salutory
doctors have different opinions a white coat does not mean
they have all the answers your grandmother may prescribe
a certain tea listen to her
at your peril it is important when speaking to a girl
to use plain language pamphlets
can help families women are not so sure
dishes will break hair will come out in fists
it has been compared to falling off a roof or
conversely a visit froman unloved aunt
at all times women have this condition there is no
need for alarm blood is a normal byproduct
the pills you can take now are pale in the
commercial women twirl in polka dot dresses at the end
some of the dots fly away the pills will reduce this difficulty
someday you'll know what all the waiting is for
it is a punch line like most things
in life it hurts sometimes but it can be withstood it causes women
to wail for a presence or an absence religion might be the Answer
there can be an odor when you are in an elevator you hope
no one will notice it is something your mother avoided
talking about to you
there are diverse paper products many packages
are pink some might find the Scented Versions offensive it is
perfectly natural they keep telling you
you know there is nothing perfect
about it much has been rumored it is not
a pretty scandal cheerleaders are especially unforgiving sometimes
they won't let you cheer skirts are lifted parts inspected
it is nothing
that a moment of silence won't
cure women in other countries go off
into the hills sometimes wolves will follow
the modern women carry guns and are not afraid
__________________
This is very drafty.
Period
chewing spearmint at times like these has been recommended
Or Chicken Soup applied to the abdomen has been rumored
to be salutory
doctors have different opinions a white coat does not mean
they have all the answers your grandmother may prescribe
a certain tea listen to her
at your peril it is important when speaking to a girl
to use plain language pamphlets
can help families women are not so sure
dishes will break hair will come out in fists
it has been compared to falling off a roof or
conversely a visit froman unloved aunt
at all times women have this condition there is no
need for alarm blood is a normal byproduct
the pills you can take now are pale in the
commercial women twirl in polka dot dresses at the end
some of the dots fly away the pills will reduce this difficulty
someday you'll know what all the waiting is for
it is a punch line like most things
in life it hurts sometimes but it can be withstood it causes women
to wail for a presence or an absence religion might be the Answer
there can be an odor when you are in an elevator you hope
no one will notice it is something your mother avoided
talking about to you
there are diverse paper products many packages
are pink some might find the Scented Versions offensive it is
perfectly natural they keep telling you
you know there is nothing perfect
about it much has been rumored it is not
a pretty scandal cheerleaders are especially unforgiving sometimes
they won't let you cheer skirts are lifted parts inspected
it is nothing
that a moment of silence won't
cure women in other countries go off
into the hills sometimes wolves will follow
the modern women carry guns and are not afraid
__________________
This is very drafty.
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Women Only Poetry Writing Workshop in NYC
Starting Oct. 10th.
In this workshop we will, through various exercises, explore the idea of character and voice. In this workshop we will attempt to shake the dust off your third eye. In this workshop, we will discover the importance of dreams in writing. Cut-ups and photographs will be a few of our methods. We will read the greats and use them as starting points for our own work.
In class writing exercises and take home assignments
Information about publication opportunities
Safe, female only atmosphere
Classes run by experience and published poetry teacher, Christine Hamm, MA
Christine Hamm has been teaching poetry classes for many years. She is the editor of several online and print magazines. She has been published in the Absinthe Literary Review, the Exquisite corpse, the Adirondack Review, Watchword Press and many others.
Fee: 155 dollars, 135 if you join the women’s studio center
For more information and to sign up and reserve a space, send an email here: WSC586@aol.com
or call: (718) 361-5649
Starting Oct. 10th.
In this workshop we will, through various exercises, explore the idea of character and voice. In this workshop we will attempt to shake the dust off your third eye. In this workshop, we will discover the importance of dreams in writing. Cut-ups and photographs will be a few of our methods. We will read the greats and use them as starting points for our own work.
In class writing exercises and take home assignments
Information about publication opportunities
Safe, female only atmosphere
Classes run by experience and published poetry teacher, Christine Hamm, MA
Christine Hamm has been teaching poetry classes for many years. She is the editor of several online and print magazines. She has been published in the Absinthe Literary Review, the Exquisite corpse, the Adirondack Review, Watchword Press and many others.
Fee: 155 dollars, 135 if you join the women’s studio center
For more information and to sign up and reserve a space, send an email here: WSC586@aol.com
or call: (718) 361-5649
Sunday, September 12, 2004
I'm writing this article about "The Five Best Galleries You've Never Heard Of" for this new magazine and I get to go around to all these small galleries and decide if they're the best, if they're WORTHY of being written about, which makes me feel a bit like a princess, even if only in my head, and so today, finally, I broke down and asked someone at a gallery if they had images I could use, and they said for what, and I'm like, "cause I'm writing an article? for a magazine?" in my best I'm a-little-girl-don't-take-me seriously voice (hating myself as the words came out)and so they let me interview the curator of their current show, and he was so nice and cool, even though I admitted I wasn't writing for money, and I didn't even know if the mag was a quarterly or monthly! This was the Flux Factory in Queens, not too far from where I live. And they had the coolest exhibit using only recycled materials from artists all over the country. The presentation of the space was better than I expected, having heard it was an informal live/work space, still it measured up to a lot of the places in Chelsea.
And they invited me to their closing party in two weeks. It's like they care what I think!
And they invited me to their closing party in two weeks. It's like they care what I think!
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Re-write
The Babysitter Poisoner
There are no parents here.
I am four and we sit alone on the summer
lawn. She shows me how to splice three-leaf
clovers into four to fool the boys.
She cups the pinkish clover flower, pulls it
apart, sips the sweetness at the center.
She gives me half.
I am hypnotized by her hair, its dark
glinting length, how it moves like a willow.
I almost tell her again what my parents
said about the grass. But I had already learned
that they had difficulty telling danger from
safe, sharp from soft.
Her smile is so huge I feel it take in
the whole lawn, the house, the neighborhood.
It is a warm room I can fall asleep in.
Only when we are back in the kitchen
does she remember the warnings: fertilizers,
chemicals -- phosphorus that shines and burns
inside.
She hands me glass after glass of water
still fizzing from the tap.
To flush it out, she says.
I tell her I am swallowing an ocean like
the sixth brother in the Chinese fairytale.
My elbows and ankles start to bloat.
She makes me promise not to tell.
I nod and gulp and something collapses
behind me, books sliding off a shelf.
And then the key at the door. The girl turns
into a black cat and disappears
out the bathroom window.
The front door opens: a man and woman step in.
They are imposters -- a short man, resentment
fish-hooked in the corners of his mouth, and
a frightened, smiling woman, a question mark
curled in her spine.
I do not recognize them, but remember my
instructions. I pretend they are my parents.
Later I will spend Saturdays by the front door, hoping
to see something come through,
something real.
The Babysitter Poisoner
There are no parents here.
I am four and we sit alone on the summer
lawn. She shows me how to splice three-leaf
clovers into four to fool the boys.
She cups the pinkish clover flower, pulls it
apart, sips the sweetness at the center.
She gives me half.
I am hypnotized by her hair, its dark
glinting length, how it moves like a willow.
I almost tell her again what my parents
said about the grass. But I had already learned
that they had difficulty telling danger from
safe, sharp from soft.
Her smile is so huge I feel it take in
the whole lawn, the house, the neighborhood.
It is a warm room I can fall asleep in.
Only when we are back in the kitchen
does she remember the warnings: fertilizers,
chemicals -- phosphorus that shines and burns
inside.
She hands me glass after glass of water
still fizzing from the tap.
To flush it out, she says.
I tell her I am swallowing an ocean like
the sixth brother in the Chinese fairytale.
My elbows and ankles start to bloat.
She makes me promise not to tell.
I nod and gulp and something collapses
behind me, books sliding off a shelf.
And then the key at the door. The girl turns
into a black cat and disappears
out the bathroom window.
The front door opens: a man and woman step in.
They are imposters -- a short man, resentment
fish-hooked in the corners of his mouth, and
a frightened, smiling woman, a question mark
curled in her spine.
I do not recognize them, but remember my
instructions. I pretend they are my parents.
Later I will spend Saturdays by the front door, hoping
to see something come through,
something real.
Friday, September 10, 2004
Christine Hamm is a painter as well as a poet. And the church of girl agreed to sell some of my paintings! Go check it out.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Slight re-wwrite of below
Cold Comfort
mornings
cherry red my mother’s lipstick
applied in the review mirror as she honks
in our driveway for my brother and me
to slam our way down the front steps hissing and burping
at each other the trees the robins that destroy
our rest both of us so intent
dreams still hanging like stinking halos
from our collars wrists so intent on the comfort
and darkness under our pillows, comforters,
tucked under mattresses comfortable nothing
the driveway sliding down the hill more each day
winter’s mud pressing against the house shifting
it making the beams unsteady and the doors sleepy
cock-eyed sticking
we vow revenge against the sun the spring the school
everything that demanded we leave our dank spider-covered
comfort but especially against our mother cherry red
every morning itching to get back
to her room all bed kingsized with a hot water bottle
itching to get rid
of us
Cold Comfort
mornings
cherry red my mother’s lipstick
applied in the review mirror as she honks
in our driveway for my brother and me
to slam our way down the front steps hissing and burping
at each other the trees the robins that destroy
our rest both of us so intent
dreams still hanging like stinking halos
from our collars wrists so intent on the comfort
and darkness under our pillows, comforters,
tucked under mattresses comfortable nothing
the driveway sliding down the hill more each day
winter’s mud pressing against the house shifting
it making the beams unsteady and the doors sleepy
cock-eyed sticking
we vow revenge against the sun the spring the school
everything that demanded we leave our dank spider-covered
comfort but especially against our mother cherry red
every morning itching to get back
to her room all bed kingsized with a hot water bottle
itching to get rid
of us
Monday, September 06, 2004
Mornings at Cold Comfort
cherry red the name of my mother’s lipstick
applied in the review mirror
as she honked in our driveway
for my brother and me to slam our way
down the front steps hissing and burping
at each other the trees the robins that destroyed
our rest both of us so intent on hate
dreams still hanging like stinking halos
from our collars wrists so intent on the comfort
and darkness under our pillows, comforters, tucked
under mattresses comfortable nothing
the driveway sliding down the hill more each day
winter’s mud pressing against the house shifting it
making the beams unsteady and the doors sleepy cock-eyed
sticking
we vowed revenge against the sun the spring the school
everything that demanded we leave our dank spider-covered
comfort but esp. against our mother cherry red
every morning itching to
get back to her room all bed kingsized with a hot water bottle
itching to get rid of us
cherry red the name of my mother’s lipstick
applied in the review mirror
as she honked in our driveway
for my brother and me to slam our way
down the front steps hissing and burping
at each other the trees the robins that destroyed
our rest both of us so intent on hate
dreams still hanging like stinking halos
from our collars wrists so intent on the comfort
and darkness under our pillows, comforters, tucked
under mattresses comfortable nothing
the driveway sliding down the hill more each day
winter’s mud pressing against the house shifting it
making the beams unsteady and the doors sleepy cock-eyed
sticking
we vowed revenge against the sun the spring the school
everything that demanded we leave our dank spider-covered
comfort but esp. against our mother cherry red
every morning itching to
get back to her room all bed kingsized with a hot water bottle
itching to get rid of us
Love Hurts, San Jose, 1975
in the photo
the man is sprawled
a Chinese ideogram
spelling knife or beauty
sadness or forgiveness
potato or tongue
blood has splashed and run
down the grey wastebasket
there is a golden cast
to the scene
the daisies on the yellow
kitchen wall the ochre
dishwasher door
one hand is curled near
his turned away face
a cheek the delicate pink
of a girl's blush when she
is caught at her first lie
the shoes are black, cheap
embarassing
the blood a triangle
spread over his stomach
like a bandanna folded
across his lap to hold
a tuna fish or roast beef
sandwich on a picnic
the knife an afterthought
bright shadow
insubstantial smear
on a white t-shirt scrawled
with slogans
half words
in the folds
in the photo
the man is sprawled
a Chinese ideogram
spelling knife or beauty
sadness or forgiveness
potato or tongue
blood has splashed and run
down the grey wastebasket
there is a golden cast
to the scene
the daisies on the yellow
kitchen wall the ochre
dishwasher door
one hand is curled near
his turned away face
a cheek the delicate pink
of a girl's blush when she
is caught at her first lie
the shoes are black, cheap
embarassing
the blood a triangle
spread over his stomach
like a bandanna folded
across his lap to hold
a tuna fish or roast beef
sandwich on a picnic
the knife an afterthought
bright shadow
insubstantial smear
on a white t-shirt scrawled
with slogans
half words
in the folds
Ways to Say She's Thin
Scrawny. Wisp-like. Shriveled. No hips. Looks like death. Gaunt. Slenderized. Nothing to wiegh her down. A twig. Skinny. Flies away when the wind blows. Anorexic. Shrunken. Frail. No tits. Chicken legs. Slight. Breaks easily. Slight. Slim. Narrow. Sparse. Withered. Thinks she's better than us. Spindly. Underweight. Skeletal. Transparent. Size zero. Twiggy. Model-thin. Hairlike. Narrow. Gaunt. Sparse. Spindle-shanked. Scare crow. You can see right through her.
Scrawny. Wisp-like. Shriveled. No hips. Looks like death. Gaunt. Slenderized. Nothing to wiegh her down. A twig. Skinny. Flies away when the wind blows. Anorexic. Shrunken. Frail. No tits. Chicken legs. Slight. Breaks easily. Slight. Slim. Narrow. Sparse. Withered. Thinks she's better than us. Spindly. Underweight. Skeletal. Transparent. Size zero. Twiggy. Model-thin. Hairlike. Narrow. Gaunt. Sparse. Spindle-shanked. Scare crow. You can see right through her.
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