Houdini’s Sister

There’s always the girl who understands locks and a bone-toothed comb, the one who crawls under the table, crams into the mouse hole, the one who gives the witch the wrong directions. There’s always the girl who knows the language of rabbits and convinces one to let her ride astride, the girl who can live on breadcrumbs and fog, who clings to the giant’s boot until he gets tired of stumbling around the kitchen, looking for a cooking pot, and falls asleep. There’s always one left, the one who cuts off her hair to make a rope (if that’s what it takes), the one who talks the blue-bellied salmon into carrying her across the river, the one who takes the diamonds of her tears and sells them for a good pair of boots.

This is just a draft -- I've got kind of a fever and my head is swimming -- this might make sense if you felt the same way.

Visitation

she can tell when it’s coming
a damp aura surrounds her
in the tomato garden
or on the front lawn
as she sits and picks at her toenails
silently cursing the postman for
being so late, always so late

the bees gather in her hair
just behind her ears
they murmer louder, louder
a great warm motor of buzz

she stopped being afraid of them
after she got married
she’d call her husband,
Frank, get them, get them
and he’d lift a broom
and sweep the air around her head

during the divorce he confessed
he saw nothing
and grew tired of all the animals
that came to her dreams and woke him up

the sparrows perch about her hips
like a soft sighing belt
all coos and settling, resettling, wings

after the birds begin to peck at the bees it happens,
deep in the boat of the sky, the sun opens up
a cloud like a burning book:
the Virgin reaches down to hold her hand
and weep
________________

Is the end too corny?

I took this photo during a short break in a heavy rainstorm.



Also, here's a draft of a poem. Let me know if you can tell where the "action" takes place. Perhaps some of you have actually been there. Or here.

Learning about Mammals

underneath the stairs
the whale grapples with the squid
nothing protects the children from the diorama
the lip of the exhibit comes up
to their knees they step in when
the teacher’s fussing at Greg
and Sheila

on the other side
shake out their pant legs
scratch their scalps
hide in the darkest parts
under the floating animals
dusty mouths the size
of school desks

look at me, he says to her
touching the cool whale belly,
touching his own nose

Birds and Bees.

New painting.



I didn't quite get the overlap right in this one --the bird adds too much confusion around the face.