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Literature for the common
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Thursday, 15 January 2009

#75

Aiko Harman
Frog
Dream

In my dream, as you promised,
We are hunting
frogspawn

I am surreptitious in a lake,
With one lip above,
And one
below,
The horizon of the water

It's very still,
And I know nothing
about frogspawn
But imagine they do not breed in water
Deep enough for me
to be half-lip in.

I imagine it is a swarm of eggs,
Murky like your
sky
(Not orange like Japanese ikura
Which I think are
delicious.)

In my dream, lip-deep,
I brave my face into the puddle of
eggs,
Stare so closely into some of them
That we are eye to eye

I
can see tails,
Little pod-bodies, all head.
My lips unveil,
Capturing
one slick egg—

Mouthing over it
-No, it is not ikura at
all-
Holding the thing on the tip of my tongue
Up to the
sunlight

In my dream I watch it, and I shine through
Because in dreams
you can be in two places at once.
I can see your puddock, on my tongue,
A
real live frog.

John Grochalski
dan (why
haven't you called?)

dan
why haven't you called?
we've
been waiting three days
and the cats are starting
to get
worried.

dan
did you get lost in
manhattan?

dan
why
haven't you called?
is it because i got drunk
last friday on cornelia
street
and you bought both bottles of wine
and dinner?

dan
did
you get lost in
queens?

dan
why haven't you called?
is it
because i ate that cupcake
off the dirty street?
is it because i grabbed
your ass
mistaking it for my wife's?

dan
did you get lost
in
the bronx?

dan
why haven't you called?
is it because the
world has you down?
because of the job?
because of dreams and
children?
because of art and white lofts
in soho?

dan
did you
get lost in
staten island?

dan
why haven't you called?
is it
because i got the hiccups
and cried in the white horse
restroom?
is it
because we left you at
the subway station
too early on a friday
night?

dan
did you get lost in
brooklyn?

dan
why haven't
you called?
because we've tried you
four times
and have been worried
sick
if you're all right.

dan
did you get lost in

jersey?

dan
why haven't you called?
the holidays are over and
the moon
is rich
outside they are threatening snow
and solace
and
we'd love to hear your voice.

dan
give us a call
when you get the
chance.

Dave Lewis
41 Ladysmith
Road

I cuddle your mind like a duvet
Your pixie
ears
like Tiny Tim

You wear a green
velvet hat
To move your possessions
and my
seed

Floating home
I hold my head
high
like a
skyscraper

Adam Moorad
As Daisy Plays in
the Sand

...well, if you want to do it the right way, the best
thing to do is
have it all done at once so you won't have to go back and get
the rest
done to you after you just get better. Yeah, it's much better to
have
it all taken care of in a single sitting. My mommy didn't do that
and
had to go back and forth to the doctor's and she was always
feeling
sick because of all the medicine she had to take for all the
different
operations and the only thing she could do all day was lay in bed
and
sleep and she never wanted to do anything but sleep and my daddy
would
let her sleep all day and tell me to leave mommy alone because
she
isn't feeling good and needs some peace and quiet so she can rest
and
let all of the booboos from her surgeries heal. That was the last
time
mommy had a face lift and it was exactly the same when she had
both her tummy
tucks. It wasn't so bad when she had the liposuctions
because I got to sit in
the waiting room with all the other nurses and
watch the Little Mermaid on
the television in the waiting room.
Afterwards when mommy was through she and
I went out and got ice cream
on the way home and I had a cone of rocky road
with strawberry
sprinkles and mommy had a cup of mint chip. She said she
shouldn't
but did anyways because she said she earned it and I asked why
she
said she shouldn't and she said because it isn't good for mommies
to
eat the same way as their babies but it's ok every once and a while
and
I asked mommy if I would be able to eat ice cream cones when I
have my own
babies and she said I could eat whatever I want as long as
I have my own
doctor Schwarz to keep me pretty and mommy giggled to
herself and licked her
cone and I smiled too but didn't understand…

David
McLean
if fingers may touch

if fingers may touch
still
maybe not just the flesh
trembling erect a minute

but
whatever stands
elsewhere than here
in the body brutality

that
locus of passion
and nothing's nexus
words falling through us

lost
unholy logos god spat
on waters where words
were once

worth more -
but bodies
are meat and it is meet
we live there seemingly

not
necessarily empty
just flesh not always
whores

bodies and dead
flesh
words' worth
no more

life and lies
like time
behind
walls

Wendy Kwok
between
blinking and breathing

drug me up
on sun-stroked days;
i
am overdosed
on shattered clouds and
shards of salient air.

i
perceive with pleasure
the image of your yearning
painting lacy blooms
on
the back of my eye.

i receive at leisure
the eloquence of
wilted
wildflowers; a hundred
white flags wafting soft
as dying
day.

i swallow seedheads
swooping swift-quick
flight feathers
fanning
whitecap waves sinking
sand into the interstice
between skin
and stone
as

i wallow in words
marching mouths
with
delicate disorder.
they warp the weft of
webs you weave in
to
drape skies in windows
that hinge on my lids

Allison
Duarte
Family Dinner

The sign outside Napoli’s
Family Restaurant bears a cartoon Italian cook with a rotund belly, his chef’s
hat covering dark hair and his moustache curling upward like his smile. He’s
holding a pizza pie with his arm extended as if welcoming family to his
home.

Inside a family celebrates in the middle of the room. There’s that
uncle who cracks jokes, and two little boys and one little girl running around
and under the table. The grandparents laugh merrily, while the mother tries to
calm the children down. The father winks at his wife and makes a toast to her
birthday.

Across from the happy family sits four people, my mom and Deet,
her boyfriend, both in their fifties, and me and Anthony, my brother, both in
our early twenties. We’re just individuals who are sitting together because
we’re hungry. Somehow the idea of talking to one another about feelings and
sharing laughs and memories was lost in translation during my upbringing. I
often want to say ‘I love you’ and ‘I’m here for you,’ but find the words get
stuck in my throat.

A cute waiter introduces himself and asks what we
would like to drink. Deet orders a beer, and my mom, a Pinot Grigio.

“Kids? What would you like?” she says.

Anthony shakes his head.
“Kids,” he mutters and orders a soda.

“No beer or anything?” Deet
asks.

“Well, she can’t because she’s not 21,” my mom says. She’s been
saying this since I was 18, and she finds a way to embarrass me every
time.

“Yes, thank you for the announcement,” I say, glaring at her and
then blushing as I ask for water.

“Hey, I got a joke for you,” Deet says
while chewing bread. Crumbs fall on his large belly. “A horse walks into the bar
and the bartender says, ‘Hey, why the long face?’”

He lets out his usual
loud laugh. I fake one to be nice. “That’s funny,” I say, eying my brother, who
is sawing off a piece of bread. To those that don’t know him well, Anthony seems
friendly and charming. But he keeps me and my mom distant unless he wants or
needs something.

I remember a time when my brother visited me during my
first year of college. When he was about to leave, I said, “Wait, Anthony, don’t
go yet. I need to give you a hug!” His friends cooed in the background. He put
his arms around me like I was a walking disease. I’ve never made another attempt
to hug him. Instead we give peace signs.

The family in the middle has
paid and walks out laughing. Toward the back is a couple in their thirties,
sitting on the same side of the table. They read a menu together, and I want to
hurl at their affection.

Our waiter brings the food and another beer for
Deet, whose face is now flushed. He makes another bar joke, and my brother nods
his head in acknowledgment. Deet puts his arm around my mom who tucks a napkin
in her scoop-neck sweater.

“Have any of you talked to Dad recently?” she
asks.

“I spoke with him earlier this week,” I reply.

“Anything
new?”

“No.”

“I wonder if he’s spending Easter with that bimbo.
You know he probably won’t call me, though we’ve been married for over 20 years.
Not even a common courtesy call to see how I’m doing.”

“I’m not sure,
Mom. I really don’t know.” I look at Anthony for help, but he taps his foot and
looks away. We’re both used to my mom calling dad’s girlfriend a bimbo. My
parents are legally married for the sake of finances. Though I don’t know the
full story – just my mom’s version – my dad cheated on her for a long time. I
see my dad irregularly because of his work schedule and my hectic college life.
I was always daddy’s girl, and I always felt protected by him. But when he left
my family, he took a part of me with him. I always had a hard time expressing my
emotions unless I express happiness, and now I find it damn near impossible to
open up without becoming a blubbering mess.

I watch the couple in the
back feed each other pasta. I try to change the subject.

“Where should I
register to vote?” I ask. “At school or here?”

“I’d say here. You live
close enough,” my mom says. I live about 40 minutes away from my college, but I
am rarely home. Even during my summer and winter breaks, I’ve been able to work
and live at school.

“How do you learn about political issues and stuff?”
I ask. “Like, what do you do to be informed as a citizen?”

“Ah, I don’t
know,” Deet says. “I read the news, watch some television.”

“Do you feel
like you’re told the truth? I’m always worried that I’m not getting the full
story. It’s a worry I have with potentially working in the media.”

I have
dreams of being Oprah one day. Except if I have my own media conglomerate with
my own line of pots, pans, clothes, accessories, whatever, my factories will be
eco-friendly. And I’m donating my money to charity.

“Eh, I mean, you do
what you can,” Deet says. “I think I know things, but then again my kids are
always coming up with these strange facts about politicians and policies. I
don’t know. Sometimes they just make me feel stupid.” He lets out another loud
laugh.

I wasn’t laughing with him this time. Instead, I try sharing my
own thoughts about the candidates and issues, but Deet interrupts.

“You
know,” he says, “you just listen to the news.”

“I know, I know. But I
mean, the news doesn’t always—

“The news is the news. Let me tell you
something about the election.”
“No, but really, I’m so worried—

“I’ll
tell who you will get the ticket. Mark my words, I think Obama will get the
Democratic ticket, but McCain will win. That’s what I think.”

“Okay,
that’s great. But what about media coverage? I think that its—

“You just
learn what you can.”

He makes another joke and laughs. For God’s sake,
stop laughing.

My mom and brother were nearly done eating, but I had
barely touched my baked ziti. Deet gets up to smoke a cigarette.

“I hate
when I can’t defend myself,” I say, turning to Anthony. Both my hands are dug in
my lap, and my shoulders slumped. “I didn’t know what to say to shut him up.”

“Who cares?” he snarls. “Make shit up.”

“I can’t make shit up!
That’s wrong!”

“You have to know what you’re doing, or at least act
it.”

“I know what I’m doing, Anthony.”

“Clearly not.” He grabs my
baked ziti.

“Oh, what? Like you know what you’re doing all the
time?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I just felt like I couldn’t be
taken seriously,” I say.

“Nobody takes you seriously because you’re a
girl.”

I look down and tears well. “I-I know a lot. I know things. I do.
At least I care, Anthony. At least I care about what’s going on. Just because I
can’t make a great argument—”

“You don’t know anything about Republicans
and Democrats. What the hell do you know?”

“Why would you say that? You
think you know everything. You’re acting like you know exactly what’s going on.”

“Alright, alright,” Deet says. He’s back from his cigarette break.
“Let’s finish eating.”

I start to defend myself one more time.

“Okay, okay,” Deet says to quiet me. He’s chuckling. To him, this
conversation is typical for siblings. For me, it is years of torture. It is
years of having to defend myself and always failing.

The waiter comes
over and asks if we have any room for dessert. I ask for a cannoli, and my
brother, a coffee.

“You drink coffee?” my mom says, sounding surprised.
“I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he
says.

We eat our dessert, and Deet pays. We all thank him. My mom rubs
his back.

As we walk to the car, Anthony gets a phone call. I hear him
say, “What the hell do you know? You’re a Jew.” I walk with my head down and my
hands in my pockets.

We drive home in
silence.

Karen Kelsay
Sailing From the
Shoreline

It seems colder by the pier tonight.
The outline of
Catalina has already dissolved
into a swipe of grey and I can’t distinguish

island from cloud. These are the hours
when gulls skim the waves, like
my thoughts,
and spill into a scarlet ribbon of sea, stretching
before a
half-sunk sphere of sun, left to sheet
windward like sideways sloops, unable
to stay
on course as they take on water.
I walk the shore, uneasily, in
my little sailor hat--
while a western squall keels the sea scamps
over.

Birdie Houston
She Was
Woman

She was woman
Spending all her days
Raising another
woman's children
Serving another households food

Doing another woman's
tasks
Rising at rooster crow
Torn head rag on
Strutting a tattered,
oversized, soured dress

Splashed water on skin
To Try to look her
best

As she stood before mirror
She had to confess
It's all because
she was
A woman of color

Couldn't ask momma,
How to handle
this,
Cause they sold her...... sold Aunt June....and Poppa,
Had a boy
child...he's gone too!

Gone!

Feel like there's a hole in the
sky
Feels like a flood
Heading from the North and the South
Soon to
collide in the middle

I felt agony...
I guess.......
See....I'm
not suppose to know
What that is...but I feel I do

I felt
rejection
Depression
Oppression
Never had obsession
But Mrs. Cane
has an obsession with
Her sister in laws companion..........Captain
Wallace

I see, hear, cringe, walk away and forget
Captain Wallace has
made several passes at me
He kisses and fondles me madly
Tell me hush
up!

But I do dream ....
Dream where I can bathe in crystal waters
until I smell like scented roses,
Dream where I can wash my hair then let
natural curls
Bounce off my marked shoulders

My lover's
gone.............
I recite a new poem for him everyday
He gone,,,,,,, with
momma......poppa and my boy child....Seth
Yes....they sold him too but
sometime I feel he's still here
Mr.Wallace say he'd be my next baby
daddy

Been years ..........shedded tears
Baby did come along but
he now sold!
They said.... they'd keep me....
Mr. Wallace
..........say's.... I go nowhere!

Ruthless pains attacking mid
chest
Won't go away
There's no cure.....my life is only a few seconds from
death

A young man cradles me in his arms
Could this be my son who they
said they sold?
The tears in his eyes showed distress
Telling me
yes...........

Hopefully my ashes will be scattered
Far away from the
morbid fields of yesterday.

Posted by RJ Wink at 10:42

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