Thursday, February 23, 2012

Easter 1952

I entered this poem in the Pratt Library Poetry Contest! Fingers crossed!

Easter 1952

We march into the spring green cemetery,
the daffodils stupidly on fire and oblivious,
the whole world alive, save one
the one we are here to visit.

My black patent leather Mary Janes
squish in the soggy green grass
as my brother and I approach,
soldiers without weapons,
except for my black plastic zippered coin purse,
inside a dollar, a quarter and a nickel.

We, the reluctant soldiers, aged seven and nine,
are commanded by aunts in black coats and heavy
black- laced shoes,  
a buzzing black hive of grief
that may explode in tears at any minute.
The grass mined with the danger of it;

We are stoic, we are impassive.
We are motherless children
paying Easter respects at gun point of guilt

We advance on her grave, gripping grape hyacinths
To be planted by aunts kneeling on newspapers
Troweling into the living earth.
The ground cries out at our steps.

I lose the purse.
One little loss
To stand for everything.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Back Into the Deep Water

Revising the end of the novel per marvelous comments from several editors who wanted more focus on the relationship of Grace and Worth and less on distracting antagonists.The war is the antagonist now as it always was. My agent and I agreed on a plan and a deadline. Briefly sidetracked by a poetry reading last night.
Two examples of new poems:

NYC Cops 1968
“They worked this place over real good,” says Cop 1.
“Yeah, your TVn stereo are gone,” says Cop 2.
The two cops are in my apartment, guns drawn,
I asked for help
When I came down the block and saw my open1st floor window.  
“Um, well, I didn’t actually have a stereo or TV,” I say.
Sorry to disappoint them.
“Look it in here,” Cop 1 is in the bedroom.
“They freakin’ tossed it,” says Cop 2.
True, my clothes cover bed and floor
Every bureau drawer gapes open.
“I left in kind of a hurry this morning,” I confess.
Cop 2 is shocked. “You left this mess?”
Cop 1 holsters his gun, smirks, “Next time, latch your window.”  
I imagine him cuffing and charging me--
bad housekeeping in the first degree.

Watching  Super Bowl XLVI in a Home Theater
Wow, the screen’s so big,
It’s like I’m there
In Lucas Oil Stadium
And Eli’s throwing the ball to me
Sitting in a comfy recliner
eating M&Ms,
Sorry, Eli.
I couldn’t catch a cold
Let alone a football.