|An original folio on loan from Washington, D.C.|
I'm at a conference again! A sweet creative writing conference at SUU. I got to meet poet, J. Allyn Rosser, and after a sordid affair with diction and imagery and 5 versions of a Russian poem about a panther, our love child (this poem) was born. And here it is presented to you without swaddling clothes, without the amniotic fluids swiped from it's face, and cord still attached. (Man, this metaphor is gross.)
I hope you enjoy.
|It's like if pecan pie and ice cream were lovers, and I, a food voyeur.|
When she spears me with an you're-an-idiot look over the rims of her glasses,
and I end up at home hours later,
Frowning naked in the mirror while finishing off a bag of peanut m&ms,
My chocolate fingerprints evidence for a diet forensic pathologist,I slide to the bottom of the tub,Let the water rain down on my convulsing body to bathe my tears.Yet, the pain remains and now I have a stuffy nose.Then, mentally, I finger my goals,My dreams deferred and I curse aloud.Damn! Flannery O'Connor and her Southern genius on the human condition.Damn! Meg Wolitzer and her Jewish feminist brilliance.Damn! Damn! Damn! Stephenie Meyer for being a fluke success.Buried beneath the weight of words;I take heart, wipe away black tears,Kiss my daughter, the next generation feminist;A Buffy...not a Bella.
A Buffy battling the Bella's of the world.
A roundhouse kick to her pining female foil.
An uppercut to Her male-dependent prose.Because my daughter deserves an example of me.She needs to know how to defeat the enemy,And stake inferiority,While wearing stylish shoes.
Next up, I'll divulge the AWESOMENESS of the play, Noises Off! and dish all about my encounter with the bestselling author of Funny in Farsi, Firoozeh Dumas. (Spoiler alert: Dumas likes her scarfs and serendipity.)
|Ash and I at the sandwich "pub".|
|Brad talked a big game, but we never played cards. Still we toasted at a "pub".|