Interrogation at the Nude Dam (Critique 5)

Starry Night Over the Rhone, Vincent Van Gogh

The night was too big

The star map for when we are all gone 

A slow comet of perfume hangs over the room 

We spent the afternoon in a world so alien 

The star map for when we are all gone

She unhooks her bra and flings it against a bookcase

We spent the afternoon in a world so alien 

The record spins like a bull's eye 

She unhooks her bra and flings it against a bookcase 

There was something beyond energy 

The record spins like a bull's eye 

History does not explain it all 

There was something beyond energy 

A slow comet of perfume hangs over the room 

History does not explain it all 

The night was too big 

When Words Turn to Ice (Exercise 5)

Mother looked down the thin line of her nose as she saw her daughter approaching.
"Who was that you were talking to, Elizabeth? I've never seen her before.."
"Her name is Chloe. She's new. She invited me over--Mother can I please go, please, please?"
Mother's eyes followed Chloe about the room with a look so disdainful, her cold words froze in midair.
"I've never seen one of them here before."
"One of who? Mother, please just let me go for an hour, please?"
Elizabeth's childlike mind was still unconditioned, unable to grasp hatred so penetrating.
"You have one hour. Go."

Knock, Knock (Exercise 4)

"I've never met anyone with skin so dark," was Elizabeth's first attempt at conversation with Chloe. The meeting had ended and the children sat in silence while their mothers mingled pleasantly.
"I've never met anyone that looks so scared all the time. Your eyes are about to pop out of your head!"
Elizabeth felt a white hot panic well up inside her as her eyes darted to the nearest reflective surface. Her eyes were, indeed, still intact.
"Whoa, whoa I was only joking. You know what a joke is, right?"
"Yes, of course! Funny! Oh I have one: knock, knock!"
"Who's there?"
"...Oh heavens I forgot the second part."
But Chloe smiled anyway and meekly asked, "Do you want to come over?"

Black Jazz Shoes (Critique 4)

Todd Gray, 1981

Warm summer air coats thick, metal bass strings

Cicadas tick-ticking in time with the trap set 

The Texas heat could never take away my cool

That day;

I was playing with my band. 

Small, dark room houses earnest, teenage dreams

Of thrusting your heart into someone else's 

Of moving the way you move when you set your body free

To make scuffs on the ground with my shiny, black jazz shoes

While the bass thump-thumps in my chest

Just like he did. 

A friend comes in the room to tell us something

Something that murders the vibrations 

Something that paralyzes our dancing feet

The King of Pop is dead

We search for Billie Jean tabs. 

At First Sight (Exercise 3)

Elizabeth took a seat on the ground between Mother and a convulsing woman whose name she did not remember. Although she'd seen it countless times before, Elizabeth could never acclimate to these surroundings. Women and girls, neighbors and friends, all speaking in tongues. Their bodies gyrated as the words sprang forth from their bulging chests. Elizabeth could never make eye contact.

In an attempt to distract herself, Elizabeth peered around the room looking for anything to hold her gaze until the chaos subsided. She looked to the door just as an unfamiliar mother had made her way into the foyer, dragging alongside her a girl Elizabeth's age.

The girl's dark eyes and even darker skin struck Elizabeth as radiantly and exotically beautiful, so different from her own. Elizabeth waited in quiet suspense for the stranger to fill out a name tag, as was protocol for everyone at the meetings.

Elizabeth watched the dark little girl move toward her seat as her name tag, in bright orange marker, read: Chloe.

The Easy Bake Oven (Critique 3)

Springtime, Claude Monet

So much depends upon being


tiny 


and beautiful 

Pink walls breathe Easy Bake ovens

Fluffy tulle begs from Mommy's jewelry box


to go back. 

On Keeping Cool (Critique 2)

Icare, Henri Matisse

I fold myself between the sheets and fabric envelops me, pushing me from all sides. The pretty pink walls close in on me purring the promise of sweet dreams. I shuffle confused legs and lanky arms in the pursuit of the perfect position. Palms grab at the linen's cool exterior. A handful of brisk water hits pale skin when I find the spot where cool caresses me. Cool holds me as I fall asleep. Somewhere a little girl dreams of being a princess. 

Never a Hair out of Place (Exercise 2)

    Though Mother spent exorbitant amounts of time talking about Jesus, Elizabeth never went to church. Every Tuesday and Saturday Elizabeth went to what Mother called "meetings" with people called "workers." Every week a new worker hosted the meeting. 

    On this particular Tuesday, Mother led Elizabeth into a dimly lit room the shape of an oval. Gaggles of women leaned on rickety knees, swaying back and forth with rosaries clasped in their sweaty palms. The sharp, angled carvings of the crucifix left red indentations in their skin where the sorry hands had held too tightly, waited too long to let go. Elizabeth observed the frantic motions: torsos limp like jello made to stand on its own, eyes fluttering open and closed as if desperately running away from the confines of a nightmare--buns of blonde, brunette, and red hair teetering and tottering in time with scared bodies of scared women apologizing for their fear and their follies. 

His Word is Law (Exercise 1)

Elizabeth's sun-kissed blonde hair sat in an airtight, lumpy bun on the top of her head—but Jesus wanted it that way. Mother didn’t let Elizabeth put pretty bows or barrettes in her hair. In fact, Mother didn’t let Elizabeth touch her hair at all.

“Mother, why can’t I get a haircut?” Elizabeth had asked on far too many occasions.

“Because this is our sacrifice to God, honey. How many times have we had this conversation? God likes our hair long and natural. He doesn’t like for us to play with it. He wants us to keep our hair long and pretty because we’re proud to be girls, just like he made us. When you grow up and get married, you’ll keep your hair long to look nice and pretty for your husband. He’ll like it better that way. Little girls shouldn’t go around trying to look like little boys—Jesus says so in the Bible, Elizabeth, and his word is law.”

Mother often got lost in the slippery, tangled thread of her monologues. Elizabeth often got lost staring out the window at the vast expanse of rural Houston terrain. She found that, if she started long enough, she would forget who and where she was. She liked it that way. 

Opening the Nicolas Cage (Critique 1)

Because Nicolas Cage was the first thing I thought about after reading Edwin Morgan's "Opening the Cage: 14 Variations on 14 Words."

Photo courtesy of http://unflatteringphotosofnicolascage.tumblr.com/

Opening the Nicolas Cage: 10 Words, 1 Legendary Movie Quote

"Why couldn't you put the bunny back in the box?" -Nicolas Cage in Con Air 

Why put the bunny in the box back couldn't you?

The bunny couldn't put the box back in you why?

Couldn't you put the why back in the bunny box?

Box the bunny why you couldn't the back in?

Bunny couldn't put you in the back the why box?