We were silly girls then,
running from the dime store
with freshly purchased loot,
trading five pieces of Bazooka Joe
for one all-day Gobstopper
twelve Boston Baked Beans for two
Jolly Ranchers, an even trade of Chocodile
for a Raspberry Zinger.
Then we'd curl up on your brown
bean bag chair, covered in corduroy,
smelling of dogs. Your mom would
let us watch Disney and old Tyrone
Power Jr. movies. You'd ask me what it
felt like, to be kissed like he did
with all of his heroines.
I didn't know.
So we pressed our baby mouths against
the screen, felt static shock
against his glass lips. We practiced
on each other until we had it right -
the grasping at shoulders, breathy stares
into each others eyes until crushed
full body against each other, we kissed.
We giggled when we broke apart, and you
wondered if that made us lesbos like your
Cousin, Mary. I said it would be better with
a boy. Your breath smelled like candy corn.
The day after, your mom caught us.
A week after that, we ran from the dime store
to my house. Behind you I noticed your shorts
rose higher on your legs with each stride,
the pinkish stripes across them
were too wide to be caused
by sitting too long on corduroy.
That was the day
I traded all of my Cherry Sours
for one Twizzler.
We were silly girls then.
Copyright © Victoria Kelsey 1999
Witch in a torn lace smock
Goblin with spider-cobbed hair
Dryad hiding among fallen graves
I saw her once
where the long grasses flow
tending bouquets
sweeping the weeds
The wind gathered about her
a skirt of brittle leaves
as she floated through the yard
turning down the dirt beds
for every long-term guest
Copyright © Wendy Rathbone 2002
There isn't really death on Mars, more
of a cessation, a reduction to absolute
zero. The recombination of your elements
into new patterns that sustain these
bubbling parasite domes that scratch the face
of the red cold planet in fungal clusters.
There isn't really life on Mars, rather
existence, continuance along infinite lines
on the island suspended in black cold.
Outside the red dust moves as a sleeper
disturbed by uncomfortable dreams or trying
forever to reach an unscratchable itch.
There isn't really time on Mars, only
the ticking of sand in clocks that dribble
dust on sundials. You can see the time
pass second on second in peoples eyes
as imperceptibly they shrink and their light dies.
The shadows draw over in terrible lines.
There is nothing on Mars to be or
do. No rotund aliens in dust brick houses.
No monoliths inscribed with ancient rites
No relief from the unbearable thin light.
Nothing to explore. Nothing to conquer.
Nothing but waiting and watching the dust fall.
Copyright © David Salisbury 2001
She picked up a pomegranate, squeezed
it hard, sighed. She'd always preferred golden
delicious apples, but they were all
mushy today. Someone called out
from the direction of the cabbages,
not her name, just pleading. She pushed
her clattering cart toward the greenest
part of the produce department.
A man's head rested among the cabbages.
He had black hair, and the kind of olive skin that
some women find exotic when they don't know
better. "I am Orpheus," he said, "cursed to live
forever, bereft of love, and now left
among these living green things
that by their fecundity mock my living
death. My woe is legend...."
She resisted the urge to thump
his forehead like a melon. She called
to a beefy old man wearing a
supermarket smock. "What's this head
doing in among the cabbages?" she asked.
He walked toward her, looked at Orpheus,
grunted. "I just unload the crates," he
said. "The quality of the vegetables
is none of my business."
"Did these cabbages come from Greece?"
she asked.
"Olives are what come from Greece," he
said. "Cabbages come from places like
Ohio." He wandered away.
"Long I sought my love," Orpheus said.
"Long I wandered singing in
the lands below the earth."
She looked at the sign. "Cabbages, 89 cents
a head." She picked up Orpheus by his
hair. He didn't seem to mind. If his neck
had been bloody she might have left
him there, but his wound was smooth
as cut cucumber. She dropped him
in her basket, paid for him at the register,
thinking "Of all the places to find
true love."
In the car, on the way home, Orpheus went
on and on about his dead wife from inside
the grocery bag.
She wished he would stop; a girl could
start to feel like an afterthought. She decided
he would never love her after all.
A mile from her house he started singing.
She wept. So did a dog in the street, a mailman
passing by, and a stop sign. She decided to keep
him after all.
When she got home she put the rest
of the groceries away, but took Orpheus
into her dusty bedroom, swinging him
gently by his hair. "Long I sought my love,
and an end to loneliness," Orpheus said.
"Long I searched to find the gates
of my paradise denied."
She undressed, surprised to find
herself trembling. She stretched out
on the bed and bent her knees, then
tucked the murmuring head of Orpheus
between her thighs.
"Sing out," she said, and he did.
A bit later, so did she.
Copyright © Tim Pratt 2001
He'd come to water them.
They were ashamed of him --
his weak white hands, his stoop.
They pulled him down.
He fought back, weeping: "I have brought you
water, defended you from aphids."
He's hiding in the house now, bloody.
They wait for rain.
This is how roses are:
they dream of strength.
There is no mercy in them.
Roses want to eat the ivy,
fill the oaks with blood.
They want kisses and hatred,
chocolate and vengeance;
like teenage girls who dream of suicide,
of anything that would end the world,
instead of having to be beautiful tomorrow.
Copyright © Benjamin Rosenbaum 2001
Ever had a serious relationship where you ached because you were not the only love of the one you loved? Where you felt hopelessly addicted to a person? Don't give up hope! There is always that Certain One waiting for you.
I never believed it probable
That the potential still existed
Because of deep grief and addiction to you;
Even a little time away
Freed me to find Someone New
Cumulative realization and acceptance
Formerly blocked, blindly resistant
Because of co-addictive love for you
Just a little time away
Freed me to allow in Someone New
The passionate love is amazing:
Unselfish, faithful, understanding, consistent
A gift to be treasured and different from you
Only a little time away
Freed me to let in Someone New
Someone I've long known is my love now
Someone I had unthinkingly rejected
Walled off while tortuously involved with you
Simply a little time away
Freed me to breathe love anew
My new love is gifted, talented and bright
Lovingly persistent and wise
Finally, a love who puts me first!
Even a little time away
Freed me to enjoy the new
Happily engaged in love, spirituality and caring
Positive of this perpetual pairing
Honest, reciprocal respect
The accumulation of time away
Granted me permission to find the new:
Graced me with the Presence of....
ME --
La Donna
Copyright © Donna Wright
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