Tag: spoken word

Effort at Speech Between Two People

.Reading time 1 minute.


: Let us begin with imperatives, where demands are apt to be concrete.

: Be happy. Enjoy your day. Set an intention. Breathe.

: Please, do not reach too far for me.

: Like the sunflower toward its Sun, I bend—

: In through the nose, out through the mouth.

: —counting the steps of your modest music.

: Seven to make a sale, three to climb a ladder, one to hold the moon.

How many points of contact does it take to stir the heart?

: We looked for a spoon, and finding none, gave ourselves permission to sip from the bowl.

: I remember it differently.

: In a land flowing with milk and honey, the Terms & Conditions must be wide and deep.

: From now, love takes the intransitive form.

There are no subject/objects, no Is acting upon yous.

What is important is to love.

: I accept these.

: You will be the writer, and I, the comic relief.

: Become become what is what will become

somewhere somewhat somehow become

some become some be be be!

: Listen : peace-becoming-turmoil-becoming- peace-becoming-turmoil

again and

again, in the same way; Forever.

: The future’s present sounds objectively good.

: Always trust the eyes and not the tongue. Look : [                           ]

: Speak to me. Grow to know me. Take my hand. Know that it’s OK

to fall.

: Let us end with imperatives, where demands are apt to be concrete.

					

	




					
						


		

		

			
The First
		

		
.Reading time 2 minutes.

		

			


We finger-fucked in Latin class,

and got away with it

by playing make-believe.


You were a concert pianist,

plucking the Bumblebee

in my panties.


I was an airline pilot,

preparing your cockpit

for the ascension.


We wasted our ripest years

playing bride and groom,

feeding off each other’s


Daddy issues, and

sharing everything but

the wet dreams.


You dreamt of MKs and

premeditated revenge

on mustaches, bottlecaps,

and Camel packs.


I dreamt of reading banned

books beneath streetlamps,

and lapping lattes at 9pm.


We thumbed rides off I-89

and hurdled over state lines

to bod-mod joints

in Vermont,

where they’d ink a kid

without permission.


You marked your body

♥ ab imo pectore ♥

in my name.


I marked your words

and hoped to die, survived

by warm-hearted man.


We begged consent of our parents,

and mine named you Hamartia:

the downfall, the bad boy phase.


We begged consent of our parents,

and yours named me Femme Fatale:

the one who plants ideas


of education, insurrection,

and riding two-wheelers

without protection.


lovers are lunatics

who speak with tongues and teeth,

in a language of promises


too big to keep,

in a language of lies

they dare call poetry.


We turned eighteen

with the leaves, and

dropped our love in embers.


You enlisted your body

with one hand, and tied

the other for safekeeping.


I enlisted the help

of my better judgment

to find an exit worth making,


and made it.

ab imo pectore, ego contristo

for leaving you.

					

	




					
						


		

		

			
Ten Truths and a Lie
		

		
.Reading time 6 minutes.

		

			
1) My third grade teacher, Missus Kara-Jane Crosley, singled me out and was always cross with me.


“You hang upside down on the monkey bars, wearing denim jumpers crafted from old overalls. You speak in gibberish of counting stars, and stand your ground when I say ‘No, only boys come from Mars.’ You come in late after recess time, and fumble the words of every nursery rhyme. Kayla, there are two types of people in this world: you and everyone else.”


 My Body lies over the ocean


My Body lies over the sea


My Body lies over the ocean


Oh, bring back my Body to me . . .


 2)   A child of the seventies, my father grew up pining for a color television, which was a luxury his family of factory workers could not afford. When I was ten years old, he bought me a twelve-inch set for Christmas, and displayed it like a trophy on the shelf above my head. Watching re-runs of


Sex and the City made staying up past bedtime feel all the more rebellious. I wonder how the children of the seventies learned what their parts were for.


3)  I removed my thorn-torn stockings, patched the wound with gauze and sap, and descended the stairs with an announcement caught in my throat:


“Ma-ma, I am a maple. Ma-ma, I’ve been tapped. Peter popped my cherry behind the sugar shack.”


“Oh, that’s nice honey, how was track?”


4) A daily dose of progesterone kept the baby away, and Planned Parenthood let me have it without parental consent or co-pay.


On October 30, 2010, the day Drew and I became exclusive, he flushed my pills down the toilet, called me a junkie, and swore he would rather be alone than watch me poison my body with artificial hormones.


He said, “I want to wear a condom,”


and I said, “Thank God for that.”


“Charge them with your card; don’t worry,


I’ll spot you some cash.”


5) “Joanne, we’re gonna need a vomit pan in here,” crowed the nurse, as I gripped the stress ball in my palm so tightly that she half-expected to see juice and clotted pulp dripping from my wrist. I retracted my limbs to keep them from whipping in the wind. I was a tortoise. I was a gyromancer. For once, I was in control.


The results arrived three weeks later, sealed in a broad manilla envelope colored like mustard: straight negatives. I breathed sweet relief into my cupped hands, still shivering with anxious anticipation. That bastard cost me fifty dollars, eighty-three cents, and an immeasurable sum of pride.Always buckle up before you ride.


6)  Before I turned vegetarian, and cut out all white foods, my favorite meal was barbecue chicken quarters, tucked into a warm bed of instant mashed potatoes. Hungry Jack ate his legs whole, and so did I, from drumstick handle to upper-thigh.


It may be said that “you are what you eat,” but I grew neither bird’s legs nor bird feet, so I switched to a diet of nuts and seeds, to end world hunger and fight disease.


7)  I broke three years of fidelity to have sex with an ex, and it wasn’t even as hot as I thought it would be. We fucked four times — in the men’s room at South Station, against the front door of his apartment, on the kitchen counter tops and, once more, under the shower(for the sake of conserving water). We fell asleep on opposite ends of the couch, each cradling a paper cup half empty with Honey Nut Cheerios, like grown-ups engaged in a real grown-up affair. That night, I dreamt I was an animal, and woke up with a tail between my legs. Home wanted to know where I had been, “How was your weekend? Did you have fun?” I laid down three aces, and waited for him to call bullshit, but he never did. I am a good girl who does very bad things, but only when I know that I can get away with them.


8) “Ms. Kennett, I understand that you prefer to be called ‘Lucy,’ is that correct?”


The receptionist donned a puzzled expression, as the patient paused to puzzle over her question, separating its syllables into columns, scratching plus and equals signs into the cheap pressboard desktop.


“Ms. Kennett?”


That time, I nodded, but neither confirmed nor denied it.


 [to be continued]


 9)                                                                                 [to be determined]


 event related to exploration of sexuality


 10)                                                                               [to be determined]


event related to intimate partner violence


 11)   I want to feel the force of my wrath and swing, smashing all the delicate things, but I resist, and in resistance, find strength.


 Bring back, bring back


Bring back my Body to me

					

	




					
						


		

		

			
A Love Poem
		

		
.Reading time 1 minute.

		

			

Reading her poetry stirred me up:                                                                                                   eye of newt, wing of dove — whatever.                                                                                           It did not matter. I would have fallen                                                                                               in love all the same.                                                                                                                               Yet, modest, she remained.                                                                                                                 She said: “In your presence, I can never                                                                               remember what to do with my letters;                                                                                           I connect consonant to vowel and                                                                                           vowel to consonant, but what comes out                                                                                   is not a language that I can recognize.                                                                                       Emily colored in her lips                                                                                                       with pencil-crayons, but always kept                                                                                           inside the lines; she was a “sometimes red,                                                                         sometimes deep magenta” kind of girl.                                                                                   She wore collared dresses and thimbles                                                                                   on her thumbs, with flushed cheeks that                                                                            seemed to say: “I know more of hugging                                                                               and kissing than I care to admit.”                                                                                                In her embrace, I was enveloped with                                                                                        the strength of a nightcap (fit snugly to                                                                                  my crown) and could never remember                                                                                    what to do with my Body.

					

	




					
						


			

					

		

		

			
Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes
		

		
.Reading time 2 minutes.

		

			
I.  On the verge of vertigo, the objects

in the mirror are closer than they appear

to be right-brained would be such

a wonderful thing that mothers always say

is: “Look both ways before crossing

the street” less traveled by will ebb

and flow, but who could miss such a

spectacular show-and-tell needs ears

and eyes are said to be our most expressive

feature films never feature heads

like mine.


II. Carry the weight of your world to my

doorstep. Let it lay upon my shoulders.

Shoulders. Shoulders were built to

shimmy and shake, shake, shake it,

girls were built to touch and taste and

feel better, Love, you’ve got so much left

to prove that force equals mass times

acceleration equals (Vf – Vi)

over time, my shoulders will buckle and break-

ing bread stands for broken bones in

the Bible teaches that we are built to

bear burdens.


III. In fourth grade, I played  as the knee-high

man who stood fallen, unable to get up-

stairs, everyone was laughing, but

I stood frozen, unable to get up

the courage and join them in

Holy Union, by the power invested

in me, and my legs, which buckled at

the “knee me in the groin, I deserve it!”

you spat on my glasses but they were not

dirty dishes made you angry not

mad means crazy – I learned that much in

fourth grade.


IV. Gym teacher says “reach out and touch your toes

—  if you can” throw on a movie and coat

of lipstick, well, you’ll have yourself

a date too mediocre to remember

might make a good little anniversary

one day after my thirteenth birthday,

gym teacher says “you can shoot for the moon,

but you’ll never score a three-point-

one-four was my favorite number in

the universe made me a “Mother,

why don’t you number the stars

anymore?”