Late November (I)
one minute, the sun was out, it was fall. Geraniums under a quilt last night, a blotch of red opening. On the front step what looked like lint has small pink claws and feet. Next the sky was the color of lead. Geraniums under a quilt last night like a child you’ve tucked in or a body wrapped in the earth under leaves. In the swirl of sudden snow, what was left of the headless fur blows west Like a child you’ve tucked in whatever was living, a just born squirrel I suppose, hardly a living thing except for feet. In fifteen...
Read MoreSundown, Fall
Fall, everything is turning yellow and golden. No wind, Indian summer, bright day, wind charms with Indian enchantment, last brides before winter snow, grass growth slows down, bushes cut back with chills, haven of the winter, grows legs, learns baby steps, pushes itself up slowly against my patio door, and says, “soon, soon, I’ll be there.” Winter is sweeping up what’s left of fall; making room for shorter days, longer nights. Echoes of a new season. Hear the poet reading his poem on YouTube. An embedded version is...
Read MoreFeatured: Week of Nov. 12
As any writer or artist will tell you, inspiration can come from anywhere. This week’s featured contributors look at the process of artistic creation. In “The First I Heard of It” by Ron Darian, a young boy discovers he’s got a unique ailment. The poem “The Project” by Michael Keshigian vividly depicts writer’s block in architectural terms. Art is delicious in the poem “Dinner at the Museum of Fine Arts” by Suellen Wedmore. “Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful” by K.A. Laity is a proposal for an...
Read MoreAlchemy
You must remember there is a pair to almost everything. The soft coal pupils, the chambers of the heart, the wild limbs, the teeth and all their brothers the fingers, the toes, the hidden bundles of sinew now, more like strings than cables. I don’t have the memory for the maddening miracles. I got your hair right. Saying its phrase over and over, “She drops her copper into my lungs.” I lost your eyes, your freckles, and myself, having nothing real to cling to sunk through your bones into the dirt, turned to clay. Your lips, misplaced along with a map of the West Coast, showing in the...
Read MoreDon’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful
A proposal for an art installation Materials * 100 mirrors of various sizes * Vinyl lettering spelling out the phrase “Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful” on each mirror’s surface Ideally installed in as small a space as possible that nonetheless allows viewers to be completely engulfed by images of themselves. Inspired by a story in notoriously misogynist publication The Daily Mail, where a conventionally attractive woman claimed that other women hated her for her beauty, and even more so by the vitriolic backlash against her piece,...
Read MoreDinner at the Museum of Fine Arts
…the object is not to make art, but to be in the wonderful state which makes art inevitable. —Robert Henri: The Art Spirit For an appetizer, try olives à la Picasso, ...
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