I came across this poem while cleaning out an old suitcase. It was written in 1988, when I lived in Pasadena, California. I must have had one hell of an argument with my boyfriend, LOL! ~ C.
I have always wondered what it would be like
to wake up the morning after the atom bomb.
(You move mechanically
into the kitchen
boiling water for coffee.
Perhaps a bit of Mozart
as a backdrop
to our bitter, uncivilized silence.
You shift uncomfortably
on your white-hot throne
biting the snarl deeper
into your lip
to maintain the Grand Illusion of war.)
Radiation on my fingertips,
I move to touch your hand
to place the bow on the string
that only yesterday
brought such sweet music.
But now this concert hall
holds only poor players:
violins argue with cellos
your hand withdraws.
The room is heavy with classical fallout.
I knew that my mother wanted a pair of red, white, and blue sailboat clip-on earrings to wear on the Fourth of July, so my boyfriend and I decided to make it our mission to find them that day. It was June of 1991, and we were visiting from Germany, where I had been living for nearly two years. Having no car, we relied on buses to get us to and from my parents’ house in Palm Harbor, Florida. There was a bus stop on the main road within walking distance, and we set out on our quest early that day.
First, we decided to go to the Countryside Mall, which was about 10 miles to the south. It was a huge mall with an indoor skating rink and it housed several of the big department stores like Sears and JCPenney. We visited every single store that sold ladies’ jewelry, from the big chains to the novelty shops that littered the indoor walkways. It was next to impossible to find anything that was clip on, much less anything resembling red, white, and blue sailboats. There were red [...]
When I was growing up, I lived in a subdivision of Woodbury called "The Gates". The houses were on 1 acre plots of land, but many were still surrounded by deep woods. Long Island was booming with subdivisions in the 1960's, many of which had formerly been farms or orchards.
Our development had been part of a large hilly estate with an apple orchard, and the main house was still standing in those days. It looked like something from an old horror movie, with its once stately brick exterior now overgrown with persistent ivy and weeds. There was a huge algae covered cement swimming pool, straight out of an old Hollywood movie, that was filled with frogs and toads, with dandelions bursting through the cracks. The old mansion was referred to as "The Manor House".
One Halloween when I was 8 years old, my mother dressed me up as a Flamenco dancer, in a blue and white polka-dot ruffled dress that my grandfather had brought me from Spain. I remember vividly, scarfing down her delicious stuffed peppers [...]
I seemed to be on a roll in 6th grade. We were already moving from classroom to classroom, almost like high school kids, with different teachers for different subjects. Mrs. Hardwick taught English, and she looked every bit her name. I don't know why, but looking back it seems as if most of my elementary school teachers had been gray-haired spinsters with stern, rigid faces.
One week, we were told to prepare an oral book report to present in front of the class. For my report, I chose a book by Mary Stewart called "The Moon Spinners". I had seen the Disney movie with Haley Mills, and had liked it very much, so I was pleased to have found the book. However, I did not like the book nearly as much as the movie. Every oral book report had to end with a critique, so when I got up in front of the class I summed up my report by saying that I had not enjoyed the book because I thought it was stupid.
Well, this provoked something of a fit in Mrs. Hardwick, so I was dispatched post haste to look [...]
When I was a child, we lived in a small stone house not far from the town of Tuckahoe. 88 Lawrence Avenue was the address. I loved this house, and I dream of it still.
Right off of the kitchen there was a winter garden which had been added to the back of the house, with windows overlooking a rock wall out back where my parents would hide Easter Eggs and firecrackers. The dreamy morning sun would glaze over the cool slate tiles, and I often preferred to play on the floor as opposed to my playpen, which was pushed up against my father's piano on the left side of the room.
It was in the safety of this warm and friendly place, that I would learn many of my earliest and most profound lessons about life. My mother used to hang a red wooden swing for me in the doorway that led to the kitchen. This way she could watch me while she enjoyed her morning coffee.
One gloriously palatial afternoon, the only kind of afternoon there is when you are three, a bee made an unannounced visit and began orbiting [...]