hope called in sick.
... An undulating
embrace was what it was. Berkley
and I—joking—started a mannerly
box step. We'd spoken hardly ten
sentences before—maybe I grinned
at her one day in the hall or she
at me in band practice or history
but we'd never touched fingertips
let alone tried to dance. So it's
no wonder we began in awkwardness
and humor, poking fun at the kiss
Bobby and Judy showed no signs of
breaking off. It's strange enough
two couples dancing in a ballroom
with all the invisible chaperones
tsk-tsking, the other dancers not
yet having arrived, full daylight
reflecting over the parquet floor,
a line of chairs for wall flowers
along three walls, tables whitely
waiting for punch bowls perfectly
centered among cups, small plates
for cookies, party napkins placed
exactly so. Music stands awaited
sax man, trumpeter and trombonist;
the discreet piano widely grinned,
and the drums and cymbals yearned
to be punished. Meanwhile Berkley
and I box-stepped our laps nicely
around the ballroom. "Oh my God!"
whispered Berkley; she gave a nod
toward Bobby and Judy, only their
pelvises moving, his hands on her
butt and hers on his. They stood
in place, clothes on, a very good
boy and girl except for movements
of their tongues, hips, and hands.
...
from "April Saturday, 1960" by david huddle. found it online while trying to find that poem i liked last semester, the one about the nun going on an errand and the ending of flame and habit. neil someone.
i forgot, too, anne marie macari.
i still have those recordings of young women sturdily, calmly reciting their poetry. the ones that erin mentioned, the ones she said made her feel small.
(poetry is still too insular for me to consider it competitive. but then, that's why i stumble, and do poorly when i'm called on to recite. intimation and negative space...
finding superstars. always gives off sparks.)
letters about tears make the day hard. and pittsburgh weather, well...last week i thought i was going to wind up ... in a summer dress somewhere, just being happy and sea tinted. out of my mind.
and then it's white fog today, and three seconds of violent torrential rain, and then hazy steel colored sunlight. weird days and i'm feeling mundane, like i want to clean, dust maybe, and go back to sleep after school.
i found nicholas white's "angry song" accidentally. i miss the first time i found his work.
embrace was what it was. Berkley
and I—joking—started a mannerly
box step. We'd spoken hardly ten
sentences before—maybe I grinned
at her one day in the hall or she
at me in band practice or history
but we'd never touched fingertips
let alone tried to dance. So it's
no wonder we began in awkwardness
and humor, poking fun at the kiss
Bobby and Judy showed no signs of
breaking off. It's strange enough
two couples dancing in a ballroom
with all the invisible chaperones
tsk-tsking, the other dancers not
yet having arrived, full daylight
reflecting over the parquet floor,
a line of chairs for wall flowers
along three walls, tables whitely
waiting for punch bowls perfectly
centered among cups, small plates
for cookies, party napkins placed
exactly so. Music stands awaited
sax man, trumpeter and trombonist;
the discreet piano widely grinned,
and the drums and cymbals yearned
to be punished. Meanwhile Berkley
and I box-stepped our laps nicely
around the ballroom. "Oh my God!"
whispered Berkley; she gave a nod
toward Bobby and Judy, only their
pelvises moving, his hands on her
butt and hers on his. They stood
in place, clothes on, a very good
boy and girl except for movements
of their tongues, hips, and hands.
...
from "April Saturday, 1960" by david huddle. found it online while trying to find that poem i liked last semester, the one about the nun going on an errand and the ending of flame and habit. neil someone.
i forgot, too, anne marie macari.
i still have those recordings of young women sturdily, calmly reciting their poetry. the ones that erin mentioned, the ones she said made her feel small.
(poetry is still too insular for me to consider it competitive. but then, that's why i stumble, and do poorly when i'm called on to recite. intimation and negative space...
finding superstars. always gives off sparks.)
letters about tears make the day hard. and pittsburgh weather, well...last week i thought i was going to wind up ... in a summer dress somewhere, just being happy and sea tinted. out of my mind.
and then it's white fog today, and three seconds of violent torrential rain, and then hazy steel colored sunlight. weird days and i'm feeling mundane, like i want to clean, dust maybe, and go back to sleep after school.
i found nicholas white's "angry song" accidentally. i miss the first time i found his work.