Proteus and the Virgin
a plain manila envelope arrives for me and my mother gives me the look
like she's wondering if I've got something dirty in there
"Who do you know in Staten Island?" she asks, and I shrug, tearing the back of the package
ignoring the closure
"Proteus" I say, and display it like a banner. On the front cover, a brass virgin stares with hollow eyes
I think I recognize the font that bisects her veil - book antiqua.
my mother shrugs, not knowing what a proteus is, or why a corroding virgin graces the cover
I flip open to pages that smell of fresh ink
though its undoubtably sat in some storage box since Fall 2002
a dedication inside from Angela and Anna,
offers me love always in the form of 'lubbins' and a hasty disclaimer that they've very much improved
since Fall, 2002
they have the handwriting of college girls- full, fat loops, and delicate swirls
years will pass before the whorls harden and deflate
before the page blackens with sharp corners and heavy strokes
I uncover poetic history
the evolutions of the style I now know them for in comments and conversations
from our electronic age in Summer 2003
they have grown beyond the need to center and shape; cast aside the vagueness of 'beauty' and truth
left them behind with the autumn leaves
Co-Editor
Editor
I picture sandwiches- flip through the mag to find the filler,
occasionally supplemented
by a tender slice of meat. I wonder how they chose
what they rejected
I think about the illusions they shatter
when they slam
dictionary-dot-com
tells me that Proteus is both
A Greek sea deity
and a urinary tract infection
I slide the magazine back into the manila
affording privacy to the virgin
and her bacterial god
My mother laughs because
she knew all along that it was dirty
---- With thanks for the mag (and apologies for the bloody awful poem) to
saccarineayako and browniegirl322
like she's wondering if I've got something dirty in there
"Who do you know in Staten Island?" she asks, and I shrug, tearing the back of the package
ignoring the closure
"Proteus" I say, and display it like a banner. On the front cover, a brass virgin stares with hollow eyes
I think I recognize the font that bisects her veil - book antiqua.
my mother shrugs, not knowing what a proteus is, or why a corroding virgin graces the cover
I flip open to pages that smell of fresh ink
though its undoubtably sat in some storage box since Fall 2002
a dedication inside from Angela and Anna,
offers me love always in the form of 'lubbins' and a hasty disclaimer that they've very much improved
since Fall, 2002
they have the handwriting of college girls- full, fat loops, and delicate swirls
years will pass before the whorls harden and deflate
before the page blackens with sharp corners and heavy strokes
I uncover poetic history
the evolutions of the style I now know them for in comments and conversations
from our electronic age in Summer 2003
they have grown beyond the need to center and shape; cast aside the vagueness of 'beauty' and truth
left them behind with the autumn leaves
Co-Editor
Editor
I picture sandwiches- flip through the mag to find the filler,
occasionally supplemented
by a tender slice of meat. I wonder how they chose
what they rejected
I think about the illusions they shatter
when they slam
dictionary-dot-com
tells me that Proteus is both
A Greek sea deity
and a urinary tract infection
I slide the magazine back into the manila
affording privacy to the virgin
and her bacterial god
My mother laughs because
she knew all along that it was dirty
---- With thanks for the mag (and apologies for the bloody awful poem) to
saccarineayako and browniegirl322