By Kathleen Holliday I, too, had great expectations. To be or not to be a wife defined my life. My dowry guaranteed a husband, and I would be a mother, helpmeet, nurse. Nothing could be worse than that damning epithet: old maid. Left at the altar – jilted. My bouquet wilting, I drew my veil […]
Continue reading… "Ms. Havisham"“Well,” she said, “what’s it mean?”
I thought I’d try to save her. “That guy, Pablo. He really liked lemons.”
“That’s all?” The marker hovered over the whiteboard.
I thought of that bird on television, cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
In my daughter’s dream
I reach for the salt shaker.
Parts of me dissolve.
I dab the corners
of my mouth.
Evening snuck in while
you were knitting,
eyes downward,
focused on a head full of knots.
Your labrador followed in a deeper hue,
Early on pubescent girls learned about undergarments:
training bras, panties, garter and sanitary
napkin belts, girdles, bustiers, sports bras.
Was there ever so much devised to hold
so little in?
Now 90 and still on her own land,
she sits by the sunny window
straight up in her chair,
once-strong peasant hands
holding the arms.
I sit in the tomato red chair,
flanked by shingled light,
the grist of so many Aprils,
struggles and joys of bloom,
ladders of bird notes, my misbegotten
I went down in the back where the listing shed
made a green hump. I was seeking blackberries in the mess.
The crows were disturbed or mocking
or minding their crow business with noise.
Wasps ribboned the brambles and I thought to take care.
You have a prepaid call from AR4272,
a cattle-branded criminal in SLO, California;
a boy: sleepy grin, eating scrambled eggs at your mother’s table.
To accept this boy say or dial 5 now.
To be California, hold an ear tag applicator to his head.
The weather report said rain tonight
but the innocent sky is clear
and shameless stars have burst out everywhere
while the moon discreetly waits behind a hill.
Tomorrow, the sun will rise like a god
Continue reading… "Weather Report"