Bobbi Lurie

to be let in the back porch

you lived with a vengeful housekeeper who threw me down the stairs when i entered into the basement jars of unborn babies adorned the shelves beside the sewing machine since i was locked up in a closet full of discards i decided to make a dress for the longing of excellence pervaded my vision trapped with house dresses in the cellar lined with cedar and dead moths where gratefully I drank the remaining bottles of scotch slept for a week dreaming of a dress for the internet made of feathers coming out of the pillow case and i found the feathers could be turned into something elegant to fall from the shoulder blades held together with a mildewed sheet i threw in my heart lept at the sight of snakes mocking twine filthy windows embraced my ideas of design i decided to sew the feathers with clouds and jewelweed as a safety feature sprinkled with remaining drops of scotch

blog of solitude chapter one the party ok i went saturday it was for sunday

so i went sunday too the mozzarella and tomatoes not as fresh as yesterday i the youngest one in the room scary for me to see same ambition in the old ones sad to see the same lack of love wake up i thought following the fanatical bookseller into his hidden room with yet another collection he hid from his friend who came in huffing and puffing heart condition behind us breathing out his dreamworld collection his forays to garage sales i asked him to come back with me to my house take all my junk and crap the bookseller wants my books paintings mementos and photos i gave him the poetry books i wrote he passed them around the table the apparently famous one who i never heard of opened the books looked through them without reading the table was quiet except for me i was trying to get the knot out of my necklace no joke thin gold chain with the tiniest bit of sapphire giving the impression on my neck of having a tracheotomy and just when i was about to get the knot out of the necklace the i guess famous poet i never heard of looked up and said my books were written on good paper and he threw the books down on the table hard and i felt so sad not for me for him before i left he reminded me of his reading where he would be featured y el hispanico lindo me dijo no hay una camino el camino se hace al ander y yo le dijo a el y en los suenos suenos son

Bobbi Lurie's third poetry collection, Grief Suite, was published by CW Books in April.

previous page     contents     next page



Post a Comment

<< Home