it's a place we've never been
I won't be seeing Felicia for a long time...*tear*
this Saturday, it turns out that an alternate wasn't needed for Poetry,
me and Juan were just there... so we decided to explore the university and
we entered a Labyrinth, a submarine, climbed 5 flight of stairs, found David
by accident, put a plant and a tree in a elevator(laughed our asses off too),
tilted pictures, AND found a magical forest with benches of the unknown...
We had a whole day of laughter and fun. Let me tell ya, Tetrix is da shit ppl!
schools almooooost out. yesss! cant wait, cant wait, cant wait...
"thanks for waiting this long to show yourself. cos now that I can see you,
I don't think you're worth a second chance. so much for all the promises..."
I thought I'd leave my poems behind
The Girls - by Diane Wakosko
I never understood the girls
who had sweaters
and the lastest hairdos copied out of magazines
and who were not afraid of snakes
They were the thin hipped ones who looked good
in straight skirts, like exclamation points
behind phrases like "Wow", and "Gee Wiz"
I envied their lemon-scented hands
who answered almost as many questions
as I, the ugly duckling class brain, did,
with fat ankles,
and ass as soft as a sofa pillow
Valene Tradwell who was Miss La Habra
at our August Corn Festival
chased me iwth worms.
Cathy with her Zeld-ish bob,
and her slimness that even her sorority girl students envy,
tells of a snake they secretly put in the eighth grade teachers desk
and now you, Pggy, as I heard someone nice
call you, slick and chic as Jane Fonda,
tell of your own simple connnections with snakes
wearing them as electric tight braclets,
wond on a willow wrist,
the delight you took in scaring others,
even men, OR women like me,
who would have died had we found a harmless little black
fellow curled in the grass
I have never been on of these girls:
smart without being labeled with derogatory titles like
"the encyclopedia"
"the brain",
graceful without watching calories,
followed by men who adored me even when I turned them away,
slow-voiced,
quiet,
with ankles like colts
and at complete ease with snakes
I have never been one of these girls.
At 47, I still envy your cool appearance
Some part of me was denied
what all women have,
OR supposed to have, an ease
(with the fatly coiled Python whose skkin
is the milky underwear,
the thread-like green mamba who slips past
your fingers like mountain water,
the cobra who sits on the family radio
in Sri Lanka
the cottonmouth who swims next to you all night
in muddy fertile water,
or magic necklace Denise imagines
around her throat)
Men see me as Medusa
with vipers hissing around my hair.
How ironic
I have always been SO afraid
of snakes that when I was six...
I couldn't turn to the SNAKE page
in my Golden Encyclopedia
I have never been one of these girls,
comfortable wearing a black snake as a belt.
Had I been Lawrence
near his well in Sicily,
I would have turned and run.
He knew the snakes were the Lords of Life,
but I know you pretty little women,
who handle them like hula hoops,
or jump ropes,
or pet kittens
(you) are the real Gods, and your ease at snakes
is proof in my presence I am neither man
nor woman. I am simply the one
afriad of snakes; who knows
that in this life
it is the ONE hing
not allowed
Anniversary Song - by Paisley Rekdal
Look at us there on the museum steps, giggling before the
Asain stone camels and..... God!
The strangers my mother invited to our reception
in photographs spit bubbles out of yellow plastic hoops,
soap suds dive bombing our kneww-length chiffons.
If I'd known then, what I know now-
Taht even bridesmaids might have preferred to hurl
infectives or Silly Putty at the guests then blush kisses
againest our relatives' damp cheeks, that half the druken
wedding party would have later threaten to kill themselves or divorce
perhaps we wouldn't have allowed ourselves
to be paraded this way. Who were we so happy
amoung our depressed, gay, and single friends?
Look: I'm the cloud of cut-rate polyblend champagne
silk failing in the marble statue of a tire.
You're the slightly more expensive suit hauling me back out.
Women overboard! What we did for photographs
we also did for love: mugged till our wedded eyes crossed,
taped condoms to cars under whipped cream and pink crepe suds
to fool the gods of fertility. Thats the sort of formality
attached to a wedding.
"A wedding
out of the miserable from the less miserable"
as my aunts murmured in the john.
Guess what?! Even now, one year later...
We're the less miserable,
grinning at each other like cannibals over the take-out
and new china, slapping each other on the back, chortling
with congratulation. Love!
We're still in love. HA HA HA HA HA!
...Look at us giggling in this photograph, side by side astride
the musuem's stone camals in our too tight weddng clothes,
for whipping under our arms
as we wave, screaming with fragile luck
in front of God, the gay, and everybody
this Saturday, it turns out that an alternate wasn't needed for Poetry,
me and Juan were just there... so we decided to explore the university and
we entered a Labyrinth, a submarine, climbed 5 flight of stairs, found David
by accident, put a plant and a tree in a elevator(laughed our asses off too),
tilted pictures, AND found a magical forest with benches of the unknown...
We had a whole day of laughter and fun. Let me tell ya, Tetrix is da shit ppl!
schools almooooost out. yesss! cant wait, cant wait, cant wait...
"thanks for waiting this long to show yourself. cos now that I can see you,
I don't think you're worth a second chance. so much for all the promises..."
I thought I'd leave my poems behind
The Girls - by Diane Wakosko
I never understood the girls
who had sweaters
and the lastest hairdos copied out of magazines
and who were not afraid of snakes
They were the thin hipped ones who looked good
in straight skirts, like exclamation points
behind phrases like "Wow", and "Gee Wiz"
I envied their lemon-scented hands
who answered almost as many questions
as I, the ugly duckling class brain, did,
with fat ankles,
and ass as soft as a sofa pillow
Valene Tradwell who was Miss La Habra
at our August Corn Festival
chased me iwth worms.
Cathy with her Zeld-ish bob,
and her slimness that even her sorority girl students envy,
tells of a snake they secretly put in the eighth grade teachers desk
and now you, Pggy, as I heard someone nice
call you, slick and chic as Jane Fonda,
tell of your own simple connnections with snakes
wearing them as electric tight braclets,
wond on a willow wrist,
the delight you took in scaring others,
even men, OR women like me,
who would have died had we found a harmless little black
fellow curled in the grass
I have never been on of these girls:
smart without being labeled with derogatory titles like
"the encyclopedia"
"the brain",
graceful without watching calories,
followed by men who adored me even when I turned them away,
slow-voiced,
quiet,
with ankles like colts
and at complete ease with snakes
I have never been one of these girls.
At 47, I still envy your cool appearance
Some part of me was denied
what all women have,
OR supposed to have, an ease
(with the fatly coiled Python whose skkin
is the milky underwear,
the thread-like green mamba who slips past
your fingers like mountain water,
the cobra who sits on the family radio
in Sri Lanka
the cottonmouth who swims next to you all night
in muddy fertile water,
or magic necklace Denise imagines
around her throat)
Men see me as Medusa
with vipers hissing around my hair.
How ironic
I have always been SO afraid
of snakes that when I was six...
I couldn't turn to the SNAKE page
in my Golden Encyclopedia
I have never been one of these girls,
comfortable wearing a black snake as a belt.
Had I been Lawrence
near his well in Sicily,
I would have turned and run.
He knew the snakes were the Lords of Life,
but I know you pretty little women,
who handle them like hula hoops,
or jump ropes,
or pet kittens
(you) are the real Gods, and your ease at snakes
is proof in my presence I am neither man
nor woman. I am simply the one
afriad of snakes; who knows
that in this life
it is the ONE hing
not allowed
Anniversary Song - by Paisley Rekdal
Look at us there on the museum steps, giggling before the
Asain stone camels and..... God!
The strangers my mother invited to our reception
in photographs spit bubbles out of yellow plastic hoops,
soap suds dive bombing our kneww-length chiffons.
If I'd known then, what I know now-
Taht even bridesmaids might have preferred to hurl
infectives or Silly Putty at the guests then blush kisses
againest our relatives' damp cheeks, that half the druken
wedding party would have later threaten to kill themselves or divorce
perhaps we wouldn't have allowed ourselves
to be paraded this way. Who were we so happy
amoung our depressed, gay, and single friends?
Look: I'm the cloud of cut-rate polyblend champagne
silk failing in the marble statue of a tire.
You're the slightly more expensive suit hauling me back out.
Women overboard! What we did for photographs
we also did for love: mugged till our wedded eyes crossed,
taped condoms to cars under whipped cream and pink crepe suds
to fool the gods of fertility. Thats the sort of formality
attached to a wedding.
"A wedding
out of the miserable from the less miserable"
as my aunts murmured in the john.
Guess what?! Even now, one year later...
We're the less miserable,
grinning at each other like cannibals over the take-out
and new china, slapping each other on the back, chortling
with congratulation. Love!
We're still in love. HA HA HA HA HA!
...Look at us giggling in this photograph, side by side astride
the musuem's stone camals in our too tight weddng clothes,
for whipping under our arms
as we wave, screaming with fragile luck
in front of God, the gay, and everybody