Saturday, March 3, 2012

Ah, poetry! Coffeeshop Writers' Group / Two poems: View from the Second-Floor Window - Flags Fly High on Cowbell Road

Two deadlines today.

First one was noon, which is when the Bryn Athyn post office closes.

"Only 11 more minutes," said Maria when I gave her the envelope.

Mailed off six poems to Coal City Review.

While driving home I noticed all the American flags on our street. I'll write a poem about that, I thot.

A la Jasper Johns and his famous painting of an American flag, I painted this a couple of years ago. I had central A/C put in and needed a new fuse box. This is the door of the old fuse box upon which I painted the American flag.

Deadline was 1:30 at the Giant Coffeeshop.

I'd wrin a poem that morning about the view from my bathroom window.

Never early, I get to the Coffeeshop 11 minutes early. No one is there. But I see Jeff and his wife Wendy so I talk to them. Their 5-yo son Ethan is on a play-date.

Then Linda Barrett arrives, followed by Jovon Belcher, and Beatriz Moisset. A full house! Good people. Roll the photos and narrative, Ruthie:

Linda read a narrative poem "The Kiss that Kills." Quite good, but needs a little work so we can tell the characters apart. Uncle Thimon and his niece Ulrike. Such names!

Jovon read a nicely disturbing poem called "Nice Rude People." I am one of these nice rude people b/c I always must know where people come from. For example, the ancestors of my boyfriend Scott, a Jew like me, came from the Ukraine.

Jovon also brot w/him a 25-page short story. I began reading it, looked up, and said, "Jovon, this is really good. Where'd you learn to write like this?"

He majored in Creative Writing at the University of Pittsburgh, which is where his family lived at the time. At 35, he's humble, and knows he's gotta improve before he submits his work to major online journals, something I just accomplished at age 66, although when I was much younger I was published in Creative Nonfiction, my story "A Sunny Day at the SPCA." That's when I won my Leeway Grant for five grand.

Ya know what I did w/the money? Bought some Glenn Gould records and opened an account w/Vanguard. God only knows how I knew about that.

Beatriz, a biologist, will be published in a prestigious nature magazine. She showed us her editor's suggested corrections, but the editor was very pleased w/her work. Editor's new title for the article is: Beetle tests native vibernum's resilience.

The beetle larvae are destroying these b'ful shrubs.

I always print my poems on "backs." The backs I used were copies from my diabetes records, which I keep every time I test my blood.

Somehow the conversation turned to my diabetes which I got after my kidney t'plant. Jovon said his dad had a kidney t'plant 7 yrs ago!

He'd been on dialysis a year when one day a woman he knew wrote him a note on a match cover: God told me to donate my kidney to you.

It was a perfect match!

Subsequently, tho, he's had cancer since he's a heavy smoker.

His dad, Amos, was a professional pool player - like Minnesota Fats - and used to travel around the country playing in tournaments.

At group's end, Jovon began reading his exciting short story, but then I look at my watch and said I've gotta go. Scott's friend Paul was having a party of boyhood friends.

VIEW FROM THE SECOND FLOOR WINDOW

a van gogh painting certainly

buds on the backyard maple open,

pink-nippled avatars of

wonders to come,

is that baby squirrel making a nest of her own?

scrambling skyward up the prickled bark

one dead leaf at a time,

years past I have used these very same buds

to mark my progress throughout the world

- when will I finish the Compass?

- when will I be discovered?

- when will I disappear forever?

today I only ask for patience

the patience of the squirrel

the gas station manager came out

to help me

ma’am, said Bucky, may I have your

patience?

you’ve got it, Bucky, I said, feeling

like a little girl who had to go to the bathroom bad

the nest has doubled in size

she will raise her family in a nice neighborhood

coming up with daffodils and crocus

a rusted wheelbarrow beneath their tree

and all the time in the world

Dr. Stamper shoots squirrels as vermin

but here on Cowbell

we have only one

white-belly-up lying in

the middle of the road

my squirrel will teach her

children well.

FLAGS FLY HIGH ON COWBELL ROAD

rife with american flags

our long and spiraling street

overflows with flags

but not with negroes nor latinos

when they come to visit

eyes appear at windows

will she marry one?

my flag came out when

the Towers came down

black Jehovah’s witnesses

appeared at my doorway

thinking only of the

Kingdom of Heaven

I brushed them off

refusing their

outrageous panacea

for a world gone wrong

my flag flies

in my aorta

pumping red and blue

throughout this mortal soul

daughter of a Marine

I shall never see again.

the flag appears immortal

but one day, it, too,

shall fall

a better world than this

I cannot imagine:

but the conquerors can.

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