Coffeshop Writers Group - Poem: Unexpected April (in memory of the Holocaust)

Beatriz Moisset and Kym Cohen clown around as Carly takes the photo w/ B's iPad. Late in my blogging career - I believe last week - I discovered the importance of leading with a photograph. Don't it look great!

Kym, who is an avid FB user, read us an exercise she did on FB. She showed us this photo

and read us a story about the figure. Very well done, Kym! What's your interpretation of the figure?

He could be a tiny little man - a homunculus - part of a colony of tiny people hiding in the woods behind my house where the critters live - deer, fox, woodchucks, skunks. The end.

Beatriz presented a piece about word choices when talking about her beloved nature. For example, when people use the word "leaf damage" it's taken as a bad thing, but critters need to eat the leaves in order to survive.

The last graf said something to the effect that the United States has creating a huge national park - American Home Park. When we step outside, we're at the park!

We congratulated Linda for her second prize in the Montco Community College Writing Contest. I was so impressed I decided to buy her a gift. We usually buy drinks during our writing group.

Choose anything you want, I told Linda, and I'll pay for it.

With my Giant bonus card, I paid all of 50 cents for Linda's bottle of water.

Pat Nestler of MCCC just emailed me that there were about 25 contestants in the short story contest.

Linda presented two poems, both short stories in poem form. She often uses the name "Agnes" for her female character. It's the name of a saint she likes. She called the male character "Ibrahim."

Here's the martyr Agnes. Read her sordid story on Wiki if you like violence.



Here's Carly who presented a lovely poem called Far-reaching Arms. Her deceased mother was what you might call overbearing and controlling - hello Mom! - and Carly is telling us that her mother's influence reaches beyond the grave.

Carly arrived a bit late, huffing and puffing. Hmmm, I wondered. Is she always out of breath like that?

Turns out that a little over a month ago her husband urged her to see the doctor about her out of breathness. Diagnosis: aortic stenosis. This Wednesday she'll be operated on by the fine surgeons of Abington Memorial Hospital. She has three choices of valves, all equally good: pig, cow or synthetic.

She'll be in the hospital for seven days. She has a great support system including husband Charlie. Then her recovery will take several months. No driving for a while. No cooking or raising her arms above her head.

She's getting her hair cut short tomro to make it easier for herself. We all hugged her goodbye and wished her the best.

No need to worry, we told her, if you start oinking when you come back. Carly also told us she's been losing an amazing amount of weight. She belongs to TOPS and has been shedding steadily. I told her I stay the same - 138 - no matter how hard I try to lose weight.

In fact, in 15 minutes, Scott will have the pizza outa the oven. Whole wheat crust, jar of spag sauce, our own sauteed veggies, and cheeeeeese. Then we'll watch a movie from the library.

I got super-hungry from doing yardwork. While I was out in the back weeding, I thot, I can't believe I haven't been out here in years. I had a bad back, so excruciating, that all I could do was observe but not p'pate.

Last August, of course, Guy Lee, MD, from Abington Memorial scraped the offensive materials from one of the disks and I am just fine today.

Before you read my poem, I wanna acknowledge the help from Coach Iris who gave me great feedback. A poet herself, Iris zings them out on her blog.

My writing group also gave feedback. Linda suggested the title, which is perfect. Lemme find an appropriate photo on the 'Net.

I must tell you that I can't bear to re-read my poem for fear it'll be terrible. Gimme a week.

UNEXPECTED APRIL,

Holocaust Remembrance Day, April 19

Unexpected April for a girl of fifteen.
I took the long long ride
the floor of the train
trembled
howling for our fate
floor puddled and slimy
where are the lace curtains?
the books on Daddy’s desktop?
the poodle playing with his toys?

as we entered
musicians played Isolde’s Lament
we will serve the Third Reich
or get kicked and clubbed senseless
anything to survive and climb back
into our own featherbeds

privacy
none
never saw so many Jews before
that old familiar tribal look
beauty unfading
no matter how many birthdays
Tante celebrates
her beauty
shines forth like her cakes with
butter-creme frosting.

our looks went first
reflecting the endless winter
of our lives
eyes half closed
not daring to call on god

what had we done?
where had we gone wrong?

one night
dark
women asleep
lice working them over
i heard him over the
loudspeaker
“All ye who enter,
despair
despair
despair”

Remembrance Day
hair white now
breasts point toward the floor
fecund womb emptied of babes
my white eyelet cover’s
pulled up to my chin
sweet smell of wisteria
creeps through the screen
tiny purple flutters make nice
to my ancient body
as god returns in
bite-size pieces.