Coffeeshop Writers Group / To Sandy at the Hatboro PO - Under the Sheets

We had a rousing good time as always.

When I sat me down at table, I'd never seen such addictive sugary food in me life. I got my usual Decaf into which I always sprinkle cocoa and cinnamon. Then when I'm half done, I go back up and ask Adryn for more hot water.

I save $1.05, which at the end of the year can buy me a couple of CDs, perhaps Stravinsky or Bach, if there's a Barnes & Noble still left in Willow Grove.




Newcomer Arlene Walsh always surprises us with her amazing short stories. She shared a fabricated letter from a young woman in coal country from 1910 with the title Ma, Stop Cryin'. Domestic violence. There was a recent TED video on that subject which you can watch here. Arlene's story was very clever. She also gives great feedback.

Arlene will hate this picture of herself.

We were gonna switch to an upstairs room b/c two weeks ago the P.A. system was unusually loud and intrusive. It was an error on their part, so we're gonna stay downstairs which we all like. I love the stimulation b/c I'm always home in my quiet house.

Speaking of coal, Carly and Charlie adopted a new black cat from the SPCA. So far, King Cole won't come out from under the bed.

Carly revised her short story about a man and a woman who have been "fixed up" at a party. Surprise ending and no cliches.

Remind me sometime to talk about when someone fixed me up after I left my husband. I was in tears b/c I couldn't stand him. One was an amateur actor, the other an architect. If their ain't no chemistry, forget it!

A pensive Martha wrote a wonderful short story about meeting God. Very imaginative.

To give one another feedback, we bring in 6 or 7 copies of our work. Each person writes their comments directly on our work. I like what Martha wrote on my poem below "Under the Sheets" where I declare my vast relief in my belief that God does not exist:

"Wherever one's heart leads them, that's where they should stand. "God" is just a label for the unexplainable."

Martha is a Christian, who believes that Jesus is a manifestation of God.

I believe that the world is a manifestation of God, including garlic, which every time I open a clove and peel off the outer layer, I say to myself, "God's paper."

And Lindy Lou in the above photo wrote a sci-fi story she wants to enter into the Montco Community College Writer's Contest.  Arlene was very impressed by the imaginative story.

We all want to enter but can't find it online. Just emailed poetess Jana about it.

Poetess, aviatrix, lioness. Love these feminizations b/c they're such b'ful words.

Ah, here's new grandmother Donna Krause. Now she's got two of em - John Dylan and Brittany Paige. Donna, half Italian and half Irish, said the baby looked just like her - what an honour! - (I'm spelling it the British way to make it more of an honor) - Brittany had olive-colored skin when born  and lots of dark black hair, which has grown lighter.

She brought in a shocking poem "My Sweet Companion, Chandra" about a friend of 17 years who dumped her.

What a jerkess! For our Compass mag I got someone to write about what they like about Facebook. He used the word "asshole" and asked if was okay to use that word. I simply changed it to "jackass" which is acceptable.

Oh no! Am I going bald again?

At the start we discussed hair styles. Carly had a new style. Her stylist Dawn cut it and sold her some sort of hair conditioner.

"It was 20 bucks, right?" I asked.

"Yes," said Carly, laffing.

"They do a good sales job," I said.

I waited to buy gel for my hair until I got to the Giant, my "everything store." Then I bought the gel suggested by my Hair Cuttery stylist.

It smelled something awful. I took it back and bought good ole $5 Suave Gel.

Actually I'm just procrastinating now b/c I'm gonna publish the two poems I brought with. I finished up the Sandy poem this morning after starting it late one nite. That's how I tricked myself into writing it... just before bed when I was too tired to protest.

The second one I wrote this morning in 45 minutes, polishing and polishing.

Drumroll please!

BTW, I listen to music YouTube videos while composing to spur me on. Then when I'm deep in the work, I don't hear nothing at all.


TO SANDY AT THE HATBORO, PENNSYLVANIA POST OFFICE  

fourth in line
I hope to get Sandy
if you’re like me
you have crushes
wherever you go
sometimes even in the lobby
an old man and I will exchange
Looks

I’m not young anymore
men’s heads don’t turn
unless they have blotches on their hands
weak knees
or walk with a cane

Sandy’s mine.
His tallness frightens me.
as I approach the counter
to ask about the postal increase
suddenly I’m that little girl in
Cleveland Heights
approaching the bakery counter
with terror
voice nearly inaudible I ask
for rye bread with seeds
a challah and
coconut squares I will nibble on the way home. 

Instead a big loud voice comes
forth: “Hello, Sandy, show me your stamps.”
Where did that come from?
Is it possible to be a little girl and a
woman closing on seventy?

UNDER THE SHEETS

Convinced there is no God
I surrender myself to sleep
see how my body outlines itself beneath the ceiling fan?
I feel each part, growing since in utero
toward the final breath

Nothing hurts
no outrageous diseases
the lump in my breast
was only a bruise
and raise my arms to
thank the insensate cosmos
for birthing me

Four blankets warm my small body
with big leg muscles
I search the heavens as my eyes close
transmitting thought signals from my mind
to whatever planets might read me
Do I have a doppelganger and where does she live?
Could I be happier elsewhere than I am now?

One happiness is my dropped belief
in the existence of the Almighty
Who is this Almighty, Job asked
in his misery?
I praise the Almighty Universe
that brought me forth and will
spit me out when she is through with me.

Hallelujah!