Writers' Group - Full House - Poem: Who's That Blonde in the Mirror?

 Donna Krause, who just moved from Rockledge to Willow Grove - yay! - read a striking poem called Still Standing. Both Tatiana and Allan Heller, below, called it a powerful poem, which it was.

She spoke of her victory over bipolar d/o and then over suspicious family members who thought she wasn't fit to hold her grand-babies in her arms.

What morons!

Beatriz read one of her nature essays, The River of Birds. It told about the wonders of migration and that the bird flocks she might see up here would pass by her family in their ancestral home in Argentina.

 Allan read three flash fiction pieces, including The Last Templar. I'd never heard of Templars before, so let's read what Wiki says. 

 As always, very well written with not an extra word in it, and with a surprise conclusion.

Another story concerned a Vampire. I did not know vampires would crumble into dust if they remained outside during the day. Why? Because they were hundreds of years old and would dissolve into dust.

Martha wrote a lovely poem called "We Were Meant to Meet." She almost did not meet this person, who, in her poem she described as a "kindred soul."

Martha is now a proud member of Weight Watchers. Look at her ribbon - "I lost 10 pounds." She actually lost 11.5.

It takes 21 days, she said, to break a habit. You've gotta discipline yourself to control your portion-size and to stop eating desserts.

Ten pounds is quite a chunk off your body.

Marf's ability to lose weight really inspired me. As she said, if she can do it, anyone can.

On Scott's scale, I lost two pounds. I pulled out one of my fave tank tops to wear, adorned w sequins.

Linda Barrett, who left early to go to work, read a revision of her story about her dog Queenie, from the point of view of her dog.

  

Floyd had emailed his story, a commentary about book reviewers who go on and on in didactic tones about the book they're reviewing. Very well done and it did make a point.

Such lustrous nails! If it hadn't been for Donna, I might never have known the joy of having polished nails. 

Luster-Creme Shampoo.  

Somewhere, tucked away in someone's attic or basement or mountain cabin or in the bottom drawer of a mobile home with a woman in curlers walking around, is a bottle of Luster-Creme Shampoo. 

 After the group, drove to Mom's. As soon as we got into her development, flowering trees swam into view.

 Mom was sitting outside with her friend Judy Adler. Judy had spent a month in Israel visiting her daughter Helene, 44, an Orthodox Jew, who had just given birth to her 11th child.

Judy said, that's how the Orthodox do things. Helene is a highly-respected woman who other women come to for advice. 

Her husband has a business of cleaning those tall hats worn by the Orthodox. They're sent to him from all over the world.

I was fascinated and thought, That's something author Isaac Bashevis Singer would write about.

BTW, I changed the controversial word in the poem. 

WHO’S THAT BLONDE IN THE MIRROR?

Whoever she is, she looks a lot like her father

with the thin lips and the worry-crease be-

tween her brow.

Whoever she is, she leaves home and drives

to the nature center for a 10:30 nature

walk. Where is the leader? The tall man

with the beard? It is not unthinkable he

has turned into a strutting wild turkey

or a proud antlered deer, rubbing his

itching antlers on some unprotected

tree bark.

“I’m Ruth,” she says to a short

slightly bent-over woman with

fire in her eyes. “Judy” doesn’t

notice the resemblance to Ruth’s

father, who pre-deceased her

as phrased in the obit notices.

Judy knows her way around the

park. Where the trails split off

like a wishbone, she chooses

the one to the left. Wherever

thou goest, Judy!

They stop by the banks of

the rushing creek, stop to

hear the splash of the waters

upon the rocks, timeless as

a ray of sun.

Then they hear it. Squawking

that takes over the air.

Geese, Canada geese, come

down from Ontario,

Quebec, Nova Scotia, to

their summer home. What

a view: rushing waters,

huge boulders, tiny bullfrogs

with bulging eyes – and oh

the sounds the geese hear.

Birds of every variety – the cow bird,

the cuckoo, the scarlet tanager in

its bright Red Riding Hood

feathers.

The two short women

one in Keds, the other in

hiking boots, are drawn

to the three-tiered wood fence

by the warlike sounds,

the raving bellicosity,

This early spring day

dawning with daffodils and

lesser celandine, the geese

play out the millennia-old

mating game.

The whole world turns

upon who mounts whom.

We look up at the sky

and soldier on.