Catgirl and Other Details (1996/7, Season Unknown) At four years old, I am a cat. I wear my ears day and night. They are perky and cardboard. Sometimes I also wear a tail and whiskers. I meow and walk on my knees. I don't understand purring yet.The teacher is an older, stout, frowny woman with cropped gray hair and lines around her mouth. She says garbazh because it makes her sound French (or so she jokes, perhaps, I cannot tell at this time) and once advised us to hold our scissors inward when we run with them, so as to stab ourselves instead of others in the event of a collision. She runs snack-time on a strict capitalist basis – the big kids always get there first, but You Get What
Stick Your Head In Gravy (1995, Autumn) I'm still cute with my hair pulled back in a frizzy halo, white wool and jeans and little sneakers. I climb up on top of the bookshelf to show off and feel deeply ashamed when someone figures me out. I decide not to talk for the rest of the day.I cried in the morning when they dropped me off, although I'm no longer sure why. When they take us to see the animals, I cling to my snotty tissue, trying to keep the tears running as long as I can stand. It's a struggle not to giggle and sacrifice self-pity when a sheep eats the nasty rag right out of my hands.The turkey is a formidable beast, its proud chest puffed and its ugly head jutting with
The Gift You bought me a heart-- a little thing carved from woodthat I later lostat the festival of lights.When I found it, it had drowned.
Flux His eye is a pale egg with a gleaming black yolk –whole, perfect and centered.It does not dart about as most eyes do but stares sideways, straight off the side of his head.Little waves break overhis feet. They susurrateamongst themselves with ahusky timbre, sometimeschoosing to stay behinda while in the nettingof his toes.In a frozen moment("Never again," says time,and nature sighs), he stands,unseeing, unseeking,a statue silhouettegiving away nothingof his world.Suddenly a scream of laughtera flit of the eyea flurry of feathersand flight! Jubilant child on the beach andwild-eyed pelica
A Misplaced Memory Irina Oren (no…wait…Oren-Wilcox?) glows, inside and out. Having just arrived for her own wedding reception (my wedding, she kept saying to herself, with increasing hysteria), she kisses Michael enthusiastically on both cheeks and the lips and, apologizing profusely to everyone, rushes to the ladies' room to get her first elated look at herself as a married woman.The restroom is way too big, way too lavender, and way too plush for a restroom. The mirror is floor-length and takes up the entire wall beside the prissy row of fancy little sinks. Her eyes flit around her own reflection. Flushed cheeks – check. Lace and little flowe
Flux His eye is a yellow egg with a yolkBlack and perfectly centered. It does notDart about as most eyes do, butStares sideways, straight off theSide of his head. TheWaves rise andBreak over hisFeet.Swish, swish.He does notSee, he does notSeek, butStands,Silhouette of a statue withEyes like glass, and thus,Doomed to be smashed. SuddenlyA scream ofLaughter, a flit of theEye, a flurry ofFeathers, andFlight! AJubilant child on the beach,And wild-eyed pelican in the sky.
The Testimony of Lowell Swift The Testimony of Lowell Swift(Based on "The Nice Little People" by Kurt Vonnegut)While on my way from work one dayWith roses for my love,A paper blade with pearl of jadeCame falling from above.Zooming down upon my crown,It darn near shook my brain!But I massaged my head and said,"A gift for my dear Madelaine!"On closer inspection, I found imperfection:The tiny jade pearl was a fake.And only to follow, the whole thing was hollow!Then the knife began to quake...And out from inside crawled a tiny prideOf miniscule little menNo bigger than ants, they came out to pranceAcross the table in the den.Overcome by the
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