13 and 14 are being held hostage somewhere in this computer. I will attempt to ransom them eventually.
12 Dear Heidi, [Explanation From a Friend]
.
Yes, I could have said all this over ale and focaccia
at Papa Razzi’s, but it was more fun to talk books.
It’s simple: Take everything you know about me.
Now strip away poetry. Add haughty edicts that
retro passive resister sistahs like me should “know.”
Remove the belief that I might have an idea once
every now and again that has merit. Assume “we
women” think and feel alike — or should. Last,
remove my face from your sight for years, years,
and more years. Now you are my blood sister.
How does it feel compared to truer kinship?
.
11 Unofficial Bewitchery
.
We piled in a car and went to Salem
–a punker, Ophelia, and the scarlet-
lipped woman Terminator. Wax witches
pressed under papier mache stones
were scarier than the live hands
grabbing from the shadows. I see
better in the dark. We walked
through the famously gabled house,
bought pentacle penny keychains,
accepted mulled cider from wenches,
but the official witch never showed up.
I had to settle for amateurish attempts
at love, sipping tea made from calendula
while sleeping with a borrowed man.
.
[Prompt: Mid-summer — the time of year that calendula is picked by witches]
.
10 Well, that’s two !***% poems this week. Sorry, won’t post.
Since there’s no poem today, I’ll use the space to say how much fun I had at Boston’s 10th Poetry Festival. 56 poets in two days. Thank you to the open-mic audience!! Harris Gardner, you rock!
.
9 That’s Italian!
Back in the days when, the baddest men
on Earth were Italian. De Niro was
the godfather of baaad, and Travolta
da-aaanced! Even in Dorchester, no one
blamed Athena, ebony goddess with
illegal curves, for loving a Ferzoco twin.
Slick-haired, thick-browed, golden tan.
He wasn’t White. He was Italian.
So we middle-aged teachers lined up
on Hanover, drooling over pastel cookies,
thinking of that New Year’s Eve a closed
cafe re-opened for four sad undergrads.
The espresso machine was fired up,
tiramisu and chocolate thawed us out.
North Enders. As good as they look!
[Prompt: Italian Americana]
8 Will appear here if/when I can fix the techno prob.
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Published by Mignon Ariel King
Boston-born writer of memoir, novella, and poetry.
Small-press publisher of anthologies, literary journals, and single-authored poetry collections.
View all posts by Mignon Ariel King