The 1975-76 Messenger staff wishes to thank all those students and faculty members who contributed poetry, prose and artwork. Due to limited space and the large number of contributions we regret that we could not include everyone .
The ffiessenge,
University of Richmond
April 1976
Editor-in-Chief
Tim Tuggey
Co-Editors
Myra Binns
Ann Dickenson
Sharon Lloyd
The staff of the 1975- 76 Messenger dedicate this magazine to Mary Louise Gehring, Dean of Westhampton College 1965-1976 for her years of service to the University of Richmond community.
PALINODE
I've saved the milk crystal stone banged at my door last winter , & the glowin-the-dark monster ring from cereal I wear in bed, so there's always light under the sheet . On television I see kits that turn fresh flowers into glass forever, remembering horseshoe wreaths over a friend's casket I might have stored behind the armchair. In a match box I've got my cat 's grey claws ; when I sprinkle them on linoleum, she'll bat them idly with her soft , useless paws , making them click against the stove. Lately I save everything, even hesitating over the gnat swimming my beer or the exploded firecracker from New Year's I've taperecorded my mother's low voice on the phone, as she describes dahlias or the configurations of her latest X-rays, her intestines shiny with barium like felled trees we saw once along a road in Indiana, tented with caterpillar webs ; although I've lost the cocoon I picked up at that roadside table where we stopped, my mother, combing her long hair, looking curiously at the white, shrouded branches.
Maura Stanton
PROGRESS
You should have lied; Honesty is always so goddam admirable . What do you look like? I forget. (Did I burn your picture out of spite?) It's taken me two years to learn the Gettysburg Address backwards . Think what money I shall win! Now I can buy three of you and plug up the hole in my roof If I have enough left over, maybe I'll wallpaper the bathroom.
-Melissa Buffington
VEGASLADY
Cold and steel brilliant, Your eyes demand attention Like the rocks on the weighted fingers In the blue polyester folds of your lap. Your skillfulpink makeup accents What it almost succeeds in hiding. Before the card is turned , You dash down your drink Merely to rid yourself of the distraction.
Stack the Folies-Bergere On the table, Stack the suite at the Tropicana, Stack Neiman-Marcus And drama school for your son, Stack the new poodle And the two new lawyers, Play, play, play Until they are gone.
Cracked brown skin spreads sparsely Over the bones of your face As if someone has already begun to make Plans for your return to the sunburned earth.
-Sharon Lloyd
Skindiving
The man in the house behind yours is sitting with a broad , stiff dog collar around his neck. He is motionless , his back towards you , seated at a piano that seems to have black and red keys . There is a glass on top of the piano . From where you are it looks like it's about half empty
The man has no hands , only bulbous stumps terminating his arms You imagine something about a terrible accident or war and , just for icing, a drunken surgeon in the emergency room But the man doesn't seem to dwell on his knobs . Actually, the man is smiling, from what you can see of his face Smiling until she comes in , that is.
The lady in the black skindiver's suit is very definitely in the room Behind the glass plate over her face, there's an obscurity , an emptiness you can't fathom. You ' re still not nervous , and you don't get too excited until you see the gloved hand twitching what could be a whip or a sting-ray ' s tail. It seems to be menacing to you
The man gets up and unbuckles his collar He is very proficient at this, you think , for a man with no fingers. Suddenly , the melancholia is vanished ; the man works at a discordant rag by Joplin You chuckle to yourself at the amateurism of his tune until you recall he has no hands
The lady in black may be smiling, may be grimmacing , may simply be bracing herself for the task at hand. You can't know what she is thinking. But the man is obviously unconcerned with anything but his playing : you sense a perfectionist. Judging from his lack of fear , you delight in his bravery . You also wonder about his sanity : this man is not even sweating
At the end of the rag, you happen to catch a glimpse of the pedals of the piano. Wondering to yourself , you question the appropriateness of the word "nonplussed" to describe your situation The piano pedals have been moving without direct pressure . What happens next is unusual , even in a region where there are documented cases of death caused by jellyfish inhalation: a cry that , if you are any judge of lip movements , was heard by the lady in the skindiver ' s suit as a rather emphatic "MUSE!" (From where you are remember , there's no sound ... ) Whether the man was screaming at our lady or for the large white dog that padded into the room is hard to determine. But, for whatever reasons, there is a large white dog in the room and he is ripping our lady apart. Soon, owing to the peculiar tricks light plays on color, you find it hard to distinguish between what is rubber and what is flesh that is strewn about the floor
Things seem to be back to normal. The large white dog is at peace-almost, one may say, motionless-as he gently dabs the blood off his chops His tongue is the only thing moving in the room Our man walks to where the dog is sitting and thrusts his knobs for the dog to swipe with his tongue Apparently the treatment is soothing, as the man smiles lavishly, fumbles with his collar , and resumes his seat at the piano .
Things are normal again on the Eastern Tip of Florida , you theorize , when the man begins to improvise on a theme of a rag by Joplin and another lady , dressed in a skindiver's suit, appears in the room.
Shawn Majette
A SPECIAL FRIEND she was four i was fourteen
We agreed to exchange vows Though the big day being set Fifteen jack-a-lanterns away.
Our family would be a good one. She got a baby for Christmas. When the head popped off I fixed it, I know everything.
Despite the continuous plea She could never leave the yard. But should I be out questing She would be by my side.
With a voice like an elephant's foot I played the music loud. Her claims would have one think I could sell a million.
My degree would be coming soon, The tassle itched my ear. Her gown was not pretty It tied up the back.
A lady with a starched cap
Asked me to wait outside.
The man with the letters behind his name, Could not hide the bad news he knew.
She decoded the surrounding concern And asked the remaining time. I have a few things I would like to do But time was not on her side.
Even when bright lights don't shine
A pretty shadow is still here. I can't understand says a neighbor As she cuts another flower.
· · -Scott Mustain
AWAKENING TO THE ROACHES
Squeezing his body from Between two thin sheets He pours a cup of coffee And scrapes the crust from his eyes
Spilling the cereal on the floor Keeps the roaches alive . Dripping curdled milk onto The flakes that transform to mush.
He pushes the spoon far into His mouth, hoping that all Taste will pass him by . Crushing a paper bowl it meets the roaches .
He trips across the cracked floor And slides beneath h is cover. Slender arms reach and hold . A lover ' s work is never done .
THREE SAILORS AT GRUNION BEACH, CALIFORNIA
By the waterfront
They eye us from the cabanas: Teeth clenched smiling Mascara oozed leering, They speak without saying As easily as waves
Batter pylons in the surf They are here for the spectacle Of the silver splinters of cold flesh .
Millions of grunion
Are drowning tonight In their own sperm
In a white fluid mirror, We are reflections of fish
Perceived by jaundiced eyes
By the waterfront
---shawn majette
Faces stare boldly from the wall, or shy away from their observers. Some are distorted in face and figure, as if the artist scrambled her acrylics for breakfast. The faces of the people of real life pass by me. I search to see a familiar person; A girl perhaps, who I took ballet lessons with, Someone from my days of youth which were nourished here in this old town in the Heidi Pope Dance Studio, the dentist's or the orthodontist's office, or even in the rides downtown on dirty buses to spend the lunch money I saved all week. These memories haunt me in the faces of the people I see, Here in this abandoned torpedo factory. The ghosts of those who made objects of war, of death, of the kill
Have been banished by the living artists Who work here to make objects of delight , of meaning, and of life And so the deaths of mortals Are somehow resolved by these objects of art which remain forever; Immortalized
-Dianna L. Baumann
TO MY FRIENDS
I am a parasite I am your bloodsucker And yours also.
Laughter never stopped it Or tinted smiles of crooked teeth Glazed eyes have stared at One another for hours upon hour All have sat and spied A friendship through the smoke
It awaits my admitting Of using my claws too long The paleness in your face Gives it all away so clearly You must learn to back away Before the tie begins to knot.
We both have lost our lives For I was your bloodsucker I was a parasite.
---T.N.T.
All the Displaced People
Morgan sat on a bench at the railway station waiting for the southbound coach . He had no idea when it should arrive and had been waiting for nearly two hours . The official in the window at the far end of the platform didn't know either; fighting was still going on in the north and the delays apparently had their origins near the Serbian border. The official had said this as though he couldn't care less, merely to rid himself of Morgan's queries, and then busied himself with a clutter of yellow papers which formed a frustrated veneer on his desk. He was a vigorous little man, probably in his early forties, and it seemed that the tedium of his job had brought middle age upon him before he was ready to accept it. His jaw labored with a slight circular motion, the tensions and relaxations of his neck suggesting a surplus of energy which was not spent amidst the shifting of paper. Noting the pall of cigarette smoke and the sour stench of old coffee that lingered about the cramped office, Morgan moved away from the dull red bars of the window, wondering whether he envied or pitied the stationmaster.
Morgan's right arm lay in a sling A dull ache danced with maddening consistency from his elbow to his wrist where it stopped because his arm ended there, the remains of his hand probably still adorning a muddy ditch back in Caporetto. The empty sleeve of his blue jacket hung sadly behind his elbow. He shivered . There had been a ra infall at dawn, the dampness of its wake mingling with the early morning chill to steal across the unsympathetic concrete of the platform and touch him under the dark recesses of the roof . Dampness seemed to follow him everywhere. It had greeted him one morning nine months ago as he had stepped from a train to anothe r platform in Italy, fresh with the youthful ardor of anticipation It was all part of the adventure then, part of the electricity of war . From there to the cobbled streets to the muddy roads and fields it accompanied him , marrying itself to the general disenchantment that grew within him for the whole business. It had seemed once to Morgan at the outset, that anything that might happen to him, short of dismemberment or death, would be hailed as something to cherish in later life, a token of experience, a badge of pride and fuel for glorious reminiscence. But the whole ordeal had been bleak and unilluminating. Even the loss of his hand offered scant matter for melodramatic recall; it had occurred too suddenly, and the subsequent period had been enshrouded in a fog of pain and semi-consciousness. At the very least, Morgan felt cheated.
Now in the distance came a shrill whistle. Morgan blinked and stood up. He was alone on the platform . The man at the window was not visible to him and may well not have been there. Only the grey, cold and dampness were there to see Morgan off He was oblivious to all else. The empty platform echoed the vacuousness he felt.
A puff of steam rose and dissipated in the air above the trees at the far bend of the tracks . With a tired stamping noise punctuated at intervals by hissing, the train lumbered around the bend into view. Its approach seemed apologetic as if it feared reproach for its tardiness, or hesitant, as if reluctant to assume a greater burden The rails trembled Black and enormous, with sweating pipes and chambers it thundered abreast of the platform, trying to pull Morgan into it. As it screeched to a halt, panting, a faded canvas bag flew from between two cars and landed softly on the concrete . It was followed by a sturdy young man with a dark blue cap, who after alighting nimbly, picked it up and lit a cigarette. Ignoring Morgan he ambled over to a wooden baggage wagon which stood a few yards away.
Morgan sighed his farewell and climbed the steps of the railcar before him . It was dark within the car, but an even warmth came from the crackling belly of a squat round wood-stove adorned with ridges and flat on top . A dark purple carpet led down the aisle. A few old men in tan peaked caps sat at the far end, two of them with curved amber pipes They glanced at Morgan and at his arm , saying nothing One of them coughed noisily The aroma of Balkan Sobranie exuded from their end of the car, mildly harsh but strangely welcome. Morgan sat down facing away from them The window was grimy on its exterior at his right. He focused his eyes in the direction of the station's office window so he could see the stationmaster when the train pulled out.
"I beg your pardon " Morgan was looking into a ruddy whiskered face level with his own. It was gentle and fatherly with soft blue eyes and framed by silver hair brushed straight back. The narrow mottled lips under the tobacco stained mustache bore an amused smile.
"My apologies for· rousing you." the old man said. "This is the only seat left." He straightened. He wasn't very tall.
"Of course." mumbled Morgan, sliding closer to the window. "I wasn't aware I'd dozed." Glancing around the car he noticed that it had accumulated an odd assortment of passengers, including a number of Serbian soldiers and peasants . The atmosphere was generally
calm, and displacement at the hands of the Austrians seemed to be accepted by these people as only a temporary inconveience. They had run away and Morgan might have frowned once, but he knew that Serbian mettle had been demonstrated impressively earlier in the war and he admired it. After a certain point, determinism must yield ,to common sense. The glorious precepts died in the mud, where they belonged. The man now sitting beside him smelled of a strong unscented soap which one learns to recognize after some time of deprivation of the , of the luxury. Morgan wondered where he had come from, as he strongly contrasted to the surroundings. In addition, he had addressed Morgan in English, which Morgan had not heard in some time. ·
"I am Sergius." offered the stranger. "You are probably wonderipg how I guessed your nationality."
"As a matter of fact, I was."
"You have an Anglo face," Sergius said, "but I cannot pretend to such perception. You are wearing a Fettes ring, which I took the liberty of examining while you were asleep. I had a son there."
"And you?"
"I saw three years at your Rugby."
"You're not English then " Morgan had always looked upon Rugby with distaste. The "your" annoyed him.
"Montenegro. From one of the better houses. We could manage it. I see you've lost a hand."
"Mortar fragment. In Northern Italy."
"Northern Italy! I daresay you've been around. What are you doing here? A misplaced Englishman?"
"You might say 'displaced.' I was attached to the A.E.F. on the Western Front, and when that stabilized, I was shuttled to Italy as part of a token force. Had a bad time at Caporetto and the Austrians captured me," Morgan moved his right arm upward slightly, "in add0ition to this. They moved me south, but they got careless and I escaped into Serbia." He shrugged. "Less exciting than it sounds, I'm afraid. In fact there was nothing heroic in the whole episode. We were running away the whole time."
"And where do you go from here?"
"Home to Coventry, most likely. There's got to be a better way to make a living. From what I've seen of soldiering, I can do without it. I was expecting a lark of some sort. Now I want a quiet corner out of the way of the world's stupidity. Morgan shook his head. "It's been hell since I left Fettes. An empty sort of hell, though, if you can understand that. Life seems to have so little to justify the pains."
Morgan was suddenly aware that he was being studied intently. He glanced at his companion and then down at his lap. Perhaps he had said too much. Sergius, sensing his discomfiture, removed his gaze and lit a cigarette. He held the pack toward Morgan.
"No, thank you" said Morgan politely. "I haven't got the stomach for them."
"That's all right," replied Sergius, returning the cigarettes to the inside pocket of his tan tunic, "you've probably tasted enough smoke to last you awhile. I find your outlook on life somewhat disturbing, I must admit."
"Indeed." Morgan had considered his position fairly sensible. "If this is a Utopia to you, one of us is suffering from delusion."
"Perhaps. I think Pope once said something about the perception of a jaundiced eye. But I don't want to quarrel. Granted, the world seems to be flowing into a drain, but, depending on your point of view, the ride might offer more than despair." Sergius waggled a gnarled finger at Morgan. "Your approach to it all your approach is what matters."
"You sound like a book. I had your ideal optimism once. It didn't save my hand.
Sergius laughed. "You sound like an old man. Just how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven, if that has any bearing on this matter."
"An early age to be disillusioned. I am over fifty."
"You haven't lost anything. Or maybe you're indifferent."
"No?" Sergius smiled at this. "I daresay I've run the gauntlet. I find pleasure in full awareness of reality, even when it's painful. The important thing is to feel every sensation, to feel a closeness to life. We all need a sense of belonging. If that escapes you, if you become detached, you are lost."
"That sounds simple enough." said Morgan sarcastically.
"Simple to state. More difficultto believe. The worst thing that can happen is for you to feel lost. Suppose that your past were completely erased-"
"That would be a blessing."
"On the contrary. You would be in sad shape, my friend. Your whole life is nothing other than your impressions, put within the context of time and place Without the past, present and future you are nothing!"
It sounded fairly ridiculous to Morgan. He'd heard it all before surely, and it was a bunch of ideological drivel. In the classroom one learns to accept the most absurd dogmata, but such things were incongruous to the surroundings in which Morgan moved.
"I suppose then," Morgan retorted, "that I really should be most appreciative of having lost this hand. The sensations did add a certain vividness to life, I must admit. You are serious, I take it?"
"Quite: None of this is new. A-shall we ·-say-reshuffling of classical elements." Sergius was visibly dismayed at Morgan's attitude. The forehead below the silver crest was knitted. Looking at him, one would have readily perceived that the man had suffered ignominious rejection of a well-meant gift. "Surely
you've run upon those vulgar simplifications of the tenets, such as 'Live for the day' and 'The unexamined life is not worth living'."
"Uh-huh." Morgan suddenly drew from his easy idle hours in McBane's classroom. "Trite. Aren't you getting Stoicism and Epicureanism confused? First you tell me to face the pains, then you suggest I avoid them ." He was pleased with his counter "Which do you recommend I do?"
"Both. Of course that depends on your definition of pain. To you it's the sting of reality's harshness, such as the horrors of war and the loss of your hand . To me, pain is detachment from the world, the sense of being lost and empty. Compared to the horrors that a human mind can create, all forms of pain in the real world are slight. To avoid my sort of pain I embrace yours. Many people waver in between, catching some of both ... "
"Never mind," spoke Morgan impatiently, "I deserve the punishment of having my question answered. I'll leave it at that."
Sergius sighed and sat back as though the discourse had exhausted him. Both he and Morgan were silent. Outside the window it was dark, and any visible signs of the train's motion there were exhibited by an occasional passing light or reflection from a rainsoaked telegraph pole . The steady rhythm of the wheels on the rails, and the swaying of the car had lulled the passengers into a quiet repose, as though a veil had been drawn over the whole gathering. The soldiers slumbered carelessly, their visors pulled low over their eyes. Three peasants lay stretched in the aisle, snoring loudly. The atmosphere was one warm glow and there seemed a sense of camaraderie about this congregation of displaced people, despite the probability that few knew or had spoken to each other. Morgan felt the warmth. Reflecting, he decided that he was tied to these people by more than his presence amongst them. He felt that he belonged. What Sergius had said was a haze at the back of his mind. He was watching a small black dog, curled beneath one of the seats, kick fitfully at the seat leg. The owner, a small woman across the aisle, was slumped forward against the next seat, asleep, the rope
holding the dog looped loosely around her wrist. Traces of tobacco smoke fragrance combined with the smell of people.
Sergius broke the silence. "I have something to show you." he said quietly. He reached into a leather bag at his foot and brought forth a small packet. Fumbling through it he selected a single photograph which he handed to Morgan It was badly cracked and faded but that did not conceal the majesty of a large chateau, rising starkly in white amidst a gay configuration of shrubs and gardens. In the foreground posed a slender lady of graceful dress which could not be seen in detail. Around her were several children of varying ages, three boys and two girls. All were in Sunday clothes, frozen in the eternity of tableau. The photograph did not permit a close examination of their expressions, but it would have been safe to assume that the mien was proud.
"My house and family," murmured Sergius "J always see them thus, proud and waiting: Tania and the children in front, Paltavia standing behind, watching them for me. Paltavia is the name of the house, you understand."
"Will you go back to them soon?" It was very clear to Morgan now. No wonder the old man had such a liberal philosophy! In his case the only pains could be with matters of extravagance ...
But Sergius only shrugged. "Yes and no. I was there a month ago. Austrian artillery has left most of it to memory. At the time the shelling occurred I was away, but I understand that my family, save Petroff who was at Fettes, was inside ... " he stopped, noting Morgan's horror. He smiled weakly. "Tragic, but I let life go on What else can I do? The only way to deal with it is to face it. If nothing else, it is a frame of reference for the rest of my life. The ride isn't over yet; there's so much more to see. I won't close my eyes to it."
Morgan stared at the dark glass to his right. His breath fogged the window again. What passed by outside was lost to darkness.
Charles Peeples
Blind Raisins
I have crawled like a cockroach from the bedroom of your bad dreams, while you've sweated from the frenzy of long remembered forced marches in ice storms, barefoot. I squeeze my eyelids tight to draw the liquid from inside. My eyes are raisins glaring when I tell you that falling in love with a woman who is: stunted by fear and suffering from warmth amnesia never pays.
Myra S Binns
Loss
The room smells like roses. Faint whiffs of formaldehyde they shot into your veins waft by me on dry breezes. Hollow sobs escape from the black-veiled women who gaze like crows upon your plasticine face . Blind stares bore infinitesimal holes in your immobile body. You are deadlifeless as the waxy smile you wear on your blue lips, and I feel nothing.
Lynn Vernon
Ice Cream
Ice cream . Of course. A big banana split. He runs over the neat manicured lawns . A hot day. The smell of freshly cut grass Sprinklers . Pass the bus depot. Impatient people with impatient kids. Wrist watches . A late bus. Staring idly. Passing cars pass trucks Waves of carbon monoxide . Glancing nonchalantly at fellow passengers. He quickly scoots past the First and Merchants Bank of greater Washington. The sign in front flashed 82 degrees and 5:48 P M The people in the bank playing with figures Loans . Balances . Withdrawals Depos its
He nears the corner trying to escape the traffic
Trips on a slab of concrete Near the intersection a crowd of people ·and cars Flashing lights and a siren fly by. A smashed fender . A radiator hissing A pool of blood and oil drain off toward the gutter. People stop and stare Records are kE;!pt.Photographs preserve the memory. 82 degrees and 5 :59 P M. We must get home Get out of the way Horns blow. You god damn son-of-a bitch. Red necks. Sweating like pigs. Boil-overs. A tow truck at last. He continues on
A Sunoco station . Triangular flags flutter in the frisky wind. Special this week. Two glasses with every fill up . We can be very friendly. On sale . Shock absorbers. Tune ups Our speciality Wheel alignments . Champion spark plugs . Cars disappearing in a cloud of suds . Grease monkeys shouting for a new oil filter The ding dong announcing the arrival of another customer.
A bakery ahead . The aroma of fresh bread. Warm fudge. Soft chocolate chip cookies He could have easily stopped here but today he wants ice cream . Only a few more blocks A new batch of jelly donuts arrive. The baker smiles His hands covered with flour. His mouth watering at the sight. Fresh baked gingerbread men with raisin eyes dance on the shelf In the center a great wedding cake . Three massive layers of snow white frosting. Crowned with a man dressed in black accompanied by a lady in white He wonders whether they could be eaten . They certainly look good enough to eat. His breath condensing on the window . His finger leaving their smudged prints. He runs pass the butcher ' s shop
A pet shop . Barking pups stepping in dried shit. Kicking their water dish . Sawdust scattered about. Parakeets chirping Birds singing in a guilded cage Fish swimming, cats meowing , and lizards crawling. A melee of cacophony . He smiles and leaves yet another set of finger prints. The temperature 82 degrees . The time 6:32P.M.
The Quickie Laundromat. In and out before you know it. We have ten dryers and washers The constant hum of whirling clothes whooshing in hot water The snapping sound of plastic buttons . Good neighborhood gossip . Wives in curlers and pink slippers . Babies
frolicking in the empty clothes basket. Squeezing Donald's beak. The aroma of Tide and Clorox.
Around the corner Big Dick's Bar and Grill. The sign reads: Big Dick eats in his own restaurant. Must be eighteen to consume alcohol beverages Bar maids with tight skirts and red lips. What'II it be? Two , no make that four. You ' re full of shit. They couldn't win without Giant. The Reds' pitching was too much Simple as that. The WFL will without doubt . no way . . the Giants if ... my wife is cheat ... what a nice ass .. look at those tits . .. the Bullets will take it again .. a slap shot that could . Two more drafts.
Pass the Peter Pan . Kicking a barrel full of azaleas and marigolds Pine trees . Magnolia blossoms Dogwoods and pear trees The sweet smell of fragile petunias attracting stray yellow jackets. Next door a movie theatre featuring a horror film. The people milling about after the show . The film classic: The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Zombies. He stops and stares as three nuns cross in front of him. The sign is just ahead . He has finally arrived . Emperor ' s Ice Cream Parlor . 32 Scrumptious flavors. We sell only the finest 100% pure ice cream. Cones 20 cents , 35 , and 50 Passing the jars of licorice and gum drops, he makes his way to a table in the corner A slow revolving fan overhead . Ah, the menu Sundaes , Floats , Sodas, Smashes , and Big Tops, The Banana Split. No , wait. The Super Banana Split. Four slices of ripe banana , one scoop of mint chip , one of strawberry, and one of chocolate, followed by hot fudge syrup, then chopped nuts , pineapple, and whipped cream , topped with three cherries .
Sixteen minutes later It has arrived in a large glass bowl. A masterpiece . Does he dare eat it? A work of perfection. A tantalizing exquisite treat for anyone's taste buds The spoon in hand, slowly slipping it in between the scoops of chocolate and strawberry . Raising it to the mouth with anticipation . The tongue moving the melted cream across the molars. Crunching the pineapple and chopped nuts . Delicious is too inferior a word to describe this experience . Half hour later. An empty dish
On his way home It grows dark. Noon replaces the sun. A used car lot lit up with flashing red and green lights. Only $29 95 and you can drive it away . We sell quality autos . A line of noisy customers in his office. The night is cool. Dark. On the right of the Post Office Fred Franklins and Frank Frederick ' s Funeral Home He belches . Wipes his lips and continues on his way home Whistling.
Sean Murphy
REBIRTH (Excerpts from)
Only remnants of your personality
Now remain.
Newspaper clippingsSilver testimonies of your achievements. Letters: epistles of your affairs And thoughts.
Indelible quotes: Revelations of your philosophy. And blue-grey photographsTinted , frozen images of a man.
How can I recapture the vibrancy of you?
Mental images dart in rapid succession: Clicking uncertain impressions.
REELl:
I am in your arms, Helplessly locked in your angered grip. "You are going to eat your peas , Whether you like them or not."
The mighty godzilla tramps Across the screen And snuggled in your lap
The thrill of fear exalts us both.
REEL2:
Wearing black-checkered trunks
You dive through some wave And seem beyond the sound Of any lifeguard's whistle
Where no one can find you But yourself.
REEL7:
A Saturday outing To the YMCApool. I follow you into the men's Locker room, Peeking recklessly under stalls Conversing with naked strangers Pleased with my unabashed boldness And amazed at their Composure despite their nudity. I am with you We are allies.
PART II:
Now let me go. The sun is waiting And will not resign. I have today's games to finish. My friends are waiting And the rope is still turning.
PART III:
Photographs and memories print only fiction . I have found just one source Within myself flows the blood of another . He is breathing with my every breath. He listens with my ears And sees with my eyes
He is complete through me As I have been through him. Now I confirm my former instincts We meander into the depths Of one another. We are still together in a unique Copulation of spirit. Like an orphan searching for beginnings I have found you.
-Maria Mladenoff
The Mirror
Henry Miller climbed up the steps of the crowded bus, deposited his fare and smiled nervously at the bus driver. Maneuvering among the packages and umbrellas , he found a bit of the handrail to hold on to as the bus roared into the five-thirty traffic The woman sitting in front of him clicked her tongue as the water from his drenched overcoat dropped on her shopping bag. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," he stammered as he moved to avoid the glaring eyes . That was nothing to what Ethel would have to say when he got home . She had warned him to take an umbrella that morning. He would never hear tpe end of it.
Henry had been married to Ethel for seventeen years now. Theirs was not an ideal romance. Henry had been on his first big insurance convention in Las Vegas, and for the first time in his life, got drunk. The next morning he woke up with a terrible hangover, and Ethel. She explained the events of the evening before, spending a great deal of time on the wedding ceremony in one of those commercial wedding chapels around the hotel. From that morning on, Henry Miller bowed to the lashing tongue of his "better -half" . He had mentioned their incompatibility ano the possibility of a divorce once, but only once; Mrs Miller was not about to be jilted by some little pipsqueak, which was one of her favorite names for Henry.
Henry had been cringing under Mrs. Miller's verbal attacks for so long now that he could predict every word . He shuttered involuntarily as the picture of the red face screaming down at him, and the breath that always smelled of beer, loomed all too real in his mind.
But things were better now, since he had the mirror. It was his new world, his one escape and pleasure . He had found it in the attic of the house when he was setting mouse traps for Ethel. (Henry had wanted to use poison, but Ethel only laughed and called him a sissy.) It had been in a corner covered with an old sheet. He had always meant to see what it was but had never gotten around to it. When he had uncovered it, he was astonished by the glittering gilt frame, ornately carved . As he inspected his discovery he found that it was an early American antique from the 1700's; The date and the maker were clearly printed on the back of the frame. He grabbed a rag and began to rub the glass of the mirror vigorously But instead of getting a clearer reflection, the image of the attic faded away and in its place there appeared another room . It was richly decorated in the style of the Colonial period. There was a fire in the fireplace; the pewter and brass scattered about the room reflected its warm orange glow.
It took some time for Henry to realize just what had happened. When he did, he began to . tremble and jam his knuckles into his eyes. He had to be seeing things . When he had summoned up enough courage, he slowly lowered his hands and looked again That was the first time that he saw Amanda . She was beautiful, delicate and her voice seemed to caress him with every word . He had been frightened , terrified , and had nearly broken a leg trying to get away from the mirror. But Amanda's gentle voice had soothed him and convinced him to stay. Now they spent every evening together, talking through the glass. She made him feel important and masterful, a new feeling for Henry . Every whim or thought of Henry's she accepted demurely When she told him that it was possible for him to enter the mirror, he had eagerly tried. But when he put his hand through the glass, just to be sure, it had burned so terribly, that he had had to give up the idea
Henry loved to think of that first meeting. It seemed hard to remember a time when she hadn't been there. She gave the strength to endure his life with Ethel. He had wanted to move the mirror to the basement, when Ethel became suspicious of his nightly retreats to the attic. When he mentioned his intention to Amanda, she panicked at the thought. If he should drop the mirror and break it, she would be .. . well, he didn't even like to think about it. So he just waited until Ethel started her second beer and began to get drowsy, before he slipped away to the attic
Henry was right about Ethel's nagging about his drenched clothes that evening. She made an unholy fuss about her floor and carpets, swearing that Henry would pay for the extra work he had caused her . When he sneezed while pouring her after dinner coffee, Ethel brought forth a new deluge of "I-told-you-so's". He made it through the dessert of stale pound cake and washed the dishes, with Ethel constantly hammering , at him. Finally her favorite television show was about 1o come on and she grabbed her supply of beer from the refrigerator and went up to her room dropping threats in her wake.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Henry folded the dish towel and crept up the stairs to wait for Ethel to npd off. She was so excited this evening that it took an extra beer to achieve that state.
Henry ducked into the attic stairwell and climbed the stairs two at a time, avoiding the noisy ones. He went to the mirror, threw back the cover and began to rub the glass . In moments the other room came into view but there was something wrong. There was no fire
and Amanda was not there. Henry called her softly but there was no answer. He tried rubbing the glass again, and again, but nothing happened. Amanda did not appear that evening, nor the next evening, nor the evening after that, nor the evening after that. Henry kept trying, unwilling to admit that his precious Amanda had left him.
After several days, he noticed that t.here was a layer of dust on the furniture and cobwebs were forming on the walls. The upholstery and rug began to show the dirt of unuse. After two weeks, Henry began to realize that she was really gone. Amanda was gone. He wondered why and how. He thought of entering the mirror to try to find her, but the memory of the excruciating pain stopped him. He must let her go.
His heart sinking, he reached for the sheet to cover the mirror. Suddenly a noise from behind made him freeze in terror.
"What the hell are you doing up here in this dirty old attic? You're getting your clothes all dirty and I just washed that shirt yesterday!" Ethel stood a few feet from Henry, her hands planted on either hip. Her face was scarlet as much from intoxication as from anger. "You've got some nerve! Do you think I'm a maid or something? Do you think that all I have to do is clean up after you?" She moved two rather unsteady steps forward. "Hey, what are you doing up here anyway? Admiring yourself in that crummy old mirror?"
Henry watched her rave as he had so many times before. Somehow tonight, though, she seemed more detestable than usual. The beer on her breath was overwhelming and as she screamed bubbling drops oozed down her chins. As Henry watched this creature before him, the full weight of his loss came down on him.
"Ethel, please go back downstairs. I'll be along in a minute. I just want to-"
"So. Look who's giving orders! Listen you little pipsqueak, I-"
Something inside of Henry Miller snapped. He grabbed his wife by the shoulders, with a power he had never known before. Caught off guard, Ethel never even struggled. Then, with a groan of pain and anguish, he pushed her into the mirror. Screaming with pain and surprise, Ethel slipped through the glass into the other room.
"What the ... ? Henry, my God, Henry! What is this place? What have you done to me? It hurts!!" She began to cry like some ugly animal. Henry looked on with growing disgust. "Get me out of here now, Henry Miller, or you'll pay!"
Henry looked around the attic until he found an old lead doorstop next to a box of old paperbacks. Picking it up and weighing it in his hands, he walked back to the mirror. ·
"Henry, did you hear me? I said get me .. ." Henry drew back his arm, loaded with the lead weight, and aimed for the gaping mouth. "What are you doing? For God's sake Henry! Don't do it! I'm your wife! I love you! Please don't "
He caught her in mid-sentence, a point that delighted him to no end. The mirror shattered into a million pieces, none of which were big enough to cover a quarter. Ethel was gone, for good. For the first time in seventeen years, Henry Miller laughed, really laughed. He laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. He was free!
He brought the broom up from the kitchen, and carefully swept up the pieces of the mirror. He then ceremoniously emptied them in the garbage can. Carefully replacing the lid, he smiled and said, "Mrs. Milleralways insisted on a clean house."
Brushing the dust from his hands, Henry decided to take a hot shower and then maybe watch the late movie on television, something that Ethel had never allowed. He went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water full blast. He remembered the wild pajamas with the zebra stripes that he had bought seventeen years ago in Las Vegas, the ones Ethel never permitted him to wear. He dug them out of the bottom drawer of his dresser and put them on. The full length mirror was on the back of the bathroom door; he would see how he looked.
He rah to the bathroom and pushed the but the mirror was so steamed up that he couldn't see a thing. He grabbed a hand towel from the linen closet, aware of how that would have angered Ethel. He wiped the steam from the mirror and tossing the towel away, he turned to examine himself. But instead of seeing his own reflection there, he found himself looking into the scarlet face of Ethel.
"Henry, you little pipsqueak! You won't get away with this! What do you mean throwing that thing at me like that? And using my good towels to clean mirrors! I swear Henry Miller,you'll pay! You'll pay!!"
Elizabeth A. Doane
Sunday Morning
I fed your bra to a penguin. What is this look of disbelief? Most penguins, do eat bras you know.
I gave your socks to a Tahitian boy. He came to the door naked and begging and he used them for mittens, to play in the snow.
I sold your pants to a circus geek and if you stop screaming I'll tell you why. Its just because, I didn't want you to go.
Bill Murray
Battling Pneumonia Vs. Last Night's Leftovers
Bathe yourself then walk outside and pick up a baseball bat as a gift for your next door neighbor. Gently wrap your fingers around the frozen handle, then pull yourself upward until your head pokes through his screen door and screams the sacred words: LET THE BATTLE BEGIN! Throw your best pitch and watch him fly after its tail while he falls uncontrollably to the floor. The scoreboard reads: YOU ARE DEAD as the crowd descends from the stands for another off-season rest.
John Phillips
ByNow
Does a spiral spiral up or down? My God, You'd think we'd know by now. After all, we're DNA, double helix's you know . Spirals, That couldn't make it alone.
Does a spiral spiral in or out? You'd think that we would know that too Each time I turn a notebook page, I look to see, but cannot tell. I would ask the teacher, but she is busy now.
Does a spiral spiral naturally? You'd think we would have asked before. A circle that has gone awry? A straight line twisted out of shape? Simplicity, coiled to be complex. Our structural worst -Our structural best?
And do you really really give a damn? My God. You'd think you'd know by now
Bill Murray
There were the eyes of a jealous woman staring at my facemy eyes - as I talked, gently conversed with her twenty-two year old possession . But he was my firm friend. Nevertheless her eyes burned and I left with my spontaneity singed
- H. Christy Prince
Fall Meditation
It will be a hard winter: my mind is heavy-furred in September. If my eyes could change like the leaves gleaming yellow with inward night light I would go prowling like a creature finding its first fallnewly bloomed leaves dying under padded feet with unstained claws But I have lost the careless luck of innoceno I will huddle in the dark, making feeble fires with what I know and sharpening a spindle-stick to spin a tight cocoon.
-Ann Dickenson
George Washington Still Lives (Within Your Wooden Teeth)
It is 6:30 P.M. the magic box glows with prerecorded words written invisibly upon blank white pages. Faint voices jingle with faulty intonations ending with a smile upon each swollen face. Yes, you are the great wonder. The man who knows all. Yet, I am still amazed as to how easily you remove the brown shoe polish from your cheeks. But I am not fooled, as each night my foot fits precisely between your nose and your chin and even I can walk away laughing.
- John Phillips
Qn Having Empathized With His Students' Consensus Concerning Elizabethan Poetry as Shown In Their Late Exam Papers: An Occasional Sonnet by the Students Their Instructor
Farewell, drab lines, in due convention clad: Of rebell'd blood, of hearts that would be kings, Of troth, of plaint, of lovers driven mad, We've had our fill. Now on to better things. Now meter 'gins to strain against its leash
As now new, bold conceit doth brazen it; Now form reforms, and rhyme begins afresh: Now enter Donne's tough-tempered razor wit.
See how his image galaxy doth wheel
As stars in lovers' eyes wax, then wane real: Now plain as life, then metaphysical.
God's plenty's here. What Shakespeare but surmised, A brave new world of words, Donne realized.
-R. M. Nelson
