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sparkle + blink 67 2015 Quiet Lightning

artwork Cheney Besharacheneybeshara.com

Contraband by Bonnie Kwong is from the forthcoming poetry collection, Ravel

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CONTENTScurated by

Gianna Badiali Chris Cole Evan Karp Christine No & David Welper

featured artist Cheney Beshara

BONNIE KWONG Contraband from Ravel 1 The Moon from the Corner of Her Eye 17

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NING IS SPONSORED BY

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QUIET LIGHTNING

A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet Lightning is to foster a community based on literary expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on the first Monday of every month, of which these books (sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.

Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is currently:

Evan Karp founder + presidentChris Cole managing directorJosey Lee public relationsMeghan Thornton treasurerKristen Kramer chair

Kelsey Schimmelman secretarySarah Ciston director of booksKatie Wheeler-Dubin director of films

Laura Cern Meloart director

Christine Noproducer / assistant managing director

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help @ quiet l ightning .org

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1

B B BB B E B B B B B

CONTRABANDfrom Ravel

when we touch

tongue

to

tongue

you can taste

the languages I speak

sui water [diphthong]

haak guest [consonant clipped from your lips]

water guest I ask you for songs

your mother sang to you

I remember them

and sing them in the quiet

I know a song

about

a clay doll:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ctQCMHGnp4

2

yi ge ni wa wa a doll of clay

ye you ge bi zi she has a nose

ye you ge zui ba she has a mouth

zui ba bu shuo hua but she cant speak

I know a song

about a rabbit and the moon.

. .

ta shi ge jia wa wa shes a doll

bu shi ge zhen wa wa not a baby

ta mei you tsin ai di ma ma she has no mommy

ye mei you ba ba she has no daddy

ni wa wa ni wa wa clay doll clay doll

Bonnie Kwong 3

usagi rabbit

usagi rabbit

nani mite haneru where are you jumping to

zyuu go ya otsuki sama Im jumping to the full moon

mite haneru of the fifteenth

when we touch

tongue

to

tongue

you know

I traffic in songs

I steal from you

when you are not watching

sing to you

when you are not

listening

Nandito ako

umiibig sa iyo

Kahit na nagdurugo ang puso

Kung sakaling iwanan ka niya

Huwag kang mag-alala

4

May nagmamahal sa iyo

Nandito ako

I am here loving you

though my heart is bleeding.

If she leaves you

Don't you worry

There is someone who loves

you

I am here

I come

from a line

of smugglers

my great grandfather

was a , a water guest, though he walked

between

Hong Kong

and

the mainland

the contraband

don't laugh

dried seafood

what duty

would he have had to pay

Bonnie Kwong 5

my father arrived in the US

with a suitcase

full of nothing but ideas

my parents settled in snow

snow past spring

US Customs and Border Protection Welcomes Youto the United States I have nothing to declare

I was their firstborn

though there was one

before me

conceived

too early in another country

uprooted

from my mother's womb

Declare all articles that you have acquired abroad and are

bringing into the United States. I have nothing to declare

when we touch

tongue

to

tongue

6

I taste

secrets like salt

on the corner of your lips

when your mother

broke the news

of

your existence

to your father

he said

when this happens to my wife,

she takes care of it

your mother did not know

he was married

CBP officers will determine duty. I have nothing to declare

your finger

travels

along my waist

with no intent

I ease you into me

again

as I would a finger into snow

Declare all articles on this declaration form and showthe value in U.S. dollars.

Bonnie Kwong 7

I have nothing to declare

I show you where to find

the zipper on

my raw silk blouse

as if

to say

how would you like

to know

me

when we kiss in the morning

you hide your tongue

behind your lips I have nothing to declare

there are times travel is easy

as a skirt billowing around my knees

on a bridge in Amsterdam

a woman speaks to me in Dutch

I can only guess

she is

asking

directions

I smile and reply in the language I think we share

I don't know

8

we laugh

once a year

birds

build

a bridge in the sky

for lovers yes

also for those

who laugh and say

I don't know.

in the Sheesh Mahal

mirror

palace

of Amer

I have seen my many selves

reflected

in thousands

of

mosaic

mirror tiles

how many selves

have I left

behind

Bonnie Kwong 9

once a year

birds build a bridge in the sky

I travel so easily

I could almost forget

how my mother refused

to use

my US passport

when we traveled to communist China

if war broke

between

the countries

of my

two selves

I could claim

I don't know

je ne sais pas I have nothing to declare

my father can discern

the colors

a crawfish sees

bees see

sweeps of blue

where we see white

10

I would like to know

how a bee

regards this country

I would like to know

what a bee

carries

I have (We have) commercial merchandise

(articles for sale, samples used for soliciting orders

or goods that are not considered personal effects) I have nothing to declare

my father built a machine to parse speech

A difference profile is generated for each pair of

significant phonemes by subtracting the profile

of each phoneme from the profile of each other

phoneme. US Patent Office Abstract

he travels unquestioned across the Pacific

Controlled substances, obscene articles, and toxicsubstances are generally prohibited entry. I have nothing to declare

My father quotes Zhuang Zhi,

Bonnie Kwong 11

who quotes Gngsn Lng

,;

,

,

A man approaches a border checkpoint

with a white horse.

The guard tells him horses are not allowed.

This is a white horse, not a horse,

he replies.

Confounded, the guard lets him through.

we cant apply same word horse

to both

the general class of horses

and its subclasses

white horse

black horse

wild horse

yet Zhuang Zhi concludes

the word horse can represent all things

12

I ask

does the word American apply

to both

the general class of Americans

and all its subclasses

white American

African American

Asian American

Latino American

Native American.

can we declare

the word American represents all humanity

let us keep a moment of silence

for the

Americans

oscar

grant

trayvon

martin

jonathan

ferrell

renisha

mcbride

Bonnie Kwong 13

vincent chin

jacob valdiviezo

alex nieto

michael brown

eric garner

freddie gray

they are

the unwanted children

of this

country

I travel so easily

I could almost forget

Americans with skin of a darker hue

may take the subway

sell cigarettes

deliver lunch to their children

and never come home

I travel so easily

I could almost forget

14

I am still here in this country loving you

& you

& you

& you

& you

Nandito ako

umiibig sa iyo

Kahit na nagdurugo ang puso

I am here loving you

though my heart is bleeding.

broken

windshields

eggs

thrown into my friend's

Honda

in Ann Arbor

I am still here

Executive order 9066

Question #27: Are you willing to serve in the armed forcesof the United States on combat duty, wherever ordered?

Bonnie Kwong 15

Question #28: Will you swear unqualified allegiance

to the United States of America and faithfully defend the

United States from any and all attack by foreign or

domestic forces, and forswear any form of allegiance

to the Japanese Emperor or any other foreign government,

power, or organization?

I have nothing to declare

the 442nd Regiment

gave themselves

to their country

like the rabbit

who jumped into fire

to feed

an old man

who was hungry

usagi usagi nani mite haneru

rabbit

rabbit where are you jumping to

16

some declared

no no

to

questions 27 & 28

I will speak to you

if you speak to me

in a language

outside

the coercion

of forms

and fences

some danced

behind fences

to the song

Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies

Don't fence me in

Let me ride through the wide open country that I love

Don't fence me in

some made

love

silently

Bonnie Kwong 17

tongue to tongue

a tremulous

beginning

like a husky note

in the back

of the throat

an orchid stem

with a swollen node

a contraband

bud

Sign on the other side of the form after you have read

this important information above and made a truthful declaration. I have nothing to declare

I traffic in songs unsung

one quiet evening

you took in a thirteen year old boy

his song has no rainbows

only a boy doing his sums

late

into the evening

and a man watching him

like the father you both imagine

18

into existence

I traffic in songs

with quiet beginnings

I sing them

in the quiet

She's a doll

not a baby.

She has no loving Mama,

no loving Papa.

Clay doll, clay doll

a doll of clay.

I'll be her Mama.

I'll be her Papa.

I'll love her forever.

19

B B BB B E B B B B B

THE MOON FROMTHE CORNER OF HER EYE

Mavis expected to see her dorm at the end of the golf course, but the golf course extended as far as the eye could see. There was a field full of men, women, and children sitting on the grass counting their fingers. Mavis tried to weave through the crowd in the direction of her dorm. She walked past a boy of her age, who asked her, What year was the Federal Reserve Bank founded? When she could not answer, the boy asked her, Whats the current US trade deficit? She turned away, and the woman next to her asked, What is the BPM tempo of allegro agitato? A little girl asked her, What is the tallest building in the world? She recognized the little girl as her past self, and greeted her with a smile. The little girl asked, How many repeats does this song have before the coda? A little boy who looked like her brother asked her, What is the fastest plane made by McDonnell Douglas? A man who looked like her father asked, How many transistors are in this chip? There were many clocks around her on the grass, ticking like time bombs. Mavis thought she heard the deafening sound of mechanized looms, machines counting bills, spinning, spinning, spinning like spinning wheels weaving straw into

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zieHZ3pw_ag

20

gold, keyboards clicking, voices yelling the prices of stocks. There were men and women around her in business attire gesturing numbers because their voices were not heard. Mavis breathing became labored. She wanted to return to her dorm, but there was counting all around her, in various languages. Above the din of numbers, she heard the sound of marching, and began to panic. The rhythmic marching came closer and closer. She needed to escape this field of numbers. She abandoned the idea of returning to her dorm, and began to look for the shortest way out.

As Mavis ran, she felt the ground rise above her to form a hill. At the top, a lion paced with a regal air, surveying his empire. The crowd had dispersed to the bottom of the hill, and the marching seemed to have faded. Mavis was halfway up the hill, running towards the lion, at first because he was in her path of escape. She then wanted to touch the lion, to see if he was real. As she was running, she noticed she was not on a natural hill, but a grassy slope with finite edges, as if it were a plane floating in a three-dimensional space. The terrain was shapely as a shoulder blade.

The lion did not seem to notice Mavis presence. He was pacing, as a lion passant in heraldry, regarding the field of numbers at the foot of the hill: shipping containers of uniform dimensions stacked high as skyscrapers in a thronged city, ships navigating by sweeping radars; airplanes in a queue, taking off and landing by precise algorithms; trains running on

Bonnie Kwong 21

intersecting tracks, timed to avoid collision. The lion oversaw the crafts of transportation, the movement of invisible goods by a multitude of cogs in a machine of monumental proportions. There was no telling what happened to the goods once they reached their destinations. The lion wore a necklacenot a collar, but an ornamental chain, with a pendant watch. There was a piece of quartz in the watch, oscillating quietly.

As Mavis made her way towards the lion, dozens of uniformed students appeared from behind her, overtook her, and blocked her way. They were writing frantically in their notebooks. Mavis saw her former selfabout a year youngerin the crowd. She was careful not to approach herself.

She asked another student: What are you doing?

We are taking an exam, one of them replied.

Where are we? asked Mavis.

We are in a sine function of the imaginary portion of a complex number: a + bi. Remind mewhat is i?

i is the square root of negative one.

Why are we here? asked Mavis. How is our presence related to i?

I dont know why you are here. I will be leaving shortly.

22

When I pass all my exams, I will find a job in the field of numbers, said the student. What will you do?

Transformation will be my work.

What will you transform?

It doesnt matter. I can only tell you I will work with care and precision. Mavis turned to another student, and asked, Why are you here? Im learning about the wave function of a photon, said the student.

What will you do with that knowledge?

Havent you wondered what light is made of, and how it moves? You see it every day. You cant see without it. But do you understand it? Is it corpuscular? Is it a wave? You should start a dialogue with light, not with me. The student turned around, and resumed the work of writing formulas in Greek symbols.

A breeze swept through the hill in pulses. There was no message in the breeze, but the students disappeared. Their uniforms remained, strewn on the grass.

By the time Mavis reached the top of the hill, there was no lion, only a sphinx perfectly poised. Mavis footsteps aroused the sphinx, who kept his composure, but shifted his eyes to look at Mavis without turning his head. He asked:

Bonnie Kwong 23

What is the most fissile isotope of uranium?

Why are you asking me this question? Mavis sensed danger, but she looked the sphinx in the eye.

Answer my question. The sphinx was incensed. I am the only one allowed to ask questions.

You are an imaginary creature, said Mavis. You have no power over me.

But I am part real. I frequent company board rooms, the White House, Buckingham Palace, and other places of power. The Prince of Wales listens to me, said the sphinx, whose breasts now appeared larger, more woman-like.

I am also part real, said Mavis. Ive spoken to the Prince of Wales. He is no more real than you.

Precisely, said the sphinx, lifting her head slightly. She continued, in a supercilious tone. Even Presidents are part imaginary. Dont underestimate the power I wield.

But if I dont believe in you, your power will be diminished, said Mavis.

Answer my question: what is the most fissile isotope of uranium? repeated the sphinx.

24

As she spoke, she turned her head ever so slightly, so Mavis would notice the pile of human bones behind her, like a medical students field trip: femur bones, ribs, skulls, tibias and fibulas.

Why do you ask? said Mavis.

A child chasing a red balloon happened to pass by. Why? Why? she echoed. The balloon bobbed and drifted just out of her reach as she ran down the hill, shouting: Why? Why?

She ran past a warren of geophysicists in lively conversation on an outcropping they were surveying for natural gas deposits. Two of them paused for a moment to look at the child, and followed her gaze to the balloon she was still chasing. When they resumed their work again, they were not quite sure what they were doing before the interruption.

Why are we working on such a sunny day? said the geophysicist with a white cap, who would rather be playing tennis.

Another geophysicist asked: Why are we working?

Why are we studying such a small patch of rock? asked another, who looked up at the sky. The sky was larger than the rock they had been studying, the sun more generous.

Bonnie Kwong 25

Why arent we studying the sun? said the geophysicist with a white cap.

The group began a discussion on how to use a photovoltaic cell to generate an alternating current through an inverter. They were well aware of their location in a sine function of the imaginary part of a complex number.

The balloon drifted past a field of brokers in business suits using hand signals to buy and sell stocks. The child cut through the middle of the options pit, following the balloon, yelling, Why? Why?

The disruption caused a pause in the transactions. The brokers who could not see or hear the girl saw the balloon, and wondered why there was a pause in trading activity. A number of brokers on the other side of the field started making their way over to balloon, causing the ground under them to fluctuate. In the ensuing panic, some brokers began to price volatility at a premium; others held fast, predicting not only the balloon itself, but the memory and effects of the balloon would soon pass; others doubted the existence of the balloon itself. Conversations ensued about imaginary entities, including the imaginary component of the Fourier Sine Transform used in options pricing. There was no dispute about the practical benefits of the formula in calculating cases of discontinuous payoffs. But no one quite understood the nature of the imaginary number: if i x i = -1, what is i? i seemed to

26

require a suspension of disbelief, or at the very least, the deferral of thought. This fissure in the theoretical foundation of options pricing led to doubts about the authority of the exchange itself.

When the brokers resumed their shouts and signals, their rhythm was slower, initially, but more chaotic. The childs refrain could be heard in the din: Why? Why? Why?

The childs question followed the red balloon through an empty highrise. A middle-aged man who looked like Prakash was walking with an assistant, a fresh college graduate, from room to room on the top floor, stopping from time to time to work on a small laptop. He was making three dimensional drawings of the building, which was to be a hotel, so he could outfit the interior. He happened to look out of the window as the balloon drifted by. When he and his assistant walked closer to the window, they heard the cry, Why? Why?, and looked down at the child. The man smiled, and told his assistant, When I was a teenager, I had a friendshe was almost my girlfriendwho asked a lot of questions: What are you going to do when you graduate from college?

Where will you live? What do you think will happen to Hong Kong? But so many students have died in Beijing. Why do you think things will be the same in Hong Kong? What do you think shes doing now? asked his assistant.

Bonnie Kwong 27

I dont know....I can see her doing...more meaningful work, said the man who looked like Prakash.

His assistant laughed. What do you think were doing here, outfitting hotels? Are we doing substantive work?

Our work is tangible: the furnishing and the decoration of hotels. But is it substantive? This hotel will be worth 3-4 times as much in a few years. But really, who cares?

The engineering of the hotel is real. This concrete has been fracture and fatigue tested, said the assistant, who had taken a course or two in material science. He kicked the walls a few times. Cant argue with sinusoidal load testing.

Does India need another hotel? said the man who looked like Prakash. Im just talking to myself, he added quickly.

His assistant met his eyes and was silent.

The interior designer returning from lunch interjected: To paraphrase Tagore, the kind of beauty India needs is reality seen with the eyes of love.

The middle aged man heaved a sigh. I need to take a walk. He averted his face from the other two, and headed down the concrete stairs with no railing.

28

From the top of the hill, Mavis watched the child disrupt the rhythm of work in the field of numbers. First, the workers who saw and heard the child slowed down. Then, they began to talk to the people around them, who also slowed down, and began talking to others around them, and so on. Mavis smiled at the chain reaction, and the slowing and cessation of work like a breeze sweeping through the field of numbers.

She said to the sphinx: Why is the most fissile word in the English language.

The sphinx promptly resumed the form of a lion, and commanded: Speak to me in numbers. This is your last chance. What is the most fissile isotope of uranium?

Mavis looked to the other side of the field of numbers: a truck had made its way to a military base. The truck appeared like any other truck on a highway, gas station, or port.

But when the soldliers began unloading the metal boxes from the truck, she saw the tops of the boxes were painted yellow, with three black sectors of a circle in the middle: radioactivity. Mavis shuddered. The boxes could contain depleted uranium penetrator rounds. She glared at the lion, as if he were responsible for what was to happen when these boxes reached another country, a city full of men, women, and children. When she thought of all the wars fought under his imperial gaze, she began to see his symbolic

Bonnie Kwong 29

existence as an affront to justice.

Why should I speak to you at all? asked Mavis. You exist only if I recognize you. The lion turned his head away from Mavis, and began to walk slowly in an arc. He bore down on his muscular haunches with the power of a machine and the supple grace of a wild animal; he leapt forward in long strides, and pounced.

Mavis felt a sharp pain on her throat, and heard a thud. A unicorn had placed himself between her and the lion, colliding with the lion chest to chest. She had not seen or heard his approach, yet his body was hefty as the lions, and the impact of the collision unmistakable. Mavis placed her hand on her throat. There was only a dribble of blood on her fingers where there could have been a rush.

The unicorn lay on top of the lion on the grass. Together, they formed a violent, exquisite corpse: two-headed, limbs entangled. The unicorn was the first to disengage himself from the lion. He flexed his long legs out of their awkward bend, lifted his sculptured torso, and arched his neck towards the sky. He trotted towards Mavis, and lay himself at her feet tenderly.

The lion hoisted himself up, and fell upon the unicorns back. The unicorn turned to meet the lion with his horn. Mavis saw she could no longer ignore the existence of the lion, but she could meet him with the power of another beast. As she watched the two

30

beasts fight, she backed away, still facing them, one cautious step at a time. When the grassy slope hid her from their view, she turned around and ran down to the field of numbers. As she ran, she could hear the unicorns snorts, the lions snarls, and the welter of hooves and paws. She wanted to know if the unicorn was safe, but she did not look back. She ran as if the lion were in hot pursuit, with the field of numbers folding in upon them: students, traders with their hand signals, geophysicists with and without caps, hotel decorators, truck drivers, train conductors, pilots, and soldiers all tumbling forward. She fled as if she were riding on the back of a unicorn.

As she approched the bottom of the hill, she heard a rhythmic clapping in front of her. She saw two women clapping a pair of bamboo poles together. She was so tired she wanted to throw herself on the grass. But she was captivated by the clapping, so when the couple motioned to her to dance, she began placing her left foot in-and-out, in-and-out, in-in-out, in-in-out, then her right foot in-and-out, in-and-out, in-in-out, in-in-out, left-right-out, right-left-out, left-right-out, right-left-out, both-feet-in, both-feet-out, both-feet-in, around-and-out, around-and-out, wait-it-out, wait-it-out, right-right-out, right-right-out of the clapping poles. She had to dance, as if dance was all she could do to stay safe. Two other women came and added a pair of bamboo poles perpendicular to the ones she was dancing to. The four poles now formed a cross with a square in the middle.

Bonnie Kwong 31

Mavis skipped around the cross: right-right-left, right-right-left, right-right-left, right-right....Mavis stepped into the center of the cross, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and felt the four poles slam against her ankle. She yelped in pain and rolled on the grass. The women now arranged the four poles in parallel: thud-thud-clap, thud-thud-clap, thud-thud-clap....She wanted to get up immediately, but the pain in her ankle was electric.

The smell of burning grass grew stronger. She responded not to the fear of burning, but the authority of the clapping poles as she summoned all her muscle and sinew to stand up again and place her entire self in her body. She began again with her left foot in-and-out, in-and-out, in-in-out, in-in-out, then her right foot in-and-out, in-and-out, in-in-out, in-in-out, left- right-out, right-left-out, left-right-out, right-left-out, both-feet-in, both-feet-out, both-feet-in, around-and-out, around-and-out, wait-it-out, wait-it-out, right-right-out, right-right-out, around-and-out, twirling, twirling her way out of the tyranny of numbers.

Mavis felt unusually calm, as if a rainbow had swept across her body. She came upon a river, and lay down beside it, spent. There was an edge to the rush of the wind, above the susurration of the reeds and the running water. She closed her eyes and rested.

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QUIET LIGHTNING IS:

a literary nonprofit with a handful of ongoing projects, including a monthly, submission-based reading series featuring all forms of writing without introductions or author banterof which sparkle + blink is a verbatim transcript. The series moves around to a different venue every month, appearing so far in bars, art galleries, music halls, bookstores, night clubs, a greenhouse, a ballroom, a theater, a mansion, a sporting goods store, a pirate store, a print shop, a museum, a hotel, and a cave.

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1. you have to commit to the date to submit2. you only get up to 8 minutes

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sparkle + blink 67 2015 Quiet Lightning

artwork Cheney Besharacheneybeshara.com

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CONTENTScurated by

Gianna Badiali Chris Cole Evan Karp Christine No & David Welper

featured artist Cheney Beshara

CASSANDRA DALLETT Top Five MCs and Bther Shit 1 Your Bhole Entire Bame 21

EVA HD The Fact About Moose 5 Athens 19

GRISELDA J. CASTILLO Sardines 7

PETER BULLEN Admiration 11

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QUIET LIGHT

NING IS SPONSORED BY

l a g u n i t a s . c o m

http://zff.org/http://lagunitas.com/http://www.obookspoetry.org/

QUIET LIGHTNING

A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet Lightning is to foster a community based on literary expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on the first Monday of every month, of which these books (sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.

Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is currently:

Evan Karp founder + presidentChris Cole managing directorJosey Lee public relationsMeghan Thornton treasurerKristen Kramer chair

Kelsey Schimmelman secretarySarah Ciston director of booksKatie Wheeler-Dubin director of films

Laura Cern Meloart director

Christine Noproducer / assistant managing director

If you live in the Bay Area and are interested in helpingon any levelplease send us a line:

help @ quiet l ightning .org

http://quietlightning.org/about/board-staffmailto:help@quietlightning.org

1

C AS S A

B D R A D A L L E T T

Top Five LovesBAPBIGDouble MKitchenDre Dog

Me and Bap text each other our Top Five rappers to this day these conversations hold so much of our lovesharing in musics seduction with a foot on the gas and the right song loud I never want to stop or slow downI want to get turned up share

For years BAP would ask favorite album and Id waffle between Public Enemys first and second Because the streetness of Yo Bum Rush The Show was as real as hearing NWA for the first time But the politics of It Takes A Nation Of Millions was shattering, its release left nothing the same it marked the beginning of going to white boy

parties

TOP FIVE MCsAND OTHER SHIT

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where I wasnt the only one playing rap of course if the album question wasnt specific to rap I would have to say The Harder They Come I carried these songs in every part of liferecognize the hunger and rebellion in all the music I

most love

Bap and I are texting this because I just watched the movie Top Five

made by a comedian we saw together he called us out in that way he does seeing through

bullshit had us rolling, holding our stomachs in the red velvet

balcony a link between us that I thought once would lead to

marriage but instead formed a friendship stronger in its expres-

sions of lovethrough music, through books, a love for revolution, and sexual freedom We share curiosity and an unwillingness to settlewhere Im no longer a girl friend trying to put him on

lock but his home-girl dishing advice on open relation-

ships and sexual adventuredigging in the crates and burning CDs he hoards all my retired cassette tapes and I can breathe knowing that library still exists in

the world yet both of us date people who understand

CASSAnDRA DALLeTT 3

none of this His top five PacBig KRS-ONENASAndre 3000/orBlack Thought

I say thats good but what about Melle Mel he got me on this shit

and he says yeah Melle Mel has to be in there because of The Message and I say thats why I dont like to choosecause everyone knowsRakim The God has to be in there and that goes on an on cause Big Daddy Kane and all

that So here I amunable to pick a favorite mate or a favorite rapper always looking to sample, make a compilationof flavors and favorsand at least we share these moments revel in the high of music the excitement of it cause that and friendship, truth isthat shit outlasts marriages.

5

E V A H D

THE FACT ABOUTMOOSE

You can shoot a moosein the head, point blank, and stillnot kill him. The skull

is so thick, bulletscannot contend. More moose dieof ticks. Ticks are like

the heartbreak of themoose population, by whichI mean that moose, thick-

skulled as they are, havenever perished from boozingtoo hard, loving too

lazy. Blood is let, moose or man, and death demurs,even at close range.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spSgIbJodZg

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B RB S E

L D A J . C A S T B L L B

SARDINES

headless in ovaltin cansbobbingin tomato sauce

sardinesremind me of my dad

five packed blue backssilver belly to silver bellytiny collars curved

like his back at the tableare the ends of his moustache starting to gray

hed eat themon crackersa hunched island, snackingfork dropping like a tridentinto sirens hips

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESE_dOpV_ro

8

blood and oilsoften salted squareshauled off on aconveyer belt tongueto the gut

shoals of slick fishswallowed tenderly

if convenient to the mouthfish will bite

trust supple fleshlaced with hooks

a good manbut caught,a sardine drawn to plankton

pulled to shallows

by appetites thatpierced himthrough the scales

and in ecstasycouldnt hear the ringsclink together

gRiSeLDA J . CASTiLLo 9

couldnt see the netclosing in on himlike a purse

11

P E T ER B U L L E B

ADMIRATION

1.

Joe wants to write, or rather he wants to do something, and hes not going to take up whitewater rafting. Joe doesnt worry about money, having had a grandmother who found reasons to like him. He worries about everything else; fears an early death, believes he hasnt lived much anyway, even now, before his early death. Thinks about women a lot, maybe all the time. Depending on how one defines all the time. For instance, he could be doing something pedestrian like removing the wrapping from a hamburger at McDonalds, and though he knows there will be no woman under the wrapping, that this is just a straightforward desire for a cheap lunch, still he imagines a woman there eating one with him. Or he imagines never again eating a hamburger from McDonalds because a devotedly vegetarian woman has brought her long legs into his likely to be short life.

Joe looks up to a local writer whose name is Walter. Walter has the air and confidence of a highly regarded, prize winning type writer, although he is neither. Joe finds this quality as admirable as it

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFhZLAA29iY

12

is mysterious, and offers Walter help with paperwork and household chores in exchange for writing lessons. The lessons are unusual. Walter looks over Joes work every two weeks, asks Joe not to write a lot, since he gets tired reading his stuff. At first Joe finds this insulting, but Walter says a few charming things that Joe can no longer recall, which convince him its actually flattering. Walters instruction to Joe is to pay attention to whats around him and curb as few impulses as possible. Which is hard, since pretty much all Joe has ever done is curb impulses.

Then theres Walters wife, Beatrice, with whom Joe would love to not curb an impulse. Not an option, because Walter would kill him. And once dead, the opportunity for engagement in extra-marital affairs is greatly diminished. Unless he has that all wrong, and clandestine behavior is all the rage in the post-life dimension, and this is why we dont see the dead, on account of how damn sneaky they are. But he does glance at Beatrice covertly. Once she caught him doing it; he blushed profusely, moving his head rapidly in every direction, as if to imply hed been scanning the room in an impartial frenzy when his eyes accidentally landed on her. Beatrice is in her mid-forties and not an obvious beauty. Her nose looks like its been in bar fights, her lips are mammoth, her breasts are full and relaxed, free of the rigidity of ones that have been tampered with. Untampered with breasts are, well, more breast-like in Joes opinion. He doesnt know who he might share this opinion with, since it seems

PeTeR BULLen 13

inherently awkward. For instance, when he imagines a woman, say a woman eerily similar in appearance to Beatrice, and if this imagined woman were to remove her bra, he cant picture himself saying, like:

phew, I really like your unaltered breasts. That would be sexually Aspergers-y and tactless even though thats what hed be feeling. This to Joe is one of the challenges when it comes to the now popular idea of the authentic life.

2.

The three of them are out together; a frequent occurrence. Why Joe has become part of the social circumstance of their marriage he does not know, despite the pleasure he takes in it.

Walter likes to drink and talk, and Joe is a good listener. Walter tells Joe his work is coming along, hes even beginning to enjoy some of his sentences. With time and courage, Walter says, he could become a fine writer. Its at moments like these that Joe feels that he has a reason to live; the challenge for Joe being the large swaths of time in between moments like these. Beatrice says that Joe might benefit from a real job, while his metamorphosis into writer is taking place. That hurts. He does not know if Walter shows Beatrice his writing, and has been afraid to ask, fearing her commentary might be withering, and a bad review from someone you cant take your eyes off, is a bridge

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straight to hell, the way Joe sees bridges.

You need to take risks, talk to strangers. Your own lifes material is limiting, and Beatrice and I dont want you writing about us, do we sweetie?

I wouldnt mind if the writing is good, she says. A flash of wild hope runs through Joe, just as he was settling into a regular bout of self-loathing.

Walter is distracted; an aging cocktail waitress is at their table, her beauty clock still ticking. The waitress wants to know if they have everything they need.

Needs are numberless, unfathomable, Walter says. Joe wishes he could speak this way to people. The waitress smiles. Her crooked yellow teeth are not so unappetizing as to detract from a still shapely mouth. Beatrices mouth tightens, she moves around on her chair as if it has suddenly become too small or her bottom has gotten larger or something.

Vodka on the rocks, Walter says.

Sure hon, the waitress says, bending forward, her liberally exposed cleavage hanging over their table like a lewd mascot. She asks Beatrice the same question.

White wine, please, Beatrice says.

Ill have the same, Walter says, wanting to show

PeTeR BULLen 15

solidarity.

The waitress leaves to get the drinks. As she walks away Walter takes in every inch. Joe feels bad for Beatrice, but she shows no sign of irritation. In fact she watches too, as if along with her husband, she is fascinated with the womans walking style.

With the waitress gone Walter addresses Joe again.

Pick a person whos of interest to you, ask them about their lives. Everyone suffers from the delusion that their lives are interesting.

Beatrice is of interest to him, but he cant pick her.

Walter gets up to use the john.

A shocking thing happens. Walter feels a kick from under the table. It can only be Beatrice kicking him; no one else is there. She has never made physical contact with him, not even a handshake. He has the strangest sensation, feeling like his body has been returned to him, as if for the longest time it had been in someone elses possession. He looks at her expecting her to say something, confirm that there was a kick, and that she delivered it. She looks back, not saying a word. Just as Walter is questioning whether it happened at all, a second kick arrives, quite firm. There might be bruising, Walter thinks, and then chastises himself for having such a trivial thought in a moment of great and

16

majestic mystery.

You could interview me, Beatrice says.

I could? Joe says.

It would have to be private, just between the two of us. A room without too much light. I imagine youd want me in lingerie, for interview purposes of course. Would add a compelling tension, dont you think?

Joe wonders if tension is important in interviews, but then realizes this is about something else, and that she must really be upset about the waitress.

Beatrice, he says, and cannot come up with more.

Im serious, she says.

Joe sees Walter emerge from the bathroom.

He has never been sadder to see a male figure exit a public toilet.

Beatrice kicks him again and winks. Although enjoying it, Walter hopes it will end when Walter sits back down.

Walter sits back down.

Beatrice says I think the waitress is a slut.

PeTeR BULLen 17

It gets very quiet at the table. Joe hopes he doesnt have to weigh in on whether the waitress is a slut or not, because if anything is a sure bet to introduce compelling tension, that would be it. Yes, she probably is, Walter says, like hed agreed that given the chilly weather, a winter coat is in order.

Joe is relieved.

Walter takes Beatrices hand, looks into her eyes. Unlike the sharp, lusty look of a pick pocket hed given the waitress, his gaze is deep and full of affection. Joe feels jealous. He chides himself for such foolishness. Because a mans wife kicks you under the table, does not mean she has fallen out of love with her husband.

Nevertheless, he is very, very jealous, and comforts himself with the thought that Walter is at an age likely to be coincident with an enlarged prostrate, so he has good reason to hope for more bathroom breaks.

And hope he does.

19

E V A H D

ATHENS

Athina, city o my woundup unrememberings,the mountains, the forest, blah frackin blah,tits and balls to everything & clocks out the window:oh hello, its you, that thoughtless stream ofcussing slapped back outta the sea.Gone to the devil and the cunty mother of gawd.Id recognize you anywhereI have, you know,banging around like potsnpans and the corrugatedroofs in our shitty old neighbourhood and the yellownblack stripes on our football team.Now you got me stuck here, a child of the port,like some asshole in a song. With your stupid bookstores and your onions and wineand your lying sonofabitch sailors.

I have recognized you up and down,o its you, its you. You broken moth.I could pick you outta the lineup with my eyes slammed shut, basted in yourlilac brandy. Your arms are falling off,not a forearm to spare citywide, yourgalleries, your junk-sung squares, petrifiedrefugees. Beaches rinsed in biowaste andyour hospitals reeking of kelp. You smoulder,

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firing at will like a drunk foreman. Ihave never loved a thing filthier, or more forgotten. You wouldnt recall me if I hungmyself from every gasping pinetree,filtered my remains over your hillslike the polluted fallen dusk. I touchdown in your orchestra of feral cats,disgraced lieutenant of lost days. Ibook your unemployed sopranosin the ghost of the music hall, wraithsof wars rewritten into pseudonymslined up down to the waterline. The tacky stuck swell of nattering saltwater andcombustible headlines drowningout the sound of your namewho?a sirocco in my lungs on the tarmac.O Athina, nothing I could say is sadnor stained enough. Your gypsy trash bazaars, your riotgear, bouzoukistung dactyls of your old, old men. The inconsequential tragedy of your dizzying indifference.

21

C AS S A

B D R A D A L L E T T

YOUR WHOLEENTIRE NAME

The velvet of his lips makes me want to say his entire name no matter how bad my pronunciationevery time he enters makes me forget you how far apart our branches growbut you say we are not so different in the things we want you can only say this because you dont know what I wantand in the darkness of my insomnia I want to feel the wayhe grabs my hips anywhere in the house pulls my panties down before weve left the dinner tableno cautious lighting same old shallow

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1y0tDxJyWaU&t=2m36s

22

in the bed routine lick then stick then lick careful so you can last so you can feel justified in the three stroke combo he can go all night why should I feel bad for wanting thatI didnt make up Viagra stomach rolls or pattern baldness I didnt make up the lies in our heads the not-good-enough stories that hold us back Im just trying to stop sucking in my own gut and keep it real enough to say all of us want to fuck someone beautiful and by beautiful I dont mean model or slim young muscled or pretty I mean someone who looks into our eyes straight down into us

CASSAnDRA DALLeTT 23

penetrating us as we are someone whose touch makes us beautiful in the fullness of it in the lack of fear a fearful kiss is no kiss at all.

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Breast Milkby tupelo hassman

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by zack haber

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