Pamela,Attached is the graded version of your writing assignment. Please let me know if you have any questions.Best,Charles
To what purpose, April, do you return again?Beauty is not enough.You can no longer quiet me with the rednessOf little leaves opening stickily.I know what I know.The sun is hot on my neck as I observeThe spikes of the crocus.The smell of the earth is good.It is apparent that there is no death.But what does that signify?Not only under ground are the brains of menEaten by maggots.Life in itselfIs nothing,An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,AprilComes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
P.S. Have you seen the new(ish) "Marie Antoinette," the one directed by Sofia Coppola? Is it any good? I was in the mood for some flashy anachronism tonight & briefly flirted with the idea of renting it. When I saw that it was rated PG-13, however, I wondered if it might not be an over-hyped bore. Your thoughts?
clean kitchenclean bathroommore laundry??write & print cat sitter noteprint out poems to revise in South Bend (ha!)clean up study a bit, and dining roomclean living roomDo paper bills (mortgage, water)email IAC about getting preliminary scores and feedback summary
PinwheelI was tending the garden when a bee flewup my blouse & stung my left nippleI was claimed then I wanted to be a better girlI am not a girl reaching back with a corked finger into a fruit drinkI carry ice & worship furMy body is split down the centerfur & wet in spite of alcoholcrème brulée nights with the goaty headed manlong nails curling downbecoming clovenI'm not alarmedI like the smooth pillowed slickI smell like lemonsfloating the pool in my red swimsuitHey Mary Mary count your fingersyou might be Harold Lloyd you mighthave exploded accidentallya brother & sisterbang the crap out of the pedestrianpushbutton on Meridian & 15ththey really slam that thingI am jealous of the knob'ssilvery skinDuring the vivisectiona perky girl appears onstageto reapply my lipstick I shiverput my hands in my pantsa crime scenea transparent zebra marblespins & cracks the base of my neckat night it sings Zip-a-dee-doo-dahI am a deer upside down black tonguepoking outnaaa naaa naaaI fold the clothes of my deadinto giant plastic bags dresses shirtssocks slippers the whole shebangmy dead smell like lemonstheir teeth are extremely whitemarshmallow whitemy sister is perfectshe has a perfect bodyher hair is a gold wasp's nestI fold her Snow White pajamasinto a squareI see the reptile man on television& realize it is my husbandholding a two headed turtle to the cameraall three of them smile
Camels are brown and have 1 or 2 humps on their backs. In Muslim countries camels may be used to buy wives.
First Poem for YouBy Kim AddonizioI like to touch your tattoos in completedarkness, when I can’t see them. I’m sure ofwhere they are, know by heart the neatlines of lightning pulsing just aboveyour nipple, can find, as if by instinct, the blueswirls of water on your shoulder where a serpenttwists, facing a dragon. When I pull youto me, taking you until we’re spentand quiet on the sheets, I love to kissthe pictures in your skin. They’ll last untilyou’re seared to ashes; whatever persistsor turns to pain between us, they will stillbe there. Such permanence is terrifying.So I touch them in the dark; but touch them, trying.
Palace of DesireIn the midday sun the dust rosebetween intakes of breath. It was that sudden.The woman’s body gave a single, short spasmat its coming. The boat she lay on idly circledthe palace pond. While her servants softly rowedaway from the dust she dreamedof ways to kill her husband.She could slip her curved daggerbehind his esophagus and pullfrom ear to ear: it was sharp enough,and she wanted to watch him expire.Or she could capture a crocodile and starve itbefore bringing her brother near: butshe couldn’t think of captured and him.She could poison the tip of a needleand prick his forearm in his sleep: he already has one scar there from her.Or a bit of poison in his wine could do it:the slow acting kind so he goes to sleepwith an upset stomach and neverarises from his bed of state.But who would replace him? He I understand.He I can somewhat temper. I fear the unknown.Her silk cloak rubbed across scars on her shouldersand back. She dreamed also of being with her daughter.
If history shows that we've moved from a mythological to a philosophical viewpoint, where are we now? Is it an hysterical point of view (based on a Republican/religious/extremist advocacy of how to view the world)? Please confine your response to less than 100 words.
Special thanks go to LC for getting to me all of these wonderful photographs taken during my 40th birthday celebration a couple weeks ago! To view the photos, click HERE.(I know other people have taken pictures and if you are reading this and have pictures to share with me, I'd love to see them! Thanks!)