Take Two

March 24, 2009 - One Response

Act 1, Scene 2:

Mid-Afternoon: The kitchen of a small country house. A middle aged woman and her adult daughter are seated at the table, the day after daughter’s 15 yr. high school reunion. Two glasses of iced tea, half filled, are on the table. The two women are  finishing up dessert.

MOM:

So, Lisa, would you say Jenn was your best friend when you were in high school?

DAUGHTER:

No, it was probably Amy. I was always a little jealous of Jenn, so I didn’t really think of her as my best friend.

MOM:

Oh. . . You were?

DAUGHTER:

Yes, she was the one who got all the attention from the boys.

MOM:

She was a flirt. (drags out the the last word, making it nearly 3 syllables instead of 1)

DAUGHTER:

(Opens mouth to speak but stops herself)

MOM:

You were the all-american-girl.

DAUGHTER:

No. I was the preacher’s daughter.

MOM:

(taken aback, but gains resolve) You were an all-a-MER-ican-girl.

DAUGHTER:

(takes a drink of tea, returns her Mother’s gaze) No. I was the PREACH-er’s daughter.

MOM:

(softer, but still clearly spoken, with a bit of a sigh) YOU were the all-american-girl.

DAUGHTER:

(scoots back her chair, stands up) I was the preacher’s daughter, Mom. That made me OFF limits. (walks out of the room)

Butterfly Bandage

February 26, 2009 - 3 Responses

Feeling in the dark,

my fingertips

searching for the ridge

 

four fingertips long

 

This strech of numb knee

and the line that marks it

 

fading

receding

pulling up memory

 

We played all day in the black and orange house

twin beds, metal frames, and pots on the stove

 

Slipping from safety

blankets and socks

spilling blood and oil?

 

two running feet sting

 

That stretch of hot road

and the gravel that filled it

 

boiling

prickling

grease that won’t wipe away

 

We pressed the skin together, pulled tight the

shapely fabric. But what about the scars?

 

the price of sitting

July 1, 2008 - 2 Responses

we, the king’s men,
(all four of us)
are tired

for we can not put Humpty
back together again

we, the king’s men,
(some of us are women)
have had just about enough

and we do not really want
to help him up this time

we, the king’s men,
(no horses here)
know that it’s no use

for old Humpty Dumpty
will just fall down again

Why must he always ascend the wall?
Why does he never learn from the fall?