Cami Park

Archive for the ‘Household’ Category

Always an orphanage

In Celebrity, Household, Poetry on September 8, 2010 at 6:46 pm

[Acknowledging Death Was in the Room…]
John Pursley III

Acknowledging death was in the room, she unwound the clocks & removed the jewelry from the nightstand– the small stack of coins & the blue plastic pillbox that never stayed closed. She ran water in the bathroom, working her hands along the porcelain basin of the sink, refolded the towels and plucked, from the carpet, the small bits of leaves they’d ushered in on their shoes. Outside, a train knocked against the trestles towards Chicago, or Detroit, some city she couldn’t quite conceive of– all those buildings butting up against one another, & to what end? Here is a circle. And here, a square. Here is the rectangle where [insert famous name] saved an orphanage from destruction by fire. Always an orphanage, or runaway bride– a kidney-shaped pool being drained of water. Always the encapsulary fragment that says we are moved…are moving. And what of it? she might have asked, his clothes neatly stacked by the door to their bedroom, what of it?

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My dead smell like lemons

In Fashion, Household, Poetry on September 2, 2010 at 7:55 am

Pinwheel
Rebecca Loudon

I was tending the garden when a bee flew
up my blouse stung my left nipple
I was claimed then
I wanted to be a better woman
reaching back with a corked finger
into fruit
I carry ice
worship fur

My body is split
& wet in spite of alcohol
with the goaty head man
nails curling down
becoming cloven
I’m not alarmed
I like the pillow
slick

I fold the clothes of my dead
into plastic bags dresses shirts
socks slippers the whole shebang
my dead smell like lemons
their teeth are marshmallow white
my sister is perfect
she has a perfect body
her hair is a gold wasp’s nest
I fold her Snow White pajamas
into a square

I see the reptile man on television
& realize it is my husband
holding a two-headed turtle to the camera
all three of them smile

This understated crunch

In Film, Household, Poetry on March 6, 2010 at 9:45 pm

NOÖ Journal: Rad poetry

On fire

In Art, Household, Poetry on February 27, 2010 at 11:57 pm

PEEP/SHOW is a new poetry publication that, according to its Peepifesto, intends to publish innovative poetry every 5 months and unfold “over the course of time, with a large chunk of serially-minded work by a different poet added every few weeks.”  Their debut issue, 10 Women, is impressive, including substantial work by Kate Schapira and Kimberly Lyons.

We would rather set things on fire than carve them in stone. –Lynn Behrendt and Anne Gorrick, Curators

Red excerpt
Kate Schapira

…freshly presented,
newly created …

not disenchanted. If you lay
the red surfaces
together they may regenerate.
They have some give if you
get to them in time,
the siren says. Concern
reddens and tightens
your brow as the siren
passes. What’s going on under
the wrinkles could be any color.

If you lay the surfaces together
you may be startled by pleasure.
May think of frostbite
to calm yourself, your circulation
may return, the siren may …

There are nicks in …

“Any one for shoes”

In Art, Household, Photography on February 19, 2010 at 11:53 pm

Andy Warhol

Spokes

In Art, Household, Photography on January 24, 2010 at 12:02 am

Can one make works that are not of art? — Marcel Duchamp

Mike’s

In Film, Household, Nutrition on January 17, 2010 at 12:42 am

Vodpod videos no longer available.plus bonus cereal flow chart

Somewhere graphite grey

In Art, Household, Poetry on December 28, 2009 at 7:53 am

Angela Simione

Hermitting
Angela Simione

I’ll go through all my papers today
Sort through the poems and paintings and make a home
there: between the ink and the page. Delicate
strange,
a forgiveness I can accept, somewhere graphite grey.

Smelling like melted wax and lit cigarettes,
hair shoved back in barrettes,
avoiding the phone and door knocks, slinking
shyly among strangers, admirers, and mothers.
I have a hope.

mending myself with a crochet hook, tangling
up a garden of black and white flowers,
avoiding chores, pajama noon
I am a kid again.

new white,
burritoed in blankets, eyebrows kissed and
notebook in hand.

Has belly button

In Household, Photography, Poetry on December 7, 2009 at 1:41 am

I can’t put toothbrushes in poems, I really can’t. —Sylvia Plath

Remembered

In Dream, Household, Sex on October 30, 2009 at 6:31 am

The dream was sexual. There was a death. A Nigerian looking man. The last thing before waking, trying to  fold a stained towel.