Children thought the birds were falling off the buildings, and they thought the birds were on fire. ―from an article in the Washington Post, September 12, 2001
The first few leaves are falling now, our smiles and laughter echoing in memories, or how we were caught on disc or in a photo.
The unanswerable never stops— there, at the edge of the idlest thought: to jump from molten towers before both dropped as though just sprung from dust. While
looking up, children had begun to weep, thinking we were birds on fire miles above. Now grown, some bolt from one sleep: upon a ledge, narrow as a tightrope,
I sit on a pink lace sofa underneath the glint & hum of poorly lit chandeliers. Tucked away in the curve of a cellar cocktail bar, hidden in a one cathedral town, far from Manhattan. Sipping gin with lemon, pretending the tonic is turpentine or cyanide.
I watch a white wild haired man engage in conversation at a table for one— thumbs up, eyebrows raised, chuckles, & tears. No reciprocating smiles. He. Is. Glorious— in his storytelling to the vase of white oleanders; much more content than the couple setting two tables left, trying to find their reflections in martinis.
Billie Holiday’s “Take all of Me” is being sung out of tune by a faded blonde-haired, blue-eyed fool— you took a part that once was my heart… but it soothes me.…
Immediately subsequent to
my 31st birthday, everything went to shit. I remember the exact sensation of
the shrimp choking the life out of me; the almost tender way my throat began to
massage itself closed, little wiry threads of pain radiating out like a sun
coronet.
Just a few hours before,
I’d been in Versailles, in a pannier and a corset that gave me unimpeachable
posture for the first time in my life. I’d shook the confetti of a night
well-spent out of my big hair, piled high with costume pearls and real, cut
roses. I smelled like sweat, and the kind of sweet drunkenness that comes from filling
up on champagne. Kristine was asleep when I got out of the shower, collapsed
onto the bed in the next room, face down.…
Like a balloon with a loose knot, the air has been seeping out, and I’ve been sputtering around the room, dusting under old photographs, checking expiration dates, emptying boxes, and rinsing near empty jars.
They asked for recent baby photos or even a picture of a nephew or a niece. “How about a picture of a favorite student?” they wonder, with the keening voice of their good nature. “Something unique to share with staff.” And I wonder what to do.
I remember when we clacked shut the shutters of the boy’s cabin all at once in the middle of the night. Later, we shared a box of lemon cookies on the rippling lake, fingers white with powdered sugar. I floated on a kayak all to myself for the first time on the hush and pull of water, and we decorated with red hearts the pictures of the camp counselors who all looked exactly alike. …
Carolyn Howard-Johnson is the author of the multi award-winning series of HowToDoItFrugally books for writers, including USA Book News’ winner for The Frugal Book Promoter (now in its third edition). An instructor for UCLA Extension’s renowned Writers Program for nearly a decade, she believes in entering (and winning!) contests and anthologies as an excellent way to separate our writing from the hundreds of thousands of books that get published each year. Two of her awards are “Woman of the Year in Arts and Entertainment” (given by members of the California Legislature) and “Women Who Make Life Happen” (given by the Pasadena Weekly newspaper). She is also an award-winning poet and novelist who shared what she’s learned.
I can see how you might be exhausted with two books released in a month, but I am hoping you’ll share a little about the second one because it’s brand new to me. …
because there are less universes than clouds less states to inhabit than to be dissipated you have never been in love with first encounters mainly that they did only mean first encounters the thrill of that somehow swirling what had become of your heart before you realize are you willing to descend in the evening I will make you special
