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Elijah Wolfson
Jessica Richtman Damien Johanson |
View Gallery Spring
2005
but then I lost them last summer. I don't know what he meant, but my father called them "your Gina Lollobrigida sunglasses."
What I don't know is more than I remember.
The only time my grandfather fired a gun in Hitler's army he (son of a Lutheran minister and later Sufi Muslim friend of dervishes climber of Mount Everest) was cleaning it. Loaded.
When she was twelve, my Aunt Meg traveled across the country wearing the sunglasses. My mother had not yet met my father still being called "Nazi" on the playground, and
I was not present in the car. all six kids jammed in the station wagon dustytired cranky eating individual cereals from a large pack.
When I was little this still fascinated me: they could have milk with their Fruit loops (although in a car looking through smudged rose-colored glass); it didn't spill out of the wax bags inside their boxes.
After he fired the gun and the commander thought they were ambushed. Grosspapa was sent to Pennemunde. Rockets. Wernher Von Braun. This memory is mine: the rockets were built to bomb London.
It's like a scene from a movie playing in my head (maybe Houseboat): all of them and the black poodle Nasca being cuddled (her name means "our girl" in Slovak) filmy headscarves and they all smelled like Coppertone. My mother loves that smell - she could pick it out of a lineup of other sunblocks, if I tested her.
A Passing Encounter Kyle Chatman
"Hey!" he's looking glum "How are you?" probably "That's good." pretty bad "Where are you living?" so hollow "Same roommate?" life in science "Well I'll see you." I pity "Take care." his emptiness.
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Its the only kind, she says, that they used. My Aunt doesn't remember her sunglasses; I showed them to her, but she still does not know them The beautiful Italian acress has no place in our family history of potato farmers, theologians, grandfathers on both sides of the war.
Sometimes I wonder: if I look hard enough in the scratched glass, will I see them all reflected? For sure they would be rose-colored. The trip is in their memory, not mine. I
am the negative map Dull, glossy Eyes, the frame Of the black and the white days The lackluster, in flashes. Recording Passed up dreams Mediocrity, defined As film, damaged, Matted, under Quality kin of queens and kings In a box, a book, the bottom shelf A snapshot, in a room, Hiding in an envelope, Beneath Portraits, on a wall.
Tiffany Christy Ball
It's Good News Alas! Dear fellow My lovely cousin Goldie Locks, sunny yellow Her Life is a buzzin' with Change, of the better kind As her fears and malignancies are released From her seared felicities And lack of dignities To the dusty desert-dried cactus Splintering mellows along the inside Of a brain in a procedure Only be warned: her smile is sincere and her soul is wholesome and free A Jekyl and Hyde, a special mix
of onyx and meat.
"Oh, hi" here comes the "Fine." 'I'm so sensitive' show acting like she cares "Up North." counterfeit confidence "Yeah" poor girl has no future "Sure" she's majoring in dance "Bye" she's fooling herself.
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