Laura LeHew
PRELUDE
—Laura LeHew, Eugene, OR
Norm hands Jean a mason jar,
minimal bloody Mary mix, max vodka, and a stalk of celery.
They were good to go.
Jean knocks the sludge off her boots
on the side of her daughter's hand-me-down Chevette.
Cardboard laid over the rusted-out floor.
She doesn't want to get it wet.
Cackling Norm crashes into the passenger door,
trying to crack the ice.
It won't start.
She pops the top.
Peers inside.
Battery's dead.
Bars closed.
Walk or stay or call a cab.
They stand in the sleet and debate.
No hats, no gloves, forgetting to zip their jackets.
Jean's graying curls turn into Popsicles.
Norm rips open a pack of Camels,
his fingers cracked and yellowing.
Lights two, gives her one.
A week later Jean is in the hospital,
and then she is dead.
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Thanks, Laura. Laura LeHew is an award-winning poet whose poems have appeared or are forthcoming in such journals as Alehouse Press, Arabesques Review (Contemporary Women Writers issue), HeartLodge, Her Mark Calendar ‘07/’09, Pank, PMS, Tiger’s Eye and Untamed Ink. Her chapbook, Beauty, is due out in May ’09 from Altered Crow Press. She received her MFA in writing from the California College of The Arts. Laura received a writing residency from Soapstone, interned for CALYX Journal. She is on the Lane Literary Guild’s steering committee, co-coordinates the Oregon State Poetry Association (OSPA) Eugene-Springfield Chapter—Springfield Library Reading Series, and is the OSPA Contest Chair. She is busy spinning up a new press: Uttered Chaos (www.utteredchaos.org).
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WHY DINOSAURS ARE EXTINCT
—Laura LeHew
(after a cartoon by Gary Larsen)
Prologue
In secret. So as not to be caught. Two gargantuans wedge onto a double bed in a non-smoking room at the Kansas City airport Hilton over Memorial Day weekend suckling Cuban cigars—H. Uppmans, Corona No. 5s to be exact.
I.
“The whole damn country's going non-smoking—WELL not us.”
II.
The writing was on the cave wall
everyone they knew
flying pterosaurs, Archaeopteryx,
to the dastardly Tyrannosaurus rex
one-by-one are embedded
their mouths open wide
heads recoil
limbs recede
backs and tails reflex backwards—
towards the inevitable
brain damage
asphyxiation
agonizing death;
organically preserved friends
fossils inside a rock.
III.
“The trouble with America,” the first one says seductively “is California.”
“Damn Socialists.”
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AND ALL HE GOT WAS THIS LOUSY POEM
—Laura LeHew
Three little sisters went to the store
to buy their poor father—whom they abhor—
a gift, thinking to buy him something nevermore.
The first sister bought him a case of beer,
it brought her great cheer
drinking, driving, toasting his birth this year.
And it was tasty. The second sister went to a sale
armed with coupons, she dug and ferreted, to no avail
unable to find anything cheap enough to curtail
her search for a present he deserved. She got her nails done
in lieu. And sent him a card. Not to be outdone,
the third sister, always on the run,
got on-line
to buy him a gift bovine
deciding at length to decline
writing instead of sticks and stones
the breaking of bones
being thrown down stairs in ones
or in pairs. And she phones home. But he is not there;
leaving a mixed message at the monster’s lair
does she really even care?
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Bill Gainer sent me two for Halloween—which were, apparently, eaten by ghosts, so they didn't make it here in time. Actually, the second one is more appropos to the day after Halloween anyway, yes?
And our last poem today is by Joyce Carol Oates to celebrate the First of November. Don't forget to turn your clocks back tonight.
BETTIE
—William S. Gainer, Grass Valley
It was after midnight,
I found her in the bathroom,
in her nightgown,
making faces in the mirror.
using her fingers
to pull her mouth open,
push her nose up,
close one eye at a time,
letting her tongue
hang out.
That place on the floor
groaned like it always does
when stepped on.
Without startle
she asked,
“You still have that paring knife,
the little one, with the serrated edge?
I need it,
I haven’t carved a pumpkin
in a long time.”
I told her it was June—
“We don’t have pumpkins.”
She said, go back to bed—
she’d make do...
I didn’t sleep well,
kept the light on,
my door closed
and hoped the floor
wouldn’t groan for me—
that night.
___________________
THE REVENGE OF THE PUMPKINS
—William S. Gainer
It rolled from the porch
and laid there like a rotting corpse.
Flies and gnats
flew form its mouth,
it turned soft,
took on an odd odor.
The dog rolled in it
and was banished from the house
until after
the first big rain.
The lawn died
where it fell.
Two full seasons later
and still
nothing grows there.
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MUSIC
—Joyce Carol Oates
November: dust is wetted and leaves
safe now from fire. The river's wind is
noisy today. Yesterday someone said to me,
'Part of every cell is immortal—nothing dies.'
Trees are blown apart at their tops
the skeletons emerge frightened
boisterous windy bodies clutch at them
in a wailing that must be music
we cannot understand...
Yet nothing dies.
I think of dinosaurs and 'saber-toothed
tigers' and a shabby unconvincing herd
penned in museums for children
yawning through Saturday afternoons.
I think of the music
I can think of.
This is another music, unlearnable.
Nothing dies but remains in the sleepy eyes
of cats, or in the protoplasm of plants
or shrill with this shouting
of November.
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Today's LittleNip:
The tools I need for my work are paper, tobacco, food, and a little whiskey. —William Faulkner
__________________
—Medusa
SnakeWatch: What's New from Rattlesnake Press:
Next deadline for Rattlesnake Review is November 15! Send 3-5 poems, smallish art pieces and/or photos (no bio, no cover letter, no simultaneous submissions or previously-published poems, please) to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726.
Also coming in November: On November 12, Rattlesnake Press will release a new rattlechap from Red Fox Underground Poet Wendy Patrice Williams (Some New Forgetting); a littlesnake broadside from South Lake Tahoe Poet Ray Hadley (Children's Games); our 2009 calendar from Katy Brown (Beyond the Hill: A Poet’s Calendar) as well as Conversations, Vol. 4 of B.L. Kennedy’s Rattlesnake Interview Series. That’s Weds., November 12, 7:30 PM at The Book Collector.
Medusa's Weekly Menu:
(Contributors are welcome to cook up something for any and all of these!)
Monday: Weekly NorCal poetry calendar
Tuesday: Seed of the Week: Tuesday is Medusa's day to post poetry triggers such as quotes, forms, photos, memories, jokes—whatever might tickle somebody's muse. Pick up the gauntlet and send in your poetic results; and don't be shy about sending in your own triggers, too! All poems will be posted and a few of them will go into Medusa's Corner of each Rattlesnake Review. Send your work to kathykieth@hotmail.com or P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726. No deadline for SOWs; respond today, tomorrow, or whenever the muse arrives. (Print 'em out, maybe, save 'em for a dry spell?) When you send us work, though, just let us know which "seed" it was that inspired you.
Wednesday (sometimes): HandyStuff Quickies: Resources for the poet, including whatever helps ease the pain of writing and/or publishing: favorite journals to read and/or submit to; books, etc., about writing; organizational tools—you know—HandyStuff! Tell us about your favorite tools.
Thursday: B.L.'s Drive-Bys: Micro-reviews by our irreverent Reviewer-in-Residence, B.L. Kennedy. Send books, CDs, DVDs, etc. to him for possible review (either as a Drive-By or in future issues of Rattlesnake Review) at P.O. Box 160664, Sacramento, CA 95816.
Friday: NorCal weekend poetry calendar
Daily (except Sunday): LittleNips: SnakeFood for the Poetic Soul: Daily munchables for poetic thought, including short paragraphs, quotes, wonky words, silliness, little-known poetry/poet facts, and other inspiration—yet another way to feed our ravenous poetic souls.
And poetry! Every day, poetry from writers near and far and in-between! The Snakes of Medusa are always hungry.......!
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Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events, to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.) Medusa cannot vouch for the moral fiber of other publications, contests, etc. that she lists, however, so submit to them at your own risk. For more info about the Snake Empire, including guidelines for submitting to or obtaining our publications, click on the link to the right of this column: Rattlesnake Press (rattlesnakepress.com). And be sure to sign up for Snakebytes, our monthly e-newsletter that will keep you up-to-date on all our ophidian chicanery.
