by Elyce | Feb 13, 2022 | arrival
It’s one of those dark mansions, it’s almost a mansion, with these rustic, reclaimed barnwood slats that have this just-been-rained-on sheen, so they’re kind of a wet color. The windows are all framed in black, the glass overlaid with rows of Georgian ornamental work, symmetrical, stunning, unassuming.
Outlining the barnwood mansion hunches a winding calliope of branches and vines, rocketing in stillness, vying for sky in fluorescent green. The fence is a quiet explosion of life for 150 square feet. It calms me at first, even though its presence is a surprise. Behind it, the mansion is daunting, massive, an accomplishment, a claim on good fortune. By contrast, the fence is imbalanced, held together by mercy, by determination, it’s patternless, directionless, simply living as nature demands.
When I get to the house, it starts to rain.The afternoon has been swept away by an avalanche of storm clouds and wind. By 5:30, the gray clouds are a wash of black. I nudge open the braided gate and crunch over the September leaves to the front steps. All twelve of them. Leading to the door. Where I will knock in moments. Where I will present myself to a yellow living room with gold balloons and explain the events of my life as they are on this particular day, this September evening, after a slap-in-the-face of a Saturday, and leave that particular imprint on the guests. Oh, good to see you!
It’s time to knock. I look back at the beautiful fence. Then my knuckles descend. My arrival is quickly noted and there are eager footsteps coming for me.
by Elyce | Feb 13, 2022 | arrival
Her skirt was ironed, the petal pink done in straight-arrow pleats, the bottom seam flattened squarely. Unbeknownst to Charles Montecito, hysteria seeped from the woman’s pale petticoat and up through her floraled collar. She was, as they say, hysterical. By way of design or experience, or clobbered hash browns of the two, she was flat-out-and-straight-across a hysterical woman.
Hands in her lap, she waited on a sofa while the December issue of Poetry Today waited in a state of discernment across the room. Being Poetry Today, it didn’t have interest enough to whisper disdain in response to her arrival, so it just remained as it was, in its place of belonging.
In spite of the conditions, she recited, “I really appreciate this opportunity, I want to thank you.” This was not audible to anyone in the room, including Poetry Today. “It’s a privilege to even be considered and I recognize the responsibility involved.”
The way she’d practiced, it sailed from her mouth like the whisk of a wand. Gracious, humble, articulate, sharp, without threat. She was the perfect candidate. Sitting in the wide pleated skirt, shoes gleaming, face charming and warm, she was an added decoration to the room. The centerpiece even. Not the least bit hysterical. On the contrary, when the man entered the room, he immediately concluded that she must be some kind of angel.
“Miss Noelle, I presume? I’m Charles from Montecito Magazine.”
“Oh, hello Charles! Thank you for this opportunity. I’m so excited to have this chance to talk to you.”
She’s a fountain. She erupts with lullaby words that put him in a stupor and all he hears is her voice and impeccable articulation. He hears the laugh, the comically exquisite pitch that rings in a circle and he wants more. He will hire her. She knows. She speaks flute. Pied piper as it were. Come for me. I’ll let you.
by Elyce | Feb 11, 2022 | arrival
“Will you be there? It would be so incredible if you could come!” I won’t be there. “I’ve missed seeing you, your smile. This will be so special, I really hope you can make it.” I cannot.
It is a bridal shower for Emily, a poet I know. She’s a better poet than I am and so I dislike her. Her poems have more texture, she talks about tendons and tangible pain and it infuriates me. I buy her a gift. I wrap it myself. And then I put it in my bookcase and stay home and never call. I just never show up for the party of four female poets to celebrate Emily’s engagement.
And then she gets married in Oregon at a farm with ribboned bouquets and she’s exquisite.
And I keep the gift, the book I bought for her.
by Elyce | Jan 21, 2022 | poems
welcome to the highway you walk on
i’m not sure you have the right supplies
i see you packed your book. that’s good
you brought a pen. that’s great
did you bring anything else?
clearly forgot the map
(more…)
by Elyce | Jan 1, 2022 | wild west
I’m here
I said to the ladybug next to my fist
then took my hand from the bar
dropped my hat onto a stool
unfastened my holster
I started to yell that I was a butterfly
The bug fluttered, walked away
I poured a beer anyway
slung off my belt
turned down my brim
(more…)
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