________________________________________________________________________
by Maureen Owen
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
sexuality because of sexisim is a problem for most women
________________________________________________________________________
if there could be a dinner
perched on a hilltop in golden ash
sullen harmless & forever uneaten
the one who has gone ahead
could be a scene behind glass
in the museum of the future
Otherwise
a group of men paint themselves
wild purslane
yellow flower
with succulent leaves
& the woman in the green & white checkered
housedress stands in the doorway of the cottage
on the island in the metallic gun-powdered
salt of the sea & hollers "Honey .......
________________________________________________________________________
Soffits & Fascias
________________________________________________________________________
wild & keen over our cold gossip
why do only the saddest people want to write
O Rilke log of my heart!
bushy aster crooked-stem aster daisy fleabane
wind knocked the locust tree over panes rushed out
of the window the brakes went out on the car
the dryer broke the electricity swooned into my
arms "I got up & got kids to school all my life"
said Alice Schroeder mother of murderer
Blond Cole Hunter who shot Jane Campbell
a woman on the edge of her seat woman on the tip
of the iceberg woman through the eye of a needle Women
were painting waves on the floor of the basketball
court they
dealt not with domesticity but
with war, politics, coffeehouse
intrigues, exploration, & murder Consider
the margin the lake before the storm
grand recipient of the shakes I
the quaking one going from door to door
in the halls of my own house
________________________________________________________________________
Blue Nile
________________________________________________________________________
Her excessive urge to plan every second of the
other person's day.
I guess he was inspired by her to do it.
She arrived at the hotel room finding him in a white towel &
dripping water -- as they talked he returned to the bathroom &
proceeded to finish drying & begin dressing. As they chatted he
pulled on clothes until he'd completed his attire & promptly
swung open the door to the hall Downstairs they chatted even
faster as he strode briskly through the lobby & once outside
he told her he was glad she'd come by then he turned & bounded
off in another direction.
Freud told her her dreams were what he would
expect of a woman poet.
Becoming Famous & Powerful
Careless of all advice, flowers
she remodeled her basement & did tricks she'd learned in
the circus referring to her life as the "Big Top"
In the tablets we turn to
"In white she was bathed"
Betrayed by the hand that held the mirror
Medusa's hair was snakes. Was thought
split inward.
________________________________________________________________________
No one ever eats the last of the grapes
________________________________________________________________________
the Way the egret & the fish meet in
the sky tide & rocks hold conversation
wet greens from wetter blues
I am not the spellbound waterskier
being lunged at random!
tho I notice I've written my list of ways
to get through the day on
the vocabulary card called "dregs"
________________________________________________________________________
tall white & densely fluid
________________________________________________________________________
one night. Starry. a young woman trampled
clothes in a stream no ordinary laundress
she or I to be bending
at the waist as night is elegantly bent.
the night as night elegant & starry
slightly bent at the waist referential
several churches surround the green tall white
boxes sharp & quivering
Several churches surround the green. Beside
the mailbox a miniature angel addressed my thumb.
trees jerked from the mist hunks of dark smoke
Is it possible to build a house without a door?
tall white boxes w/deep oblongs at center face's
center trace of infinity
of stars scraped the paint off the night as
night a young woman trampling clothes in
a stream
tall white and densely fluid deep at their
center center of face face's center rasp
in the navied air trace
of infinity of stars scraped the paint off
glued the doors shut the box closed the night as
night a young woman trampling clothes in a stream.
________________________________________________________________________
the lover who cannot forget who perishes of excess
________________________________________________________________________
today wasn't so bad nothing horrible arrived in
the mail
here in the park-like hours of wherein the leaves
call all our attention & demand our constant
concentration for a tree crackling pink and Paling
orange gathering browns rustle underfoot and
to the sail we sweep as though the sea came in
and took us out
No brave skiff no dangerous float no swimming lessons
american crawl just the water's edge a need to be
at sea awash as in the same life
we know others swim ok and steady
trembling and large pink trees
palest orange a depraved motorist takes
off down the road full of pepper and juice and
trunks of undispersed paraphernalia she
needs help but none of the lovers can help
none of the flaring relatives
too tired to skim under faultless skies
under dampened hours the bottom of the plane
was mirror mirror to the sea or grey of sea
________________________________________________________________________
Martha
________________________________________________________________________
She threw her entire arm over her hat while
the butterflies were flung past her
eyes closed lips pulled in. She caught herself
against the gust swallows flipped every which way
white suddenly as her dress and hat
and the arm she locked straight out she was
holding on to some idea
________________________________________________________________________
how I feel is cool very cool
________________________________________________________________________
cold fills the south window
ice wells in the south window
snow drifts in the south window
icicles drape in the south window
a bitter wind
a frozen surge at the south window
the bitter neck of winter is in the south window
the bitter neck of winter is in the south window
You hear the train go West in the south window
& then retire to bedlam a wind would
come up a wind stone of heart
would flower in icy petals over the window
in the south over the south window
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
So muchos the story & tale it goes into oblivion
like raccoons in the arms of children bandit faces
& that little nose always looking for its share
so unpredictable one day he'd be so friendly you'd
think for sure he had something in mind then the
next time it would be all off whatever it was.....
as though he'd almost.. & then decided against it
So he controlled all your responses by throwing his
voice in these manners calling you here then sending
you there all the while setting you up to invent his
emotions for him to construct a route of passion he
could claim as you like a crazy person darted back &
forth in the role of: both actors, the set & scenery,
the wind machine, an occasional song routine, & a
personal narrator who explained the feelings of both
characters being portrayed as well as their dogs!
________________________________________________________________________
Always the word "love" written in vanishing ink....vanishing
or
Edith wharton is missing
for E.B.
________________________________________________________________________
Turning the page we witness how another survives.
She takes the circular staircase to the weathervane
& that puts her right on top of the view
the nightly ritual of standing in the front doorway
breath pumping into the flat dark We are staring
at a sky the color of a Parrot tulip staring back
eyeball to eyeball jagged star to jagged star perfect
bead to perfect bead maybe low clean fog or
wet-washed air Orion Big Dipper venus mars?
The door a thick slab of hard wood chipped painted &
repainted strata of each layer marking an idea in
progress.
"I really am fine" she wrote "I went to Africa last
June to see the Mountain Gorilla of Dwonda I am very
happy" it's love at the base of it all love stops
the heart goes on but love stops Stops Stop
it! love! Stop it!
________________________________________________________________________
We
watch the swimmers intermittently decapitated &
reinstated decapitated & reinstated whole
headless whole headless
________________________________________________________________________
love is not one kind or another
is fashioned of stumps one so fleet of
soup one fictive as
a cushion in a foolish melodrama
one gaunt garish garrulous gander
another seeks potato plots &
several dig famously where the map
has indicated fortune one is a giraffe
space bursts open in a wound
air cracks a corner hissing
night reclines at the circus
milk takes on the color of everyday
stone rebukes the finder & shrivels up
toast is like a taco for the rich
beer makes you stupid
beer makes us stupid wine too
see me about this later Stupid
water has a point
water deserves better
water is not burnt sienna or plain sienna or blue
my cup my shoes
I fill my cup I fill my shoes
sand is not yellow or brown or creme or white or
black really
sand is permanent we sit on it
from here we see
the bathers
leave their feet at the edge of the lake
________________________________________________________________________
Copyright © 1992 by Maureen Owen.
Imaginary Income was published by Hanging Loose Press.
Light and Dust @ Grist Mobile Anthology of Poetry.