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Catherine's Art Car
spacerby Pam Barton

When I left my ex
--That bumo
he got the good car
And left me that old thing
you see out in the parking lot.
The odometer's gone around twice
And its pretty dented up in front
where he bashed in the windshield
before we split.

That was ten years ago.
My son wants a car to drive to the high school.
I feel so ashamed
that I can't buy him one,
but I don't make that much
on a secretary's salary,
and even with a raise
which is not for a year,
there's a lot of stuff we need
more than a new car.

This car runs most of the time
it just looks its age
--like me, I guesso
Every now and then
a tire goes
or something happens under the hood
and, if my boyfriend is feeling like it,
he takes a look at it.
I'm sort of afraid to drive
on freeways.
Do you think I have a problem?

Nothing that a can of paint or two
some glitter
and a welding torch can't fix.
Hope springs eternal.


Spring Cleaning
spacerby Cynthia Saxon

Every woman you know is a beautiful wife
waiting to be discovered, a double-A pushup wonderbra
lace miracle of disguise and pleasure, a triple-X miniskirt
waiting to be peeled like a ripe banana, a Frederick's
underneath those Laura Ashely's, waiting to burst from the bathroom
in a cloud of perfume smoke and hair gel, a madonna-on-a-bad-day
hangover, waiting for you to sputter and roll over, sluff off blanket
like dead skin, rise with one-eyed welcome. You refuse
the safer moments, kick them into corners like worn old blue-jean
socks and shoes, scrape them off like burn spots
on your daily bread, while they stay to serve you
on a tv tray, sneak into the cellar
where sentiment is stored, coax you into kindness,
urge you on to urgency, lure you into loving. You forget
they leave
when the shelves are emptied, the counters scrubbed clean
of dust and hope, the checkbook blank and gaping
like your face at mid-morning, thirst in the fireplace
quenched and sizzling last regrets. They leave
what's left unfixed, hang what's hopeless
in the closet, wrap their bodies in the sheerfilm whispers
of drapes and soft bedlinens, wisp around you
like a curl of incense smoke
before they disappear,
every stretch and inch
and piece
of wood and skin
and roof
and mouth
and rug
and crotch
and corner
and blessed.


spacerby Cynthia Saxon

From nothing
I can create roses,
meld soft richness
into skin
of flowers
coax the blossom
like waiting lips
that need
no sun
no water
just my fingers,
my hands.


Ode To My Body
spacerby Cynthia Saxon

where fathers and sons
have fought and lost,
foreign country
of hidden wealth,
clay hardened
by sad flame,
for once
you have been discovered.
at last;
strange hungers that live
in your belly.
Sweet voices that sing
in your soul.spacer

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Last update April 1, 2004