June 14th, 2011

Part of me longs to believe the media myth that we are all nice, middle class, happy.  And I’d like to believe this myth’s corollary that, if we’re not all of the above, buying the right products will magically make us so.    

When I soak myself in a numbing bath of tv viewing, I can relax into the myth letting go of anxious memory and moral responsibility.  As I sink into TVs’ warm bubble, reality becomes as flat as the screen I watch it on.  Pain, suffering, even the death of real people is as vicariously entertaining as that of fictional TV characters.

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Posted in Essay |
June 8th, 2011

Aware that at dawn others’ needs will yap and nip
Until fed from the marrow of her bones,
The good woman clutches sleep’s stark comfort
And sets watch against insistent inspiration.
By day perhaps she’ll piece midnight remnants
To patch the hollow space beneath her ribs.

Tonight I smother such virtues shrill beneath my pillow
And strain for wicked whispers of my forsaken power. 


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Posted in Poetry |
June 1st, 2011

In 1921, when my mother was ready to graduate from Sacred Heart Elementary School, her grades tied for first place with another girl in her class.  My mother was proud when she, not the teacher, figured out how to break the tie by using decimals.  She was even prouder when the decimals revealed that she, and she alone, had won the coveted honor reserved for the girl graduating with the highest marks—the honor of crowning the Blessed Virgin Mary during the school’s annual May procession.

If as a child I had any pride in my mother’s accomplishment, it was lost in my efforts to wrest the story back from her and change what happened next.  

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Posted in Memoir |