Up until a year ago, Charish Halliburton was working on a commercial fishing boat off the coast of Alaska. In between tying knots, she wrote poetry. Below deck she read Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and underlined passages that reminded her of lyrical dichotomies and increased dementia. Ahhh. The sea made her melancholic, the waves made her nauseous, and the fish made her miss her lover back in the continental U.S. It was time to return. So she gathered her things; one sack, one hook, one coil of rope and flew back to Normal Illinois. It was there; she reunited with her loved ones and told tales of her seaside exploits. But it won’t be long before Charish gets restless and returns to the tumultuous waves of Poseidon. . .
I had a dream that I was a pre-pubescent girl playing kick-ball. I was so flat-chested, I didn’t have to worry about slipping bra-straps. When I ran to home plate, I kissed a boy and won the game.
I think I finally got my period
What makes you say that?
Because the masses are quieted
and my underwear is bloodied.
You are mistaken. In these times
of love and war, it’s easy to get
hit by flying shrapnel and call it
destiny, desire, or menstruation
Can we hold hands in the hallways and pass notes until we get into trouble? I kiss like they do in the movies. My cinematography is brilliant and the lighting flatters us very well. I’m certain I am a woman now.
I rounded second base all by myself, sure I was going to get pinned by a rubber red ball. Right in the traitorous back, you could say. The crowd roared when I met third and then hushed when I found home. I was met with glory. The boy was no one, but his lips were Everyman.
I am bleeding all over the place,
isn’t there something minor to be
Tampax is not suitable for this
situation! We need gauze and a
priest, preferably a young one who
speaks mother’s tongue.
I remember feeling distinct doom,
but I wasn’t being literal. Please!
Please just find me a sponge!
“Our father who are in heaven”
Pater noster qui es in caelis
“Hollowed by thy name”
Santificetur nomen tuum
“Thy kingdom come”
Adveniant regnum tuum
This isn’t even the right sacrament!
We hardly have the time for this, just
skip to the end.
If I don’t wash the blood out
with cold water, the stain will set.
I hit third base and the crowd roared. I hit home and they were hushed. I kissed the boy’s lips and the dam broke. I felt his tongue and the world fell away.
Skip to the good part, Father.
Et nos de inducas in tentationem
sed libera nos a melo
Can we hold hands like the movies and kiss like the children? Can I call you and then cry when I hang up? Can we take it from the top again, starting with my line: “But deliver us from evil.”
Sed libera nos a melo.