The Shakespearean chorus-actor wields a sharp spear. The Princess/Pauper doll can be flipped either way. On the brown, butcher-papered walls, the woman has drawn pictures of herself crying. The thin book of Naomi Campbell's poetry drops four stories down through silver and into the water below. I run back for the eight-cent penny. At the garage sale, a woman takes my pile of nickels and dimes without paying, while rain falls into the living room drenching the piano and television screen. A man at the door who I know to be evil. This gun is so difficult to operate. On the scenic ice floe, some white bears eating red velvet ice lettuce. The girl reading essays for this contest circles my typos and explains that I have misread the directions: right here, she points out, you have the main character laughing.Each of the table's place settings has four knives. I gut a lamp and add dirt and seeds. His dog gets its leg bit off by a large gorilla racing through the house. At this recital, a partner and I play one violin together while an audience member plays a piano tune; angry, I shout, you're composing lyrics while we play! This is a recital, and you're composing lyrics while we play! The displays boast black velvet and diamonds; push your supermarket cart through gingerly. This state of the art restroom utilizes old exposed pipes and broken yellow flickering lights. An explosion at the back of the theater; the director emerges from smoke to ask how we liked it.
I get impatient waiting for him with the reindeer beanbag gift. The trophy sits in the bathroom sink: Barbie holding a gold cup. Around his neck, a black noose mark. He berates them for throwing the less ripe cherries into the yard. The men in white jumpers try to tag me before I reach the sum-total square; for protection, the small person in a wolf suit. Because he uses a cactus to lift himself up, he cries. She plays the videotape of car crashes loudly on the tv. Lying in bed, a woman keeps assigning him music: write songs. The oozie, as large as her body, allows her to wire explosives to each person in this lobby. I place one egg in each of the 16 wooden compartments, then spray them down with a watery substance and put them in blankets to protect them from birds; indoors, dishes around the house fill with jewelry instead of bird or cat food; one leaf-shaped dish holds a fan made of straw, and a rhinestone necklace.
The Writer: With undergraduate and graduate degrees in English literature and creative writing, poetry, from UCLA and UF, Gainesville, Michele Pizarro Harman has published poems in such literary journals and online venues as Quarterly West, The Antioch Review, Mississippi Mud, Midwest Quarterly, Puerto del Sol, Sycamore Review, Berry Blue Haiku, Shepherd’s Check, a handful of stones, The Commonline Journal, and Miriam’s Well. She currently lives with her husband and two of their four children in the small town in Central California where she and her husband grew up; beyond the cows, crows and cranes, she teaches reading, writing, and math to K-6 special-needs students in a public elementary school. She also may be found at: www.michelepizarroharman.com.
The Artist: Faun Scurlock is a digital artist/photographer born and raised in Vancouver, WA. The constant weather changes of the Pacific Northwest bring her plenty of opportunity to capture landscapes, action shots, and abstract photographs. Faun's been published in multiple journals - The Phoenix and Salmon Creek Journal - and included in a student art show at Clark College.