Friday, September 14, 2007

The Beginnings Of A Bruise

Happy Friday to all! Here's the poem for the day. I'll be back tomorrow with Saturday pictures and Sunday for writing.

First Date

On long car trips, my sister would suck
her finger and try to touch me with it. Stop it,
I’d say, inching as far as I could toward the opposite
door. She’d quit for a few minutes before brandishing
the finger again, ready for another round. I’d yell, She’s trying
it again
. My mother would turn to the backseat and say, Cut
it out
. My sister would pop her finger back into her mouth, waiting
for another chance. Don’t, I’d say, it’s disgusting.

Stuck in the backseat of my date’s car after he told me
we weren’t going to the movies, I wanted to say
the same thing as he stuck his tongue in my ear and kissed
my neck so hard I found myself struggling to get away, but
there wasn’t anywhere to go so I smiled and counted
the minutes until he promised my parents he’d have me
home. When I got back, my mother asked if I had
a good time. I nodded and made for my room as she
pointed out that I had something on my neck. It looks
like blush, she said. I went to the bathroom and soaped
up my face, removing all traces of make-up, but the spot
remained, the beginnings of a bruise that could not be washed off.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
Isn't life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves? Andy Warhol

Cocktail Hour
Drinking literary journal suggestion:

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Friday!


Charles Gramlich said...

Nice. I like the bruise that could not be washed off. We all end up with many of those.

Dan Sullivan said...

Isn't that rather an elegant outfit for bridge peeping?

paul said...


Ropinator said...

It is strange that Hungarian poems are much more different from English/American ones.

JR's Thumbprints said...

Fits right in with The Big Ugly Review. I knew of BUR, but for some reason, elected not to send them a short story. I guess it just didn't seem like something they would want--kind of like a big ugly hickey on a married man.

Cheri said...

One of the only parts of the movie Running with Scissors that I liked was Annette Benning's character cutting up all her rejection letters with the intention of decopaging them to her kitchen table, a constant reminder to keep her humble for when she became famous.

She never did, except for in the hands of her son, who she told to never compete with her.


Anyways, fucking hickeys!

Dominic Dunne said...

Phil Spector gave Lana Clarkson a hickey, right in the mouth! I'm not talking to Phil anymore. I guess I'm just a victims' rights advocate at heart, although you can never tell how a jury is going to go.

eric1313 said...

I remember this poem well. It creeped me out and fascinated me.

I forget what I wrote on it. Oh yeah, something cliche about how it's a way to brand somebody without actually burning them.

eric1313 said...

I never had a bruis I could wash off...

just an observation.

the walking man said...

Never had a bruise that i can remember i wasn't glad to get, no woman ever gave me one on the neck though and i think for every bruise i ever had i at least gave one in return maybe two. But this emotional bruising just never seems to end and those i just can't seem to ever get rid of either...motherfucking system.