Combing Dead Lice From My Daughter’s Hair
Did I ever think
it would come to this?
A simple battle against insects.
They can’t have her!
It comes to me not all lice
are found in the hair.
Some dress as men.
Disguise their six curled limbs
under plaid flannel.
Beauty
Beauty is the coward's
way out. I want to resist
approval, do it the hard way:
I want people to gasp,
look at me and wonder
what sins I committed
to earn such a wrecked body.
Bring me these four food
groups - fat, sugar, salt,
alcohol. Make me happy.
I will become a remarkable
monument to free radicals
and the sedentary life.
I will spread my bulk out
on my chair, controlling the
personal space for yards
with the merest flick
of a swollen finger.
Passersby will shudder
at my face but secretly
wonder how it feels to be free.
Birth Control in the Ancient World
By the third century, our old favorite,
Silphium, was extinct. Overharvested,
the plant had been worth its weight
in silver for a generation.
Gone forever were the bright yellow
flowers, the glossy, deeply lobed
leaves. We turned next to a close
relative, asafoetida, a pungent spice,
yes, but much less effective.
Besides, our breath smelled
always of fermenting fish;
the men started to complain;
thus the population swelled.
Queen Anne's Lace grew wild
in the countryside; we brewed strong
tea or simply chewed the hard little
grains dry after the act.... If that
didn't work, we tried artemesia,
abortifacient, only toxic in excess -
Artemis, goddess of women, protector
of childbirth, let us down rather more
frequently than we deserved.
The truly desperate ones might
gorge themselves on pomegranates;
the red juice stained their lips,
made them look fevered; sometimes
that did the trick. By the twelfth
century, only a few midwives knew
which herbs prevented the seed from
planting itself; they were banished
as witches and we lost that knowledge
for five hundred years - not so long
a time that we didn't remember what it
had felt like, to love as often
as we liked without consequences.
AGirl
The tow truck is ancient - dents,
fat rounded fenders, scattered
freckles of rust - but it's painted
a shocking bubblegum pink,
and across the door in a lavish
curly script is written, "AGirl
Towing Service." The appropriately
girlish driver is ebonyskinned, young,
possessing fine strong bones.
On her closelyshorn head
sits a circular, flattopped cap,
embroidered in bright flowers.
The cap's tassel flips saucily
in the breeze; our eyes meet
for a moment as she passes.
Her gaze seems calm, direct, filled
with the grace of one who understands
she owes absolutely nothing to the world.
When tow trucks are pink, is the world
necessarily a better place? Yes.
And suddenly I wish I could see:
who is this woman when surrounded
by her family, her dearest friends, her lovers?
Is she easy to laugh, does she enjoy
the scent of gardenias, can she whistle
with her fingers in her mouth
like I always wanted to but never could?
Joe, Changing His Sex
I imagine your anger, how angry you must have been
to mutilate yourself, cut the body you were born with,
turn it inside out, and try to pass into another world,
one you were not meant to inhabit. I would never
do such a thing, no matter how much I hated my body.
I would starve my body, beat it, burn it with cigarettes,
addict it to heroin, I would smoke crack, have sex
with diseased strangers, but I would never, ever
check into a hospital and allow knives to cut off parts
of my body, the body I floated in the dark salt holding
forever part of the past, the desires of my parents,
the legacy of a thousand ancestors, all bound up
in my particular blood type, eye color, gender - mine,
mine, and no one else's. How would your lover feel,
if she knew? You have concealed everything, your big
secret I would love to explode with the same
viciousness as when you cut my heart out
for daring to love you - lies, bruises and all.
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Kimberly Townsend Palmer:
One Important Kudo, Though Certainly (is that an adverb) Not the Only: a big kiss & hug to the Gainesville Poets & Writers Workshop & all its marvelous past, present & future members. A caveat: the punctuation & parentheses marks hereinbelow are going to drive you all bonkers. So sue me!
Condensed Personal History of the Author: I was born in Beverly Hills Doctor's Hospital in 1960, during the Year of the Rat & the month of Scorpio -- of Bohemian, English, French, German & Italian ancestry -- & grew up in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. [At the time of my birth, my parents -- who had exchanged hasty & not altogether voluntary marriage vows in a discreet chapel over in Las Vegas -- were living in a rather skanky fourth-floor walkup over on Venice Beach, & Bev. Hills Hosp. was the closest birthing facility. My father -- then a Beatnik & lapsed Catholic, later a Communist & lapsed Rajneeshee -- was trying his darnedest to support the three of us as an artist & was also moonlighting as a Chicken Delight bicycle-delivery-boy.] I weighed, on day one, 5 lbs., 10 oz, & was born with & still possess red hair & brown eyes. I walked suddenly (well, actually ran) at ten months when my mother called me for dinner. I have felt the same way about food ever since. My first & greatest ambition was to be a professional ballerina... however, I thoughtfully (now I know that's an adverb) reevaluated that goal when my doting grandfather told me I was graceful as the bird they call the elephant. I hung up my Pointe shoes & tutu (though I still have them sugared & preserved) & instead received a BS in Psychology in 1982 & a JD in 1985 from the University of Florida. I am a fourth-generation lawyer: how's that for creepy? To my lawyer friends, I am known as "The Queen of Civil Procedure." I live in Gainesville, Florida, with my husband and two daughters: one a teenager, one a toddler. My theme song for the week: "Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be lawyers." I dearly love horses & riding & owe my current mental health to my very-recently-deceased riding teacher, James Glidewell (Ride well with Glidewell.). I am, Grandpa (may you R.I.P.), very graceful on horseback. My favorite horse is named "Supreme's Black Cadillac." Can you guess why?
Living in the Best of All Possible Worlds: this year, 2002, I am starting a magazine called TRUTH, which will consist of 4 quarterly issues (online) and an annual "best-of" (print) edition accompanied by a full annual contents CD-ROM. I am actively seeking submissions & have begun issuing acceptances. TRUTH permits no limits on form, no limits on content -- no limits, period. TRUTH the magazine is (to quote the great spiritual thinker & writer Anne Baring) "not a system of belief but the revelation of what we are." TRUTH also owes a cosmic debt to Mallarme, who so aptly proclaimed, "Not beauty, not usefulness, but truth." Contributors will be paid upon publication on a sliding scale from "enough for a case of decent beer" to "enough for MANY cases of decent beer." I will owe any & all success with this venture to my most excellent managing editor, Rick Sapp, of Sapp & Associates in Gainesville.
Other Publications & Whatnot: my poetry & short fiction has appeared or will soon appear in The Adirondack Review, The Blue Fifth Review, Cenotaph, The Charlotte Poetry Review, CrossConnect, Earth's Daughters, Eclectica, Exquisite Corpse, Images InScript, New Laurel Review, The Panhandler, The Paumanok Review, Poetry.St Corner, Poetry Super Highway, Red River Review, Snake Nation Review, Snakeskin, Stark Raving Sanity, Stirring: A Literary Collection & Xavier Review. I received an honorable mention in the North Carolina Writers Network Thomas Wolfe Fiction Contest, judged by Barbara Kingsolver, & most recently an honorable mention in the 2001 Poetry Super Highway Awards for the category of "Favorite Featured Poet." Thanks, Rick Lupert!
Quote of the Day:
my favorite quote for today, courtesy of the best-selling
poet in America (or is that the world, Christy Sheffield Sanford? (my
literary mentor & inspiration)):
When the ocean of Mercy begins to foam,
even stones drink the water of life.
The face of earth becomes lush green,
the dead wood springs to life,
the lamb and the wolf together play,
the despairing becomes valiant and strong.
-- Rumi, "Mathnawi"
Kimberly Townsend Palmer
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