Cellophane Flowers never happened for me....

Sunday, December 02, 2007

William, thicken your lashes

Your loved ones deserve this William
William We offer big help

Earn your degree on-campus, online or both
William, Get a Rich Beautiful Lawn
Add value to your home with new windows!

William, are you tired of being lonely?
Looking to buy an engagement ring?

William Get connected
Please confirm your identity and claim
Dazzling summer totes for William!

William Are you running on low
Need to borrow $1500 by tomorrow?
William Life sucks without funds:

Learn to crack the code and make 94K.
You could buy land in paradise - cheap!

Go wild William
William watch it grow

William, You're so much more than your sun sign...

Im waiting for you William,
Fantastic, 100% as described.
Sleep good tonight
William Dont worry about the risks.

posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 8:29 PM 0 comments

Paring

A balcony, an awning. I think
the awning was blue and white.
I think the balcony was bars and terracotta.

A tide of shoots and babied
blossoms soaked the grate,
spilled off the brim, and waved.

Where you were born,
the grass and gilded hay are wed,
chicken footprints thread the orchards,

shooting poplars punch the sky,

but this is where you chose to live.

When you left, your children
locked the door; they cut off the electric
like a butchered bud;

They made arrangements.

Where is your linen tablecloth,
your little tins of pins and buttons?
Who waters your houseplants?

I dream a juice box in the fridge,
spared in the tepid dark.

posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 8:28 PM 0 comments

Survival

A cactus is easy. You water it when it occurs
to you. An ashy green akin to jade
means it's OK, forget it for a few more weeks.

It has the distinction
of being the only plant in the house.

All others died quickly or were eaten,
with the exception of a miniature
rosebush which he bought me in the spring.
That struggled hard to live
like a teen caught in a riptide.

Today one of its two big stalks
hangs like a sad phallus.
The skin is soft and patchy, dark spots
like a dead body

I touch my hand to a spine, press,
and my fingers go right through.

Its twin persists, hard and erect,
more than detached,
singular. As though it is,
and always was, the only one.

posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 8:24 PM 0 comments

Charity

First I tried with things that were already
in the cupboard:
dried seeds, particles of grain, a dash
of flat, powdery oats

But whipping his wings and
clutching his kinked foot close
He spilled the water we had put in the lid of a jar,
mixing these into a humid paste.

Next, he plucked through the bin
of blind worms we paid for, ignoring
the thatch of oats these ate and lived in.

Also I bought a carton of berries,
overripe, on my way home from school.
which he ate from our pinched fingers
and henceforth chirped for when he
felt the heavy human presence.
Also, his foot seemed to get better.

Five mornings in, we woke and checked
his cage. He had transformed into
a still, beautiful object, oddly worthless.
I did not know what to do with it.

posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 8:23 PM 0 comments

Outside Marietta

A one armed man gets on
the bus in Charleston
He ushers his daughter down
the dim lit aisle.

She has short pink arms,
napped in flax, though she can't
be no more than six.

I wonder where his other arm is gone,
by now a lonely braid of bones,
a carbon whisper, nothing.

Somewhere outside Marietta (that
could be anywhere, or almost)
the bus sighs into a gaping lot.

The man gets up, puts on his hat
collects his child.
The sun streams wildly.

A wide blonde woman
leans on a red old car.
Her arms are crossed in front of her
the same pale mass

of hair upon her head and on her forearms
and I know before they ever touch
she is her mother

and the line drops off.
You got to make more than one stop
to get where I am going

posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 3:51 PM 0 comments

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Three Day Old Bread

It is not stale. It lacks the
density, the bounden callousness,
of the truly hardened.

Dressed in a coat
of clear and supple plastic
it has not yet been abandoned to
the fury of the air.

But tear off a hunk with your
teeth and you can tell:
The crust, tan and unwrinkled,
yields haltingly,

the soft, white pith, once plush,
has a wavering laxness,
like an aging waistband.

There is something of it
as a whole I do not like,
even as I bite and swallow.

A pact of dust, mulling silent
in the fine dust that preceded.
An adulteration, greenly present
yet invisible, dating back unto
the flower of the flour.

posted by rebeccacalvetti @ 3:09 PM 0 comments

About Me

Name: rebeccacalvetti
Home: Cleveland, Ohio, United States
About Me: I got brunette hair which goes dirty blonde under the sun. I have green eyes and am not particularly short or tall. People who have seen me in a two-piece or less say I have fine decolletage.
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