Thora Zeen

black-eyed susans in the fall
shed their suns, become bald black-leaved widows.

they embraced, sighing in the wind,
nodding to me. soon you'll know. soon, you'll know.

an encounter with birds

 

     stepping out of the gas station and trying to open the bottle of     mexican coca-cola

with my shirt         no rustling or soft flapping of wings        no cheeping or squeaking

           i never would have noticed them       if i hadn't spilled the goddamn thing            on the ground          and seen their shadows       sweeping over the brown puddle     soaking into the concrete             at first i thought it was an airplane-towed banner

          that had gotten loose         draped itself over the power lines             they formed a noose around the telephone pole      before melting back into a mass        speckled wings    

      bright yellow beaks        for a second i couldn't see the sun        the flock reached out to the green valero sign           grazing it like you touch            a sleeping lover's cheek            

         just when i thought it would scatter    and speckle the sky       with brown feathers  

    and bird-shaped ash        it retracted and embraced itself        and formed a mobius strip around a nearby cloud    before the impossible hole in the center           stretched

      into a slow mitosis             even birds know their own geometry     and that all cells must split

“punk or punk off.”


we strung up our flag
and took the basement like a war.
we picked our words like apples and hoped
they would make you spit, or sing.

we would have shared our bags,
our spaces on the beer-soaked floor.
we never cared enough to kick;
we barely cared to contravene.

I dreamed the corn grew too fast
and we were lost in it. I felt a crow
brush her wings against my back,
promising wisdom if I’d just feed her
and her babies. One eye could sate
their hunger all winter. The other
could see the way the crops grew.

I dreamed the clouds were hurting
the sky. The rain was slick and warm
against my skin, and then needle-cold.
I asked a tree to protect me; she gave
me fire, a blanket of leaves, and the
storm tore it to shreds. That night
I woke up and smelled smoke.

Clones, Dream Machines, and Butterflies: An Examination of Simulacra and Simulation in the Venture Brothers

( Use your fake impossible magic to get us out of here )

Explanation: This was an assignment for my ENG 349 class--the assignment was to write a short play in which we invited five Shakespearean characters to a dinner party and had a conversation about the role of women. Since I hate writing myself into things, I substituted Doctor Who and Martha for me--anyway, they have a TARDIS and would be more likely to be able to run around time picking up characters.

PIECE OF WORK
A Shakespearean Pastiche

Dramatis Personae:
The Doctor: A Physician of Everything (portrayed by David Tennant)
Martha Jones: A Physician in Training (portrayed by Freema Agyeman)

Rosalind: A Woman of Indeterminate Gender
( portrayed by Bryce Dallas Howard )

Katherine: A Shrew Reformed
( portrayed by Adam Long )

Prince Hamlet: A Whiny Emo Git
( portrayed by John Barrymore )

Lady Macbeth: An Upwardly Mobile Lady
( portrayed by Mary Tamm )

Richard of Gloucester: An Upwardly Mobile Hunchback
( portrayed by Roger Delgado )

Setting: A Chinese Restaurant at the End of the Universe

( What a piece of work is man...and woman )

Mommy, Can I Go Out And Kill Tonight?:
Beowulf, Grendel, and the Dissolution of the Oedipus Complex

( A Grendel says rawr )

Eyesight to the Blind: Conversion Disorder and the Pinball Wizard

( Every time she starts a shakin', she brings eyesight to the blind )

discovering you have ghosts for roommates


the cigarettes missing from your pack lie crumpled and smoldering in your cereal bowl

we kept the ashtray on the table, like salt or napkins, in easy reach
of a lazy cigar or a midnight hand shaking with worry or nicotine

the full jug of milk gone sour, the apples bitten, the new loaf of bread furred with mold

we hid candy bars in the vegetable crisper or old pasta boxes,
fought over cheese slices, spoonfuls of coffee, cups of rice

the single blonde hair in your comb, the blots of red dye that fade into view on the floor

we’d compare bright yellow and false henna strands in the mirror,
swap colors and stick split ends on the walls to remember our shades

the television tuned to static in the morning, the water left running, the unlocked door

we stayed up late, scribbled notes on napkins, opened windows
to let in more air when we grated like sand over skin across space