Walking At Midnight ‘ 6 baby, huh?” She turned her gaze to the puffy man next to her. Seeing his eyes Afill with tears, she pulled a crumpled piece of a bar napkin from her pocket. Vodka stains still marked the wild nights before and stung his dilapidated eyes. “My belly’s bein’ eaten from the... Show moreWalking At Midnight ‘ 6 baby, huh?” She turned her gaze to the puffy man next to her. Seeing his eyes Afill with tears, she pulled a crumpled piece of a bar napkin from her pocket. Vodka stains still marked the wild nights before and stung his dilapidated eyes. “My belly’s bein’ eaten from the inside and I gotta get rid of the killer.” Her heroine hands shook and rested on his crucified face. She kissed the corners of his forehead. He said he loved her and she knew their track marks would not fade. “I have ta go back out an’ spread for cash, but who’ll want me now?” Drugged bills lay on the table in front of her, white talc edges and rolls. She turned her face to the floor. Drops of blood from her cocaine nose hurried into her mouth, but she pulled on her red and black stilettos, zipped her black leather skirt, and smothered her face with white powder and red lipstick. She looked in the mirror, combed her gnarled hair and nodded. She was dressed to walk her body. LYDIA NOGGLE 12 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
Retablo of the Black Christ The retablo paintings are dark, but the candles make the dark skin of Jesus glow, his face turned away- a strange sorrow in his long, elegant legs, crossed at the ankles, as if reclining on a couch. A short man stands before him in his clothes decades old- plaid cuffed... Show moreRetablo of the Black Christ The retablo paintings are dark, but the candles make the dark skin of Jesus glow, his face turned away- a strange sorrow in his long, elegant legs, crossed at the ankles, as if reclining on a couch. A short man stands before him in his clothes decades old- plaid cuffed pants, crumpled nylon shirt. He’s got a cowboy hat in his left hand, heavy gym bag over his shoulder. He’s as dark as Jesus, but his black hair has turned almost totally gray. The Church is so empty, I think, the man feels free to talk to Jesus outloud, for that’s exactly what he’s doing: conversing. I can’t understand the words but I know a good gossip when I hear it. He talks passionately - vivaciously - confidentially - all the modulations of conversation and when he turns and passes by me, he smiles — his wrinkles, a map of faith. Note: This beautiful figure is found at a side altar at the Church of St. Francis, La Antigua, Guatemala. After I wrote this poem, I read that this figure of Jesus is made of papier maché, not wood, and that the insides are sacred Mayan texts, used by the conquerors to make the paper mache. In this way the figure retains the power of the civilization that existed before the Spanish colonization. ROSEANN LLOYD MURPHY SQUARE 15 Show less
Fourth of July, Way After Dark We sit by a roaring fire. I’m not sure what combustibles my partner threw in but it spits multicolored flames high in the night sky better than fireworks, shapes the form of our emotions. Out here in the country the humid air has condensed into thick mist. It hangs... Show moreFourth of July, Way After Dark We sit by a roaring fire. I’m not sure what combustibles my partner threw in but it spits multicolored flames high in the night sky better than fireworks, shapes the form of our emotions. Out here in the country the humid air has condensed into thick mist. It hangs heavily over the backyard, mixes with the smoke billowing from our conflagration. Crushed grass scent rises up from beneath me. My back and knees ache from hunkering down on the ground, heavy dew drenches and chills my sandal-clad feet. But the fire warms my skin glowing in the metallic maroon of Dr. Pepper cans, illuminating his ash—smudged face, reflected in his brown eyes. He leans forward to light my cigarette, arm to arm our hands touch, sheltering the flame. His skin is warm. Cars pass, headlights bounce off the thick air and disappear. A dog bays across the road resonance lost in the mist. The fog shuts us in, shutting out the world. We speak, we sing, in hushed tones 16 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
as if there is someone to hear us. Myestomach growls, gurgles, reminds me I haven’t eaten all day and usually drink sugar—free pop. Is it the sweetness of the soda making me shake, the damp night air that makes me tremble? Why do smoke, Cigarettes, damp wood and body odor suddenly smell like... Show moreas if there is someone to hear us. Myestomach growls, gurgles, reminds me I haven’t eaten all day and usually drink sugar—free pop. Is it the sweetness of the soda making me shake, the damp night air that makes me tremble? Why do smoke, Cigarettes, damp wood and body odor suddenly smell like perfume to me? His mouth tastes like Dr. Pepper and tobacco. MARGARET ANDERSON MURPHY SQUARE 17 Show less
plenty each morning we toast the bread of unhappiness bufieritthick with remorse atnoon we Mnger overa bowl of procrastination and rehsh backsliding each evening we Mflt regrets and down despair we arelucky \Nelivein aland ofrflenty D. E. GREEN MURPHY SQUARE 19
Treasures and Tiaras Brenton died three months and three days before his 33rd birthday. Syd, as she preferred to be called, was in her backyard dancing to show- tunes, when the harsh bell of the old telephone star— tled her out of her reverie. She knew who was call— ing and why before the ringing... Show moreTreasures and Tiaras Brenton died three months and three days before his 33rd birthday. Syd, as she preferred to be called, was in her backyard dancing to show- tunes, when the harsh bell of the old telephone star— tled her out of her reverie. She knew who was call— ing and why before the ringing stopped. The hos— pice worker’s voice was one she recognized but couldn’t quite put a name to. With a gentle voice the woman confirmed what Syd already knew, Bren was gone. “He didn’t wake up after his nap,” the woman continued, “Tony went to bring him down for din- ner and he was gone.” “Thanks for calling,” Syd said, “and thank Tony for remembering me.” Syd took the phone off the hook and changed the CD to Chopin. The breeze brought the faint scent of lilacs into the screen porch and Syd sank into the ham- mock and started to rock as her subconscious unlocked the memories of childhood summers she and Bren had shared. Sydnee Morgan was 35 years old when her cousin When they were both kids, their mothers, who were sisters, would send them out to Aberdeen, South Dakota for eight weeks each summer. Their great- grandparents, Suzanne and George, lived in a brick house on a tree—lined street. The house wasn’t large, but it did have an attic that was scented with cam- phor and cedar, lavender and lilacs, mold and mem— ories. Every summer, from the time Syd was five, she was driven to the airport with a suitcase of new underwear and sundresses her mother had made She loved the special attention she got from the stew— ardess because she was flying alone. She always got to meet the pilot and get her own pair of wings. Once Bren was old enough to join her, he’d always put his wings on his back and say ‘look at me, I’m a fairy.’ That was a time before fairy meant gay, although in Bren’s case, it was a foreshadowing of his future. Bren was always the dramatic, theatrical one of 20 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
the duo. Syd was much more reserved and proper. She didn’t like to be part of arguments or alterca- tions and did whatever it took to keep things run- ning smoothly. Playing the peacemaker all the time at home had turned Syd old before her time. Syd was chubby as a baby and as she grew up, her... Show morethe duo. Syd was much more reserved and proper. She didn’t like to be part of arguments or alterca- tions and did whatever it took to keep things run- ning smoothly. Playing the peacemaker all the time at home had turned Syd old before her time. Syd was chubby as a baby and as she grew up, her height hadn’t quite keep up with her weight. In a family where your waist size was more important than your IQ, Syd tried to make herself invisible whenever possible. It wasn’t a role she really enjoyed playing, but the consequences of letting her true self out were more than she was willing to endure. The summers in South Dakota were her release, when she could be free to eat sour green apples right off the tree, to pluck juicy red raspberries off the bush just like a bird, to take a leaf of lettuce straight from the garden, sprinkle it with sugar and roll it up, just like one of Grampy George’s ciga— rettes. It was a time of eating ice cream with straw— berries for breakfast and cereal with peaches for dinner. It was a time of listening to the rain on the roof of the attic during an afternoon storm and knowing she was safe and loved for who she was. Bren and Syd would love to go up in the attic stor— age room where Grammy kept her trunks of fabrics stuffed full of chiffon, satin, wool, brocade and silk and bits and pieces of lace, pearls, fur, velvet and rhinestones. The two of them kept themselves enter- tained for hours on end making costumes, dolls clothes, puppets or whatever else their imaginations created. Grammy Sue loved having her grandbabies come to stay each summer. She was proud of their good manners and polite behavior. She also enjoyed letting them show off their creativity by letting them dress up in whatever they happened to find in the attic. Sue had another passion: she adored going to rummage sales. “This is our treasure map” Grammy would say as they climbed into “Daisy,” her Dodge, with the newspaper ads circled in red. Syd and Bren would sit on their knees and look out the back win- dow watching the world go by and discussing what treasures they were going to look for. The very best sales were the ones where someone was going to move into a smaller place and they were getting rid of all the extra stuff they’d accumulated during their previous six or seven decades. It was even bet- ter when the person was still around to share the stories of their past with Bren and Syd. MURPHY SQUARE 21 Show less
Mrs. Marvin Quinn (Ruby to her friends) had been a widow for four years. The years were taking their toll on her joints and the cold South Dakota winters were too lonely on the farm by by all her- self. “Suzy,” Ruby said one morning in late spring, “when do your grandchildren come to visit?” ... Show moreMrs. Marvin Quinn (Ruby to her friends) had been a widow for four years. The years were taking their toll on her joints and the cold South Dakota winters were too lonely on the farm by by all her- self. “Suzy,” Ruby said one morning in late spring, “when do your grandchildren come to visit?” “They’ll be here together on the first day of sum- mer” Sue replied. “Why do you ask?” “Splendid, splendid,” exclaimed Ruby. “I’m going to move into Barclay Manor this September and I am going to eradicate myself of all the extraneous memorabilia I’ve been collecting over the years.” Sue was shocked by this declaration. Ruby had always insist— ed they’d find her body at spring thaw locked in some exotic yoga position, so stiff the coroner would have to cut a hole in the wall just to get her out the door. Sue tried to disguise her surprise when she answered “Well, that’s exciting news. But what does it have to do with Syd and Bren?” “You know I’ve always been enchanted by the joie de vivre those two precious creatures bring to our dusty little vil- lage” Ruby replied. “Promise me you’ll bring them out on the first Saturday they’re here; anytime after noon would be delightful. Farewell Suzy darling, mark it down, the first Saturday they’re in town.” It was at Mrs. Quinn’s house purging that Syd and Bren were given the treasure chest, as they called the steamer trunk. The trunk and its matching pieces had seen the world. The pieces were covered with travel stickers, and the nicks and cracks on its smooth surfaces were the souvenirs left by years of bouncing in and out of baggage cars on trains and ships. Mrs. Quinn had been a singer and dancer when she was in her teens and twenties. This part of her life wasn’t well known within the town and there was less than a handful of people who were privy to the tales of her youth. Those, like Sue, who knew the stories, were sworn to secrecy. Ruby had been debating the fate of her cher- ished travel set when she heard the Dodge pull into the drive. She didn’t Want it go to just anyone; in fact, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to part with it at all. She had to be practical. There just wasn’t enough room in her suite at Barclay Manor to justi— fy keeping it. Ruby relaxed and knew she’d made the right decision when the children came out of the car. They were dressed right out a movie set. Syd’s height had caught up with her weight and she wore a suit of eggplant purple with a vest decorated with 22 MURPHY SQUARE A¥ A\A \ Show less
watercolor lilacs. (Syd’s mother would have been mortified if she knew that Syd had taken apart one of her new sundresses to make the vest. Bren’s mother would have been just as horrified if she knew Bren was the one who painted the lilacs on the vest). Bren was in a chiffon gown of baby blue,... Show morewatercolor lilacs. (Syd’s mother would have been mortified if she knew that Syd had taken apart one of her new sundresses to make the vest. Bren’s mother would have been just as horrified if she knew Bren was the one who painted the lilacs on the vest). Bren was in a chiffon gown of baby blue, which he’d embellished with scarves of green and satin ribbons of white. “You two look absolutely scrumptious!” Ruby exclaimed as they came up on the porch to greet her. “Suzy,” Ruby reached to hug her friend, “you are so fortunate to have such enchanting cherubs in your life.” Sue caught the wink Ruby gave her as they settled down on the porch. “Thank you for inviting us to visit, Mrs. Quinn.” Syd said. “The pleasure is all mine darlings. Come closer and let Auntie Ruby take a good look at you,” Ruby replied as she reached to embrace Syd. “What an elegant suit you have on my dear,” Ruby contin— ued, “Your wardrobe should contain only shades from the cool end of the spectrum. Those hues are so flattering with your dark hair and clear complex— ion.” “Okay, I mean, thanks, OK, umm, do you really think so?” Syd stammered. She’d never been com- plimented on her clothes before. “Absolutely!” Ruby said decisively. “You look simply divine in pants too. It’s a rare jewel that can carry off such an amazing outfit without looking like you’re dressed for a Halloween Party.” Syd blushed and stood up straighter and held her head up high. “Do you like my new gown?” Bren asked, “I designed it myself and Syd helped me stitch it together.” “Bren, you are a water sprite, a nymph, a celestial spirit which has no earthly name.” Ruby answered with her characteristic enthusiasm, “You look like a fairy, ready to fly away.” Bren giggled and jumped off the porch and started to fly around the yard. “Bren, darling, come back here for a moment,” Ruby called. Bren floated back up the steps like a debutante and sank into a deep curtsy. “You’ve forgotten something.” Ruby said as she handed him a pair of elbow length satin gloves. She stood up to place the tiara on Bren’s blond head. “Oh merci, merci, Auntie Ruby,” Bren was delighted in the new treasures. “Come Syd, let’s take a stroll around the plantation.” Bren spoke with a husky southern drawl. “Just a minute, Syd,” Ruby called. “A tiara isn’t quite right for your ensemble. This, however, will MURPHY SQUARE 23 Show less
add just the precise amount of sophistication and elegance you need.” Ruby reached over and pinned a brooch on the lapel of Syd’s jacket. Syd looked down at it in awe. The brooch looked like a spray of lilacs with dozens of tiny amethyst and sapphire stones. The leaves that were tucked behind the... Show moreadd just the precise amount of sophistication and elegance you need.” Ruby reached over and pinned a brooch on the lapel of Syd’s jacket. Syd looked down at it in awe. The brooch looked like a spray of lilacs with dozens of tiny amethyst and sapphire stones. The leaves that were tucked behind the blooms were emeralds and the whole piece showered the porch with dancing stars of light. The two cousins bowed and curtsied before they descended the steps to take their stroll. Syd reached over and patted the item on the seat next to her. She loved the feel and ride of her new PT Cruiser. It reminded her so much of Grammy’s old Dodge; even the colors were the same: midnight blue exterior and silver gray interior. Parking the car, she reached for the leather box on the seat as a bit- tersweet smile crossed her face. She flipped down the mirror and checked her face and hair. As she stood up, a soft breeze caused her sapphire silk suit pants to swirl around her long legs and the late afternoon sun made the lilac brooch twinkle like a sparkler on the 4th of July. As Syd walked into the chapel to share her memories of her cousin, the sun streaming through the stained glass windows reflected and bounced off the multi—faceted crystals of the tiara. DEBRA MARC 24 MURPHY SQUARE L A'x.- \y. Show less
Ice Cubes Even the insects are quiet at this hour. Waking through the night is common now; it’s hard to sleep when watching for death. The images of repeated care-giving tasks keep turning over in my mind like the rustling of papers, whispering loudly enough to interrupt my sleep. Tonight I keep... Show moreIce Cubes Even the insects are quiet at this hour. Waking through the night is common now; it’s hard to sleep when watching for death. The images of repeated care-giving tasks keep turning over in my mind like the rustling of papers, whispering loudly enough to interrupt my sleep. Tonight I keep remembering that ice cube. My mother can’t swallow much anymore with cancer eating up her body. The ice melts on her lips and drips into her throat. So we feed her ice cubes now. She doesn’t speak much anymore either, not with her voice anyway. But her eyes are as eloquent as her singing used to be. Tenderly I brush back her silver hair, dry as a tuft of dog hair when once it was shiny and soft, and the sad love in those blue eyes begs me to hear what she cannot say. I say, “I love you too, Mom,” as I so rarely did when she was healthy. 26 MURPHY SQUARE Show less
How can she who bore me and raised me be so small, so quiet, and so gray? She bore me and she was my best friend. Now I care for her as she did me when I was her infant. She’s asleep now, in morphine—induced slumber. But I can’t rest. I sit out here on the deck in 3:00 a.m. silence. Everything is... Show moreHow can she who bore me and raised me be so small, so quiet, and so gray? She bore me and she was my best friend. Now I care for her as she did me when I was her infant. She’s asleep now, in morphine—induced slumber. But I can’t rest. I sit out here on the deck in 3:00 a.m. silence. Everything is sleeping but me and the Northern Lights that dance in silent, icy unconcern. My frozen heart waiting, dreading the inevitable, melts inside me and drips into my soul like tears. MARGARET ANDERSON MURPHY SQUARE 27 Show less
Librarian Mine is a simple life of life’s complexities bound in a few square inches each confined to rows of manageable space where there is silence amidst a million volumes voices where the wars of the ages are reduced to an index file where the bindings of great artist’s and writers of all... Show moreLibrarian Mine is a simple life of life’s complexities bound in a few square inches each confined to rows of manageable space where there is silence amidst a million volumes voices where the wars of the ages are reduced to an index file where the bindings of great artist’s and writers of all walks and ages meet and wisdom failed waits to fail again as truth proven waits to again prove and coiled words wait for opportunity. Steady, categorized, predictable, books in a row the order of my day is order adding knowledge to knowledge, book by book. I’m the gatekeeper of emotions laughter contained tears undropped fears frozen in print my own workday emotions reduced to pleasantries. Irony contained, I sit a woman of temperance amidst temptation alphabetized passions lending lusts 30 MURPHY SQUARE ‘ :\A A -—x Show less
tucking away mysteries to be solved again and again contentto confine to tables of contents fun and games— departmentalize. Cyclical loans returns and only whispers here GRETCHEN WAIDELAND MURPHY SQUARE 31
