Piecework_Spring1989.pdf
- Title
- Piecework_Spring1989.pdf
- extracted text
-
,Featured Artists - Contest \Alinners
Spring 1989
Red
Dirt Press, Inc., is the result of the vision of eight women
wanted
to
provide
more publication opportunities
for
who
women.
The
publication of this magazine of women's poetry, aptly named PIECEWORK,
which
piece,"
draws
on all the images of women's work that is done
"by
the
is dedicated to all the women who write poetry, sometimes
in
spite of their lives and families.
PIECEWORK (ISSN: 0893-116x) is published four times a year.
Subscrip-
tions are $12 per year for individuals, $16 for libraries and institutions .
A free copy of PIECE\,KJRK will be furnished, on request , to the
libraries of prisons and/ or mental institutions .
Single copy price
$4 .
Address all correspondence to PIECEWORK, Red Dirt
P . O. Box 60693 , Cklahoma City , OK 73146 .
Press,
Inc .,
A Magazine of Poetry by Women
Spring 1989
Volume 3, Number 2
Poetry Editors : Ann Carlton, Abigail Keegan
Typesetting and Layout: Marian Hulsey
Camera and Printing : Eloise Dycus, Martha Bayes
Distribution: Marsha Greiner
Published by Red Dirt. Press, _Inc .
Cklahana City, Ckl,ahoma
CoPYright. 1989 by Red Dirt. Press, Inc .
No part. of this publication may be
reproduced wit.bout. writ.ten permission
UCO Women's Research & BGLTQ+ Center
100 N. University Dr
Edmond, OK 73034
Table of Contents
About This Issue ...................... ... ........... . ... . . . .... 4
Featured Artists - Contest Winners ........ . .. . ...... .. .... 4
Adult Contest Winners 1st Place , "Time Out" by Gladys Mathis .. .... . ... . . .. . . . . . ...... 5
2nd Place, "Soap Bubbles" by Billie Marsh ........ . ...... . .. . .. 6
Honorable Mentions "April Wanan" by Ernestine Gravley . . ............. . .. .. .... 8
"Generations " by Bi llie Marsh ..... .. . . .. . . .. .. . . . . . . . . .... 9
"Chickasha Hotel " by Susan Breedlove . . ............. . . . ... 10
"Man" by Ann East . ...... . ...... ... .. .. . . .... . . . . . . . . .. .. . 11
"Superstitious " by Susan Breedlove . ... . . . ..... . .... . ..... 12
Young Women's Contest Winners 1st Place, " The Old Roan" by Aimee Ellis . ... ......... . . . .. . . . . 13
2nd Place, "Neverending Beauty" by Cheryl Crawford . ........... 14
Honorable Mentions "Haiku" by Anne Barwell . .... . ......... . .... . . . . .. .. . ..... 15
"Icy Daydreams" by Elesha Madden . ........... . ............ 15
"Passing Through" by Renee Steffensen ... . ..... . . ......... 16
Celebrating Oltlahaoa ' s Centennial "Yesterday's Riches" by Barbara Thrash .. . ..................... 17
"Lucid Legacy" by Oneta M. Whitlock ... . .. .. .... . . . . . .. . .. . .... 18
"Matriarch" by Margaret Brencher .. . ............... . . . . ........ 19
"The
Two Trees" by Susan Smith Nash ........ ... .... . .. ... . . ... . 20
"Oltlahoma Safari , II" by Marian C. Hulsey . .. .. ...... ... ...... . 22
"Family Album" by Ava Leavell Baymon .... . ... .. .. . .... . . .... ... 23
"The Greenwood Era" by Ruth Sigler Avery .... .. ...... . . . ... . . .. 24
Celebrating Spring
"Alight" by Elizabeth Robinson . . . . .. .. . .......... . . . . . ........ 24
"The Quickening" by Robin I. Thevenet . . ....................... 25
"Spring" by Carolyn Trachta ........................ .. ..... . ... 26
"Quiet depth of dark green foliage" by Ann East ......... ... . .. 27
"Nests" by Betty B. Barrett ............................... . ... 28
"Wi nd Dream" by J . Leigh Perry ... . .......... .... ........ . .... . 29
Page 2, Spr~ 1989 , PIECPJm.
"in black and white" by Alice King Greenwood.
. . 30
"Eaglet" by Rosemary Bachle .
. ... 31
"The Fighter Pilot" by Audrey Streetman . .. .
. ... 32
" Periwinkle Rainbows" by Billie Marsh .
" The Rising Fall" by Linda Nowlin .
. ... 33
. ...... 34
Celebrating Living as a Woman
'Sadie Does It " by F.nma Mayer .
............ 35
'Liv ing in Kansas" by Linda Nowlin .
"P aper Doll" by Laura Sensenig .
. . ...... . . . ... 36
. ..... ... . .. 37
"The Modern Homemaker" by Norma J . Lauer .. ... .. .... ........... 37
"Image o f Truth " by Sue McGinnis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
'T aking Up Residence" by Ava Leavell Baymon .... ..... . . ........ 39
" To Judy" by Marjorie A. Ball. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
" Destiny" by Barbara Thrash.
. .... . ........ ... .. ........ . 41
"Unconditional" by Sharon E. Martin ......... .. ..... . . . ........ 42
Celebrating Our Younger Readers
"Charming Champ" by On eta M. Whitlock ...... ............ . ... . .. 43
Cover photo by Carolyn B . Leonard
PIECOOU., Spr"' 1989, Page 3
Featured Artists
Contest Winners
ADULT DIVISION
First Place - "Time Out" by Gladys Mathis, Putnam, OK
Second Place - "Soap Bubbles" by Billie Marsh, Tulsa, OK
Honorable Mentions "April Woman" by Ernestine Gravley, Shawnee, OK
"Generations" by Billie Marsh, Tulsa, OK
"Man" by Ann East, Hodgen, OK
"Superstitious" by Susan Breedlove, Okmulgee, OK
YOUNG ~ • s DIVISION
First Place - "The Old Room" by Aimee Ellis, Ardmore, OK
Ardmore High School
Second Place - "Neverending Beauty" by Cheryl Crawford,
Weatherford, OK, Weatherford High School
Honorable Mentions "Haiku" by Anne Harwell, Lawton, OK, Tomlinson
Junior High School
"Icy Daydreams" by Elesha Madden, Weatherford, CIC,
Weatherford High School
"Passing Through" by Renee Steffensen, Weatherford, OK,
Weatherford High School
Our
congratulations to these winners and our thanks to all the
who
submitted
entries.
Watch for next year's competitions
women
and
get
your poems to us.
The Women of Red Dirt Press, Inc., and the Editors of PIEC:D«IUC,
to
thank Annette Van Dusen for her assisting in chairing the
for
this
spring's competitions.
The Guest Poetry
Editor
wish
judging
for
this
issue was Marian Hulsey.
This
issue of PIECEWORK celebrates our contest winning
Centennial
the '80s.
Page 4. Spring 1989. PIECH/ORI.
entries,
of CAclahoma's Land Run, Spring, and surviving as women
the
in
FIRST PLACE - Adult Division
Time out
At my back door window
I stand--seeing .
A cardinal flips his brightness
From the barnyard gate and flutters
In the cow tracks near the watering trough .
The creamy breast of a hawk
Glows as he perches
In a bare tree on the creek .
A flock of small birds
Sways upward,
Sun glinting on quick wings .
Tufts of grass stand , red
From fall frosts , on the pasture.
The white face of a Hereford
Turns toward me
Bedded down in winter sunshine.
Blue berries on the cedar
Near the door cling thickly, shining.
Two calico cats touch noses there ;
Then one's away and the other
Washes her face industriously .
Brown vines of SUIIJDer's grass
Line the cracks of the sidewalk
That ~eads to my door .
Four sparrows peck and twitter
Joined by a fifth , looking for seeds .
Scattered black walnuts hang
In the tree on the circle drive
Missed by my yard squirrel
In his early storing.
Long shadows show
The shape of elms on the south lawn .
PIFJ1IKII., S,riJt lffl, P,p 5
Squares of the new corral fence
Are dull silver, held by posts
Level - topped,
Not a half inch varying
Set by a man who
Straightens his currency corners
Before walleting them.
The far corner of
Dismantled flower bed
Lies in cold shade .
Green snake of a water hose
Coils nearby .
Northeast over the horizon
A windmill peeks .
A misty half moon
Floats in a still blue sky .
I can't believe the stillness .
Interrupting close up ,
Smudges hug the window
Where someone with
A nose taller than mine
Has looked earlier .
Gladys Mathis
Putnam, OK
Page 6, Spr~ 1989, PIECERORI
SECO ND PLACE - Adult Division
soap Bubbles
Today we sit on the stoop
blowing soap bubbles ,
lopsided little worlds
ringed with rainbows .
They pop too soon .
Too soon you will pursue
other rainbow worlds
t hat tempt and float
j ust out of reach ,
or grasped by over e ager
hands , shatter.
For now, I hold your hand
steady, slow your frantic
waving of the slender wand.
We make bigger bubbles.
Your tears dissolve
into rainbow smiles.
Mine is a fleeting power
at best ,
I will use it while I can.
Billie Marsh
Tulsa, OK
PIF.QJ/CII, SpriJt 1989, P1&e 7
Honorable Mention
April woman
I walked against a sudden blue of sky
Discovering the fir s t anemon es
And sharp and wild I beard your petaled cry
Like golden rain among the listening trees .
I climbed the valley and I found you there ,
As lithe and slim as any birch that stands
At dawn , with luna moths upon your hair ,
With redbud clusters trembling in ygur hands .
0 what will happen when the lunas fly ,
When those bright blossoms wither in the sun?
For surely something fair and young will die
And something finish which has just begun.
Your April soul and mine will weep together
For something passing in the April weather .
Page 8. Spr~ 1989. PI£Cjj(jl_
Honorable Mention
Generations
For generations our family
has lived in the prim grey
Victorian, third from the
corner of Cherry St. & Vine .
Each June the house blossoms
in white; dimity curtains,
cool cotton spreads , organdy
graduation frocks, Granana"s
Irish lace bridal veil
worn once again.
August brings giggly teenage
cousins in string bikinis
to sun bathe on the East lawn
where Great Aunt Sarah
played croquet in middy blouse
& navy serge skirt .
In September , books & school
bags col lect on the polished
second floor l anding where
Uncle Max t aught Annie
The Charleston & wher e platoons
of toy soldiers fought bloody
battles & inter-galactic wars.
Our December doors are bung
with holly tied i n tartan bows .
A regal spruce Dad planted l ong
ago waits now in the parl or
for Christmas Day & the annual
arrival of a baker ' s dozen
assorted aunts , uncl es , -close
friends, distant relations.
Of course the house is haunted.
This is their home,
where else would they go?
Billie Marsh
Tulsa, CIC
PI!Ql/(j(, SpriJt 1989, Page 9
Chickasha Hotel
Do not desert me,
0 my lover
in morning"s mist,
cloud touched regions,
as moon descends,
silver disc
in a diamond sky
brown blanket soft,
against my skin,
soft glow of lamp light.
You say
"How pretty you are,"
as I pose,
half pretense,
half shyness,
as I hurry to your kiss,
in April wind,
wearing your jacket,
my hair tied back,
deserted street
7 a.m.
almost cold,
as we walk
I have these thoughts
and I love you.
Susan Breedlove
Ckmulgee, OK
Page 10, Spr"' 1989, PIF.CBKB.
Honorable Mention
Han
Stark faces emerge in bas relief
from the shrouded land
the dark intensity of these eyes reflect uncertainty .
One face predominates the rest
his eyes are almost hidden in shadow
sloped shoulders reflect resignation,
perhaps exhaustion,
or the unfamiliarity of sitting still.
Blackened by both the land and the sun
his large hands rest unaccustomedly on his knees .
One single unfastened button on his starched collar
reveals the work shirt beneath .
Nondescript dark hair lies flat
across an unwrinkled forehead.
Ears like jug handles lend the only touch of humor
to this stark, strange face
which remains half-hidden behind a full beard
thus adding to his poignant sense of mystery .
His eyes remain shadowed
t he land remains shrouded
uncertain
yet how valiant this unseen individual
l ost in the generalizati ons of history .
Ann East
Hodgen, OK
PIID.DI, S,riJJ 1939, Page U
Honorable Mention
superstitious
It's bad luck
not to wear my gold earrings
everyday,
bad luck, not to have champagne
at all our sumner picnics,
to leave you without a kiss
when you go away.
Your magic transcends
ordinary days,
with no letters in the box,
when white Iris and blue Larkspur
aren't blooming.
I see bare branches
covered with crystal ice,
snow a white carpet outside,
our footprints lead
to enchantment,
autUDD'.1 gold falls all around us
in leaf patterns,
some days of the year,
when you are near,
seasons reappear,
May rites now,
u•.1ordinary walk
to a flower garden
I see castles in clouds ,
memories in old houses,
your voice brings
a magician ' s promise
you have always kept .
I dress i n l ace for you,
r ed necklace , and
a wine r ed r ose ,
kept forever in my heart,
Page U, Spr"' 1989, PIECBiORI
wishes made,
throwing small coins
in a fountain,
all for you,
and my love besides.
Susan Breedlove
Cltmulgee, OK
FIRST PLACE - Young Women's Division
The Old Room
The lamp, crystal base glistening,
makes strange shadows
in the corners of the room
and on the wrinkles
of the old woman's face.
On the same table as the lamp ,
cookies on a yellow plate
release a sweet aroma.
The small , bite- sized treats
are from an earlier time,
made from a recipe
long unused by most.
In the woman's favorite vase,
yellow roses, fully bloomed ,
fill the room with their scent.
The marble vase,
shaped into the delicate form
of a young woman' s hand,
marble pearls at the wrist,
was given to her by her mother .
The older woman said,
"Here is a never-ending reminder of youth,"
as she placed,
arthritic hands shaking,
the package in her daughter's soft hands.
PD'.CDKII, SJl'.iJI lffl, Page 13
Picture frames,
black and brown with silver lining,
shrines to ancestors,
encase images of her mother as a young girl.
Before the rose petals turn to brown flakes,
before the cookies dry and crumble,
she will cast them out,
savoring their delicacy until the last moment .
Aimee Ellis
Ardmore High School
Ardmore, OK
SECOND PLACE -
Young Women's Division
Neverending Beauty
Rainbows
stretch high in the air,
over the mellow earth below ,
and under the billowing clouds above
like
a halo over my head ,
a box of crayons used to perfection,
and an infinite highway to glory,
shining
only to soon disappear into the
Earth's atmosphere .
Cheryl Crawford
Weatherford High School
Weatherford, OK
Page 14, Spring 1989, PIEC#RORI
Honorable Mention
Haiku
On the horizon
Waves crashing against the shore
The evening wind sings
Anne Barwell
Tomlinson Jr. High School
Lawton, OK
Honorable Mention
Icy Daydreams
Snow
drifts along mountain tops,
in crested valleys ,
and down country roads .
Like
a white lace table cloth,
feathers from angels' wi ngs ,
or a sha ttered cry stal vase .
Floating
slowly to the ground.
Elesha Madden
Weatherford High School
Weatherford, OK
PI1DDI., SJl'UW lffl, P,ge l.S
Honorable Mention
Passing Through
Clouds
roll
in
Darkness
and
gloom
fill
the
atmosphere
Lightning
flashes ,
thunder
roars ,
rain
pours
and
slowly
fades
away
as
the
storm
trespasses
through
the
ghost
town .
Renee Steffensen
Weatherford High School
Weatherford , OK
Page 16. Spring 1989. PIECfjORl
Yesterday's Riches
I was born an Okie farm girl,
In the way back days of yore.
My family certainly wasn't rich,
Too proud to call themselves poor.
We took our bath in an old tin tub
And read by kerosene light .
Our bathroan was a three-haler,
What a scary walk at night!
We never had a lot of toys ,
So few, I remember them all.
Some roller skates, some cowboy boots,
Some jacks and a brand new doll .
SU11JDers were filled with water fights,
Brown bodies in the sun,
Cooling off in the water tank,
Long days of wild, sweet fun.
Winters, close to the pot belly stove,
Playing games and dominoes,
Reading books and munching fudge
Or listening to radio shows.
Nothing since can ever compare
To those days when I was young,
When, without thought, worry or care,
I ran barefoot in the sun.
Barbara Thrash
Texhoma
PIEalm., SJl'i.Jl 1989, Page 17
Lucid Legacy
Sitting small in the dark house,
Drinking tea from thin pale cups,
I learned history from a grandmother,
From faded photographs of cousins,
Smiling young man, bodies stiff
And unsure in strange uniforms.
On the wall, behind the dark .Victorian
Wood, flowers and silver,
My mother, young, in a print dress
Stands, her hand on a chair,
Living here as I never knew her.
I sit in the chair now, drinking tea
With my grandmother. I study her
Lined face-Magnificent, almond-shaped eyes,
Silvery gray with flecks of blue,
Steadfast, as if looking back
Across the landscape of time .
The strength of her ninety-three years
Enduring.
I touch her wispy white hair,
And cherish most these moments from her
Final decade, reflecting her unwavering
Strength as life's options diminish.
My grandfather sits solid in his chair,
Brought to the fireside. A blanket
Covers the pain of his legs.
Bis tallt is of horses, Civil War,
Land and weather.
Page 18, SpriDg 1989, PIEClDI.
I have heard his stories
Since I followed hiJII, a tall horseman,
Across the garden and around the square.
This is my past that he recites,
In this house, old before I was born,
Here in this small room
Under the glass eyes of the years.
Oneta M. Whitlock
Altus
Matriarch
The cold--the cOIIIDOn clouds belied the day
Because a most auspicious prayer was held.
Though the shroud was gold, it was a funeral still
For my grandmother.
So well.
It was arranged
We, her prodigy, were raised
On stubborn, hard red clay. Yet the family mosaic fell.
If our outstretched hands caught shards, we couldn't tell,
As on Eagle's Wings we sent her away.
And yet, though March is cold, another year
Remem:iered, wind like through an open door
Blows, and I know that you are here.
The tapestry you wove--like crystal--clear
Catches the light, throws rainbow sighs.
Elliska, we are your laughing eyes!
Margaret Hrencher
Perkins
PIF.CHm., Spr"' 1989, Page 19
The Two Trees
I
Today i t i s my job to feed and water the horses my parents
k eep on the quarter - section east of town homesteaded in the
1880s and passed down to them by man I never knew .
The barn i s intact , k ept i n repai r by men who found it
practical to stor e h ay, while the house , an out- of- style
romantic dream , was l e ft t o crumb l e .
Now, a ruined chinmay stands a f ew y ards f rom t he water
well wher e I pause t o catch my breath and watch t he j et
trails in the c lear sky dissipate far overhead , like the
memory of grandp arents I knew only di stantly as a small child .
II
An old pear tree grows nearby, planted a half-a-century ago.
As its knobby lim:>s bend to the limit, heavy with fruit, as
though they might snap at any moment, I am reminded of the
woman I saw last week at a flea market who carved dolls'
faces from shriveled apples.
The woman's shoulders were stooped with age and I imagined
her bones ware brittle and thin, unable to support any
additional burden.
Yet the scent from the tree is strong,
thick and sweet, like the warm embrace of a grandmother in summer.
III
Turning to the business at hand, I grip the handle of the
bright red pump.
The metal is cool against my palms while
water splashes into the galvanized bucket and against the
concrete.
A mockingbird mimics the rusty pump and I look up to see it
fly away from a redbud tree, the full green leaves flapping
in the breeze where in the spring, bright pink and purple
blossoms flush open.
Page 20. Spring 1989. PIECOOH
My thoughts turn back, and I remember my grandmother placing
a garden hose at the base of the redbuds in her backyard,
saying that nothing was more beautiful than a healthy tree.
She loved to photograph her family in their Easter finery
under the full-blown blossoms, and at night, she flung open
the wooden sashes to let the breeze waft in the delicate scent.
IV
It is quiet now, as I carry water to the horses' trough.
Only the drone of bees and the flutter of leaves drift
through the air. There is a soft thud as an over-ripe pear
falls to the grass.
Suddenly the air is thick with memory and deep homesickness.
Water sloshes on my foot as I stumble. Looking up, the two
trees seem different to me now, more wilted and dry.
Pausing, not thinking, I bring the bucket of water quietly
to each tree. Pouring cool water next to the roots, I
watch it soak into the dusty earth.
The farm is still.
Susan Smith Nash
Norman
PIEQJKII, Sprlll 1989, P,ge 21
Ok.Lahoma Safari, I I
As a mother of small boys,
I tried to wash Cklahoma's red dirt
out of their clothes .
Now the challenge ,
to wash it out of my mind
after clocking 600 meandering miles
of eroding, untilled red dirt,
through movie-set store front
small towns, sleeping,
coma-like old houses
worth a fortune elsewhere.
When all this is gone
the earth will still be red,
the clothing of all who work
or play on it,
permanently hennaed .
The soil that resists tent stakes
until pounded with a rock
does not match the green trees and grass,
does not welcome the green campers
on this Fourth of July weekend.
The water of the Neosho, dark green,
its abundant algae providing
a royal feast for the fish at twilight.
Light green parch, coming right up
to our parch on the rocks to feed,
(with an Ckiebug we could catch a dozen) .
Page 22, Spring 1989, PIECDIORl
Instead, we choose to watch than, to add
our bodies to the masses of swarming,
swillming schools of fish, as we seek
to cool off after a day on the road,
washing the red dirt · frOGI our bodies
in Oklahoma's Red and Green Country.
Harian C. Hulsey
Oklahoma City, OK
Family Album
I think of the scene as an old snapshot,
although nobody took. one of it. Who
would have thought of pointing a c_.ra
at such an event? Who takes a picture
of the last nuclear blast, or the ice age
just before it congeals us all ahead of it?
No one there was that sophisticated.
WE have photos of puppy litters, strings of hr•-•
n- cars with running boards balancing cousins
in SI.Ulday dresses, aunts with laps full
of babies, smiling more or less proudly and
trying not to look. harried or overweight.
Our history as usual
stumbled forward into ·a n- era, flDbling
something expensive, looking back.ward
in the motion of steadying against the doorfr-
to see what it was - tr_ipped over, the door
alamning against our ~••la, quenching the light,
the decisive 1110111811t ·1Jll1"111Dark.ed, past.
Ava Leavell Baymon
.Baton Rouge, LA
PIIDJDf, SJriJt 1919, hp ,
The Greenwood Era
TUSK . . . TUSK . . . TUSK ...
Wailed the slowin', steamin' train.
Brakes pushed, pushed and pushed.
Black Porters scurried down the lane
Proclaiming proudly as they came
"CCHIN' TO TULSA--THE OIL TO>IN!"
Bellowing loudly all around
Sleeping cars, diners, coach and lounge,
Until they reached the 'Jim Crow' crowd.
Then they boasted, all callin' loud
THIS IS TULSEY--THE 'TUSK-Hex; TO>IN' -"GREENWOOD"--' 21s BATTLIN' GROUND!"
TUSK . . . TUSK . . . TUSK
Whoosh ... and the steam blew out.
Travelers greeted southwestern land,
Helped down steep steps by strong, black hands.
Ruth Sigler Avery
Tulsa
Alight
A bulb whose roots toss it out of gravel
What amount of velocity it takes
when it takes levity instead
"who won"
"who won"
a fledgling is only that
if he has wings that make speech
elevated speech
Take hold of this dish of pebbles
Elizabeth Robinson
Norman
Page 24, Spring 1989. PI£Ctj0il.
I said
The Quietening
Above me
whirling, swollen clouds race east
to rainy fulfillment
At my feet
red ants lift red dirt boulders ,
opening their c ity portal to countrymen
and careless footfalls
Beyond my path
tree shadows leap and dance in happy patterns new
from new growth
Behind me
a black bird splashes ecstatically in ditch water ,
light glancing off inky wings
On my left
a rat rusty robin explores the ground,
heeding a cue only he discerns
On my right
crocuses purple and white open wide the ir cups
Yes
oh
Yes
Everywhere
a quickening
In me
too .
Robin I. Thevenet
(Editors' Note:
Robin was teaching English a t the
University of Cklahoma, when she died last fall.)
Spring
Spring is a virgin,
a thin-limbed girl
in a see-through dress
you see everywhere :
standing in white organdy or
pink voil e ,
kneeling in rose, lavender .
dancing in chartreuse over hills,
bending and waving.
wearing yellow
Spring 1s a virgin
One day vou notice her beauty
in one day
everything
you ever thought
about age . dirt . darkness
absurd1 ty
lo ss .
1
is made absurd by her
her cameo face , peach
and translucent bone shell.
the thin strength of her .
full of grace .
a woman worth doing for .
a woman with whom
to re-create the earth .
You begin
~eliev1ng in love again
Spring is a virgin.
The earth can be a virgin again
though she's lost so much,
grown so old;
though sometimes it seems
she is turgid
with death and filth.
P~e 26. Soring 1989. PIECfiORI
Your ayes deceive you.
In her thin gown, thirmed down
before your eyes
she reappears a bride,
a child, a coamunicant:
someone for whcm
a very special goi,n has been made
for one occasion only.
Carolyn Trachta
League City, TX
Quiet depth of dark green foliage
almost obscures the appearance
of a solitary bud.
Softly her color responds
to the early warmth of the sun.
Almost unnoticed
she spreads her petals toward its radiance
a voluptuous j-el of fragile texture.
I pause
mnazed at the simplicity of her beauty.
By late afternoon
she lies droopin&
withdrawn
spent somehow
during those long afternoon hours
of unbroken heat.
Ann East
Hodgen,
ex
Nests
You were gone
when the robins came
My eyes. empty as glass-house dreams .
I watched them
two-step along the limbs
bubbles in the air,
their songs entwined as one
Left out
bits of string -·
My need to build another nest.'--
and watched again :
blue eggs hatching tiny twins .
ugly, drab. in unfinished dress.
and saw parents push taffy worms
into waiting mouths,
coax fledglings forth to fly .
My heart , warming, melted
as I watched them splash
in sunmer showers
their feathers, myriad rainbows
in the sun.
In time,
before their exodus,
my laughter , long submerged, gurgled,
burst free in wobbly flight.,
and my heart, now light, took wing.
Page 28, Spri.ng 1989, PIECfRORl.
But OH!
Today
yesterday's Winter returned
full - fledged .
A single robin , bereft and broken ,
sits alone by the empty nest
and, solo, sings a song
I know too well .
Betty B. Barrett
Yukon, OK
Wind Dream
Still a child
Eager, taunting
Joyous
Precocious:
I fly
Into a wind-torn night
to you
Racing to where you stand
Hip deep in scrap paper
Blind and mute
You don't see me
Reaching to touch you
But grope instead at
empty air
Missing my hand
By a fraction of an inch.
J. Leigh Perry
Moore , CK
PJlCiDl., SJl"ill 1919, Page 29
in black and white
dark clouds
umbrella the earth
huddling helplessly
beneath
t he ir den seness ... earth
waiting for them to fold up
and hide themselves
in some closet
for another day
skyplanes
splatter wet air
hanging soggily
around
their engines ... air
dodging their streams of spitfire
rearranging rain
making room for
jet power plays
sunbeams
ray-gun black clouds
brooding ominously
over
their domain ... clouds
blasted into buoyant balls
powdering skies
with puffs of smoke
p i led h i gh on high
Alice King Gr eenwood
Ode s sa, TX
Page 30, SpriDg 1989 , PIECOOil.
Eaglet
I Too Can Fly
As a child I sat at evening
on the concrete stoop of our old porch
watched unafraid the ponderous clouds approach
dreamed of flying in and out
over and above the bullet-grey shrouds
Pretending the lightning was my own
private torch I'd stretch my neck,
glance with rapid eyes side to side
unroll my feathers and lift
opening the air in ripples of light.
Winds whip me, slap me
I flapped frantic with wild desire
not caring where I flew
wings stronger more certain
dodge the darkling clouds, duck under
the telephone lines waving in the wind
leave the jagged lightning spears behind
My
As plops of rain wet my feathered hair
I'd land with satisfied wings
on the concrete pillar at the top
of the stair, tiptoe into my home
under the eaves.
--Rosauary Bachle
Cltlahoma City
UCO Women's Research & BGLTQ+ Center
100 N. University Dr
Edmond. OK 71034
PIWlKII, Sprq 1939, P,ge 31
The Fighter Pilot
I planted periwinkles today,
digging in the earth
of last year's memories,
finding you,
again .
Was it the little boy in you
who captured me so
thoroughly, and
still ;
the little boy who joked about
Vietnam buddies, and told fun
stories of match poker
played in that camp where
the prisoner lives still ;
the little boy who cried
when I read Steve Mason's poem
"The Wall Within . "
Is it the little girl in me
who tints my vision
of the retired hero--the one
of too many women
and too many bars;
the little girl who sees
only a handsome fighter pilot
with medals for bravery
and accolades for charm ;
Page 32. Spring 1989. PIECOORl
the little girl who
loved you sao-here
in ti.me, and
still .
Audrsy Streetman
Cltlahoma City, CIC
Periwinkle Rainbows
You fling sharp words at me,
like knives,
What do you want?
What do I want?
The moon,
burnished gold by careful handling.
The stars,
birthday wrapped in silver paper .
Rainbows,
banded with pink and periwinkle .
I want Hay scented mornings,
mint flavored nights .
I want the fidelity
of ocean waves
returning always to waiting shore .
What do I want?
Hore.
Billie Harsh
Tulsa
The Rising Fall
Somewhere off I-70 in an abandoned field
two kids have just now become Icarus
outside the workshop where balsa frames
hang veiled in Easter col~rs, winging
across the glue-soaked, fan-blown air.
Counting on wind (our fingers crossed)
to sustain our creation, we launched our gliders
into space to catch small thermals, lifting above
gingery stubble into still turns, loops, and rolls.
I ran crazed, then, and happy after shadows
chasing my purple gliders, twisted and brought down.
Broken wings and skeletons that knew desire
and nursed defeat all in a single day.
And now, this disaster, blinding still:
the tissue torn and scattered rudely;
the frames that have to be rebuilt,
needed whole, now failing, now whirling.
Linda Nowlin
Salt Lake City, UT
Page 34, Spring 1989, PIECOORl.
Sadie Does It
Any ordinary day
You'll find Sadi& hard at play
She rides studs and 1110torbikes
Sadie does what Sadie likes
Every evening through the week
You'll find Sadie cheek to cheek
Jeffreys, Hatth-s, Richards, Hikes
Sadie sees whom Sadie likes
Every moment of her life
Sadie seems the perfect wife
She wears lipstick, dimnonds, spikes
Sadie shows what Sadie likes
Out in public, while on viSadie names things she won't do :
Diapers--dishes--taxes--tykes
Sadie knows what Sadie likes
Further in, where no one sees
Sadie sinks down to her knees
"Thirty, single, selfish; yikes!"
Sadie loathes what Sadie likes.
Fmna Hayer
N- York City, NY
PIF.CDIOII, SpciJt 1939, 1,ge 35
Living in Kansas
There are no movie seats that rock
in Kansas. Mothers leave their children
home in Langdon, Turon, Preston, P~att
and go alone to matinees. Hot surprised
to find they breathe life into words
better than Garbo.
T01110rrow's cutting ot alfalfa is _far away,
surely ten .more scenes, must be ten more breaths,
ten more men away, Italians, whispering .. .
"piccolo amprista" ... the sweet words .. .
"la dolce vita."
The 11011M1D's hair and silk chiffon· sweeping
from the roadster must mean Sicily,
the sciroccos, the south of France,
that the sea is near, that suddenly she is
going there alone.
Still , it i s only the threat of bindweed ,
no, the tri umph that seems important now,
the t errible , s ecret l ove transgres s i ng
what is sown, nouri shed , t r ansgressing
in some field , where W0111en c lap their hands :
a silent, white world.
Linda Howlin
Salt Lake City, UT
P,ge 36, Sprq 1989, PilQDI
Paper Doll
My li fe print was deci ded
l ong before I was born .
Many things I can change
but
my
pattern was cut
by scissors that do not
fit
my
hands .
Laura Sensenig
Phoenix , AZ
The Modern Homemaker
A bundle of nerves
Tied with a ribbon
To make a pretty bouquet
For the world ;
Sometimes she fears
The ribbon will unfurl.
Norma J. Lauer
Granite , OK
PIECjjORJ.. Spr~ 1989. Page 37
Image of Truth
Whan I reflect on your progress
since our first introduction,
you'd be very pleased with yourself
if you saw in the mirror
what I have witnessed
through the windows of my soul .
I observe a "oman
who has grown as a tree grows;
strong sheltering branches ,
colorful foliage,
reaching for the warm sun
with your tallest limbs
to grab a fresh breath
of rejuvenation
while digging your roots
into the rich earth of life.
You should be extremely proud
of your accomplishments.
Any trivial achievement to you
is a monumental trophy
to others.
That's why you've grown.
Grown in self-respect and humility,
the qualities that many women strive for
but sometimes fail to reach
for the forest is very crowded
near the sun line .
Page 38. Spr~ 1989, PIF.cOOH.
You've reassured others
in the shade of your boughs
and you will continue to nurture
with hearty drinks of your
life's vocation.
Yes, I like what I see.
Now , it's your turn to
look in the mirror.
Sue McGinnis
Arlington, TX
She walked in my house
one evening, a stranger.
She went upstairs when I did
and slept in my own bed .
In the morning she put on
my clothes, fumbling for
the unfamiliar buttonholes .
From my mirror
(she brushed her hair with my brush)
her face looked out.
No one looked over her shoulder.
Ava Leavell Haymon
Baton Rouge, LJ\.
PIF£FROH, Spr~ 1989. Page 39
To Judy
I wish we had time to be friends,
You and I,
To go places and do things together,
The many things we have in COIIIDOn
Are the very things that keep us apart:
Homes, Jobs, Children,
Husbands, Pets, Errands,
Hopes, Dreams, Plans,
And if we're lucky,
Time to fit ourselves in
And time for a friend .
Marjorie A. Hall
Tahlequah, OK
Page M, Spring 1989, PIEC&OH
Destiny
Too soon,
for your tiny, naked body
to be lifted, so suddenly,
fr0111
its
dark, warm protective place
into a world of
harsh, white, glaring light
and loud voices.
Awed whispers from viewers,
"She's a Preemie, I'm told.
Three pounds, something.
Just a few minutes old ."
When I saw
your perfectly formed body,
angry, crying, kicking,
then I knew
we had a winner,
just beginning
the fight that lasts
a lifetime.
Barbara Thrash
Texhana, OK
PIECWOfl, Spr~ 19&9, PfBe 4.
unconditional
On Sunday I hP.ar that extra"ordinary woman"
Read her "Sonora Beautiful "
On Monday, Parents' Day at ballet ,
I consider this and ask Jenny .
"Will you be embarrassed if I wear these ?"
Knowing that I , a literary type ,
Sometimes appear out o f focus
1r
a p i ct ure o f mothers
"Why would I be embarrassed ? " she answers
" It doesn't matter what y o u wear"
And she gives me a smile and a hug
But I realize what I've really been given .
Something rare and precious.
Not Just hugs and kisses ,
But love witho ut c onditions
Sharon E . Martin
Cushing
Page 42. Spring 1989 . PIEC&ORI
For our younger readers
Charming Champ
Her . doll was all frazzled
And minus one arm
Was grimy and germy,
But still had some charm.
I sought to discard it,
Even bought another;
But the new one was shunned
By the small, loyal IIKlther.
And tonight on her pillow
By Stacy, who's three,
A bedraggled doll lies grinning
Victorious over me!
Oneta M. Whitlock
Altus
PIECPRtll, Spr~ 1989, Page 43
The Issue is Hair
The
American novelist Edith Wharton said in 1900, "Genius is
of
small use to a woman who does not know how to do her own hair."
Women
have been in battles with hair, its sexual
significance, for centuries.
and
political
Hair makes statements for and about
us , and we are looking for the statements women make about
hair.
their
The editors want to do an issue of poems, photographs
line drawings on the subject of "Hair."
and
Many of you have submit-
1.ed your "hair pieces" but we need more.
If you have work, send it.
with:
how
Veronica
do
If you don't , here's an idea to
you see hair--yours, the
blonde
work
goddess'
Lake's dip, Clairol's creations, anyone's--how
hair,
do
you
see it?
Send all your "hair pieces" by June 15, 1989, to:
"Hair"
PIECEW<::RK
P.O. Box 60693
Cklahoma City, OK 73146
Prose Antholo gy
Red
Dirt Press, Inc., in response to your inquiries
lishing
essays
about
pub-
prose works, is making plans to publish an anthology
and short fiction by women of this region in late
of
SUIIJ'.ller
or early fall of 1989.
Send your double-spaced typed submissions, with a short biography
and a self-addressed stamped envelope by June 15, 1989, to:
Prose Editors
Red Dirt Press, Inc.
P.O. Box 60693
Cklahoma City, OK 73146
Page 44, Spr~ 1989, Pllm/M.
Univi11illillll~llii~I~i1lmi1i1~i1~i1~11I11md,OK
M 001 109 409
Red
Dirt
company
Press, Inc . , a women-owned
and
women-operated
is seeking manuscripts by women writers .
publishing
Novels, volumes
poetry and books of short stories will be accepted.
Send your
of
typed,
double-spaced (except for poetry) manuscripts for consideration , along
with
a
SASE, to Manuscripts , Red Dirt Pres~, Inc., P . O.
Box
60693,
Oklahoma City, OK 73146.
SUBMISSION
DEADLINES:
May 15 for Summer issue; August 15
for
Fall
issue; November 15 for Winter issue; February 15 for Spring issue.
SUBMISSION POLICY :
particularly
PIECEWORK accepts submissions of poetry by
from Oklahoma and the south central region .
in one contributor's copy , with Red Dirt Press, Inc . , retaining
rights
only.
inform
us of this.
Simultaneous submissions are
acceptable,
women ,
Payment
but
is
first
please
Submissions should be typed and accompanied by
brief biographical statement of the poet, and a SASE.
We will
a
report
within three months.
PIEC:El-JORK
especially
black
is also accepting submissions of art work and
seasonal to be used as covers for the
photographs,
quarterlies.
and white photographs or black ink line drawings to
Send
PIECm:R!C,
Red Dirt Press, Inc . , P.O . Box 60693, Cklahoma City, CIC 73146,
by the
submission dates above.
Please
include a SASE.
Payment is in one contributor's copy.
A Maga;zine _of Poetry by \Nomen
Spring 1989
Volume 3 11 Number 2
"I
the
salute PIECEWCRK for publishing so many fine women
region .
writers
these
So many new voices!
days
poets
It is one more proof that the
appear in the little magazines .
Bravo
in
best
to
editors and to the poets!"
May Sarton
$12 per year
$4 single issue
Red Dirt Press, Inc., P . O. Box 60693, Oklahoma City , OK 73146
the
Part of Piecework : v.3:no.2(1989)