Piecework_Fall1988.pdf
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- Piecework_Fall1988.pdf
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a.ga.z
Carol
a. i l ton
Poe r y byW0111en
Fa.I I
1988
Red Dirt Press. Inc., is t he result of the vision of eight
women who wanted to provide more publication opportunities
for women.
The publication of this magazine of women's
poetry, aptly named PIECEWORK. which draws on all the
images of women's work t hat is done "by the piece," is
dedicated to all the women who write poetry, sometimes in
s pite of their lives and families.
PIECEWORK (ISSN: 0893-116X) is published four times
a year. Subscriptions are $12 per year for individuals,
$16 for libraries and institutions. A free copy of
PIECEWORK will be furnished, on request, to the libraries of prisons and/or mental institutions. Single
Address all correspondence to
copy price is $4.
PIECEWORK, Red Dirt Press, Inc., P.O. Box 60693,
Oklahoma City. OK 73146.
A Magazine oC Poetry by WoMen
Fall
UOLUME 3,
J.988
NUMBER J.
Poetry Editors: Ann Carlton, Abigail Keegan
Typesetting and Layout: Marian Hulsey
Camera and Stripping: Eloise Dycus and Martha Hayes
Distribution: Marsha Greiner
Published by Red Dirt Press, Inc.
Oklahoma Cit y, Oklahoma
°Copyright 1988 by Red Dirt Press, Inc.
No part of t his publication may be
reproduced without written permission
UCO Women's lteseardt & BGLTQt Center
100 N. University Dr
Edmond, OK 73034
Poetry Contests .. ......... ........ ........... .. .... ........ ...... .......... ...... ...... .... .. .
4
Featured Artist - Carol Hamilton ..................................................... . 5
"Mirror lmage" ............ ... ............................................... ........... .
6
"Goodbye to a Friend" ...... ...... ................................................. .
7
"Vision".... ... ........... .. .... ...... ............ ... ... ...... ... .... .. .... ... ................. 8
"On the Rim of Winter" .................... ............. .......................... .. 9
"The Losing Place" ........ ............................ .... .. ......... ...... .. .......... 10
"Ritual" ......................... .............................................................. 11
"Staying Red" by Carolyn Trachta .. ... ... . ........ .... .. ... . .. . .. .. . . ... .. .. ... .. ...
"Autumn Stirrings" by Loritta J . Blair.............................................
"Ambergold Autumn" by Kathi Hill· ·····:···· ············ ·· ······ ···· ···••»••········
"Enchantment Heard" by Riner Fitzgerald Moore .... .. ............. ..........
"Where are you, my mother," by Ann East.. ................. ............... .. ..
"A Human Ring" by Linda Nowlin .... .. ....... ... ...... .... ...........................
"Autumn" by Stella Fain Hansford ............................. .. ... ........ ... .......
"Of Autumn" by Susan Breedlove ..... ............................. ...................
"When days are dark and dreary" by Edna Strasner .... ................ ...
"The Shining" by Barbara Thrash ......... ............................................
"Epitaph for a History Teacher" by Ruth Dishman ............... ............
"School" by Margaret Hrencher. ....... ... .. . . .. .. . . ... . ......... ........ ... .. ... . .. ...
"Okie's First Music Teacher" by Kathianne Osburn ......... .. ...... ........
"Prophetic Prediction" by Oneta M. Whitlock ............................. .... .
"Empathy" by Wilma Goodman ........ .... ...............................................
"Disruption" by Carolyn Hayes ... ..................................................... ..
"Within the Rabbit's Eye" by Linda Nowlin ................. ......... .. .... .. ....
"Scrapebook" by J . Leigh Perry ... ...... ......... ............. ........... ... ...... .. ...
"Chains" by Betty Barre tt. ... ........... .... ... . ... ... ..... .... ............... ... .... .. ..
"Lady Loves the Blues" by Lisa Schwartz-Amos ......... ..... ..... .. .. .. ......
"Oliver's Theme" by Ruth Tobias ........ .. .. ..........................................
"Family Tree" by Maurine Smith .... ......... .... ... ..... .. ...... .... ............ ... ..
"The Traveler" by Billie Marsh.................. .. ....... .. ........................ ...
"Passerby" by Myrtle Burks .... .. ..... .............................. ....... .. ............
Pace 2. Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
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"Pro-Creation" by Emma Mayer.......................................................
"Too Late, the Loss" by Betty Barrett..........................................
"Opposites" by Mar.iorie A. Hall.....................................................
"Untitles" by Mary Clay.................................................................
"After Forty" by Mar.iorie A. Hall..................................................
40
41
42
43
44
For Our Younger Readers
"I Love to Skate" by Patricia J. Ramsey
Art by Audrey Cochran............................................................
"Inside-Out Millie" by Sharon E. Martin.. .......................................
45
46
Special Things to Come....... ............................................................ 47
Gift Suggestions.... ............. .............................................................. 48
(Cover photo by Marian Hulsey)
PIBCHWORK, Fall 1988, Pase 3
POETRV CONTESTS
Poetry Contest £or Young WoMen
Ages 14-18
Any Subject, Any Style Poems
First Prize: $20
Second Prize: $10
Three Honors Awards
All winners will be published in the Spring '89 PIECEWORK
ENTRY FEE: $2 (1-3 poems per contestant)
All entries must be typed
Keep your original, entries will not be returned (no SASE)
All entries must be unpublished -when submitted
Include cover sheet with your name, address, phone number,
school, name of each poem submitted
.. DEADLINE: All entries must be postmarked by Feb. 1, 1989**
Poetry ~ontest £or WoMen
Any Subject, Any Style Poems
First Prize: $35
Second Prize: $20
Five Honors Awards
All winners will be published in the Spring '89 PIECEWORK
ENTRY FEE: $3 (1-3 poems per contestant)
All entries must be typed
Keep your original. entries will not be returned (no SASE)
All entries must be unpublished when submitted
Include cover sheet with your name, address, phone number,
names of poems submitted
.. DEADLINE: All entries must be postmarked by Feb. 1. 1989**
Send to: Poetry Contest, PIECEWORK
P.O. Box 60693
Oklahoma City, OK 73146
Page 4, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
Featured Artist -
Carol HaMilton
The poet featured in this issue is Carol Hamilton, who was the
poetry judge for our PI.ECEWORK adult poetry contest last spring.
We were looking for an experienced, often published, well recognized
poet and teacher for this task, and we found all of these attributes
and more in Carol. We found graciousness, devotion to the arts and a
willingness to use her valuable time to help other artists.
Carol is a native Oklahoman, though she has lived in Connecticut, Scotland, New York, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana and Arkansas.
She is a graduate . of Phillips · University (BA) and Central State University (MA), and teaches humanities in a public school for gifted
children, as well as being a traveling teacher of Spanish. She was
chosen Teacher of the year for Mid-Del schools in 1982.
Many children know her as the author of THE DAWN SEEKERS,
which received excellent reviews from children, adults and other
writers of children's books. She has published approximately 1400
poems, short stories and articles in periodicals, including THE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR, CHRISTIAN CENTURY, ARIZONA QUARTERLY, UNIVERSITY OF WINDSOR REVIEW, NEWSART, HUMPTY
DUMPTY, GREENSBORO REVIEW, LYRIC, SOUTH DAKOTA REVIEW,
CALIFORNIA REVIEW, STONE COUNTRY, VISIONS, AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF DISCUSSION _ REVIEW, and many others in the U.S.,
India, Australia, England and Canada. She won first prize in short
story at the Indiana University Writer's Conference, first prize for
novel in the 1982 OWPI contest, and numerous awards for poetry,
short story and children's works.
Carol, like many of the women we publish in PIECEWORK, wears
many hats: she is wife (married to Jeff Hamilton of the Oklahoma
legislature), mother, grandmother, teacher and artist. She also shares
her civic and social consciousness by serving on several civic and
state boards.
PIECEWORK, Fall 1988, Pase 5
In spite of Carol's busy and involved daily schedule, she always
takes some time to write and, PIECEWORK wants to add, time to
help other artists and to promote artistic endeavors. The editors
want to thank Carol for submitting her work to PIECEWORK, where
she has published four poems, for judging our contest and for being a
powerful influence and inspiration in our community. It is with pride
and pleasure that we publish six of her new poems in this "Featured
Artist" section.
MIRROR
IMAGE
The turkey vulture taps
his claws across tin roof,
stops to admire the sound,
is challenged by a large crow .
Others ride air currents
off the dry mountains,
wheel about, ignore
the confrontation.
That pigpen is a good
stopping place, and
from a distance the
vultures blend into
fence posts, sit like
sphinx guarding the
smell of dessication .
Nearby we swirl about,
light in clusters,
and measure out
opportunities without
much thought.
--Carol Hamilton
Page 6, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
OPPOSITES
From across the table
I see you
Or rather,
I know you're there
Behind the sports page
And the classifieds.
Your coffee cup rattles
Empty as I feel,
Curls of smoke rise
To hang in mid-air
As do my words
Spoken to you.
You'll go your way
I'll go mine,
We'll meet again tonight.
The evening news
Will tell me you're home,
The classifieds
Will tell you
I'm gone.
--Madorie A. Hall
Tahlequah
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 7
ON
THE
RIM
OF
WINTER.
Yellow leaves dot about
in matchstick forests .
Sun gilds the branches
and the grassy hillsides
straw-colored.
Cars move back and forth,
trucks grind against inertia,
and I must strain to hear
the geese squabble.
There is not much color
left in the world, but
the sky is still blue
above despite the draining.
Branches and trunks
of denuded trees absorb
light, suck it down,
clear into their roots,
suck the vitality
out of me, as well.
And on . the pond
across the hilly way,
the geese tangle
their voices together
in dismay and complaint.
--Carol Hamilton
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 9
THE
LOSING
PLACE
The world turned strange as pines revolved through space,
A field sprang up where there had been a tree
Across the path to mark the way for me .
I whirled as stars around Polaris race.
But I had learned that forests will confuse
The best laid plans for walks or ordered lives.
My world was tossed as those of Henry's wives
For England's fate. I knew that I could lose.
The
The
And
Was
woods were deep and stank of moldering breath,
darker side of nuthatch songs and pine,
time when I could trust a map's straight line
past. I failed the test of shibboleth .
Alone I stuttered, swirled and lost my way .
Your human voice paid passage from that day .
--Carol Hamilton
Page 10, Fall 1988, PIBCEWORK
RITUAL
At river's edge the women used to meet
To scour the clothes on stones,
Dry and soften diapers in south winds warm and sweet.
With incantations I often raise dead bones,
Conjure ancestral voices from the earth.
Down wiped-clean lines they speak in undertones.
With hated basket my mother called before my birth,
Pinioned the laundry against the prairie wind.
With perfect pinning, my mother-in-law knew her worth.
We wash, we fold, we put away, we mend
And understand the ritual.
Our voices babble there, and yet we comprehend.
--Carol Hamilton
PIECBWORK, Fall 1988, Pace 11
STAYING
RED
Neither heat n'lr rain
staunches the nibiscus,
wrinkled red trumpets
unfurling like scrolls
keeping coming, triumphant rose,
never stopping blooming,
keeping forming buds new horning,
always uncurling, keeping coming :
silk cocoons of beauty, saying red.
Saying it over and over
even as wind lops their heads:
speaking from their black earth bed,
saying red over and over.
--Carolyn Trachta
League City, TX
Page 12. Fall 1988 , PIECEWORK
AUTUMN
STIRRINGS
Once more it's time for Nature's stir
Of shades of color and changes of texture.
The leaves copy their scarlets from the
neighborly .red birds;
And their browns and golds are mimicked from,
Namely, the marigolds and the mums.
Smooth waxen leaves and grass evolve
Into furrowed frowns of Autumn stirrings.
Like nature, I too am in the Autumn of my seasons.
Changes of. directions and choices are evident.
Even though I resist the loss of greenness,
I refoice in the brilliance of the present.
And the smoothness of my innocence changes
Into the wrinkled brow of My Autumn stirrings.
--Loritta J. Blair
Choctaw
PIECEWORK, Fall 1988, Page
13
AMBERG OLD
AUTUMN
One late October evening
As pumpkin ghosts and tangerine moons
Of Indian summer circled the darkness,
Thoughts of romance snailed my mind,
Across wind-dried leaves
And weathered acorns of yearning.
Within fantasies perennial as phlox,
What I wanted had been growing
For years, taking shape in
Hayfields, where I watched
Like a scarecrow in a strange country,
Others finding contentment I never could.
Another season was passing over me
Without a sound . I discovered
That in forty years desire hadn't left,
Nor tears,
And love wasn't an equal opportunity employer.
In the stillness, I walked lanterned streets
Seeing your shadow along feathery edges
Of rime covering poplars and hickories.
An owl gazed at me, its feathers hanging
Magnificently from its bones
As another ambergold autumn
Halloweened its children.
Page 14, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
For at that hour
When the night seemed alive in my arms,
I wanted to touch you,
My olived skin tingling as I moved
Gently closer, memorizing
The shape of your mouth,
The slant of your eyes.
Who am I but the girl
Still hoping half her life
To buy a dream.
--Kathi Hill
Broken Arrow
ENCHANTMENT
HEARD
The morning's
Crystal radiance
Carried the
Soft susurration
Of feather upon feather
Lifted in flight.
--Riner Fitzgerald Moore
Wanette
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 15
Where are you, my mother,
who horned me from the secret dark places
of the fecund earth
who welcomed me back each morning and evening
welcomed me into the warm fertile trust
of your earth
oh, my mother,
I have sought you
in the dark silent warmth of earth
and you are not here
for I am become one with this sensuous earth of home
I am become the soil
t hat feeds the garden
receives the rain
encourages spring blossoms
t hat comforts the falling leaves of October
and welcomes their dying home
holding them close beneath the snow.
No longer the golden blossom of your daytime sky
I am become the humus,
t he earth,
oh, my mother,
'tis I who finally shall welcome you home.
--Ann East
Bokoshe
Page 16, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
A
HUMAN
RING
I hear our teeth chatter as we come up for air.
Still standing in water up to our chins
and staying submerged as much as we can,
we're dwarfed by the maples that arch over us.
Water drips in shivers down our stork legs
and collects in the hollowed places of rocks.
"It's not bad once you're used to it."
"There are warm spots where you've been."
We slice the green-black cataract
and move in wonder towards the underwater cave.
We swim until our veins stand blue.
Your lips, black tulips against your skin.
Our webbed fingertoes cleave the t hickness,
reaching a black so cold it bites us back
as our bodies balloon beneath us.
--Linda Nowlin
Wichita, KS
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 17
AUTUMN
The hum, hum, hum of the cotton gin
Announces autumn is here again.
The smoky haze hangs over the hills,
• As the farmers start their sorghum mills.
The farm hands gather corn's golden ears,
In thanks to God whom each reveres.
The doleful dirge down in the thicket
Is the chirp of a lonely cricket.
The defiant cry of the blue jay
As he flies across the land today
Gives forewarning of the winter's chills,
When blankets of snow cover the hills.
That brooding moodiness in the air
Creates a depressive atmosphere
That portends the coming of short days
When the winter storms supplant fall haze.
--Stella Fain Hansford
Coweta
Page 18, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
OF
AUTUMN
Glimmering perceptions
stilled
softer than twilight,
dim recollections,
in darkness,
or daylight visions.
You in cold winter mist,
Your soft blue shirt
a holiday gift,
my silver bracelets
carved in ivory stone
holding a flowered lace f an
Your Victorian lady,
with long brown hair,
captured in a photograph,
gold edged frame.
You beside me
behind the glass,
touching you in dreams,
in life,
more substance than shadow
words swirled,
rainbow design
time passing
like leaves in Autumn
warmth of amber
brown and orange.
--Susan Breedlove
Okmulgee
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 19
When days are dark and dreary
And you're feeling sorta blue
Just grab a mop and pail
And find some housework you can do
Sort the good things from the bad
As thoughts flash through your mind
And you may be_ surprised
At the blessings you will find
Just keep on mopping all the while
Cleaning dirt and daily grime
And you may find that you have also
Cleaned the corners of your mind
Busy hands and happy hearts
Oft travel hand in hand
And leave behind when they have passed
Lasting footprints in life's sand.
--Edna Strasner
Boise City
Page 20, Fall 1988, PIECBWORK
THE
SHINI~G
Sunlight glints across the dark wood
that I just waxed; the mirrors gleam,
the bathrooms shine, the windows sparkle,
the vacuum cleaner roars, the clock ticks
away the time spent at mundane tasks;
but my mind soars with words and images,
fragments of tiny slivers, fitting together,
forming the nucleus of an embryonic poem,
filling my soul like the sweetness of music,
removing the cobwebs and making my life shine.
--Barbara Thrash
Texhoma
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Pace 21
EPITAPH
FOR
A
HISTORY
TEACHER
I don't know when you actually died
It was such a gradual thing
One year we taught and struggled and laughed together
The next you sickened with
contagion from labor-union politics
revolution
ambition
a vital teacher whose frail immune system succumbed to
the fevers of savior syndrome
power lust
mental arrogance
Afterward your heart atrophied
and your remains
wrapped in a winding sheet woven from equivocation
illusion
corruption
moldered fitfully m a pestilent grave
--Ruth Dishman
Lawton
Page 22, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
The thing that -..de us diffenmt
Were the nuns in lone Wack robes
And high white cnnms.
Sister Mary Charles Bild Sister Mmy Phil4wenn
And '"Praise be .Jesus Christ,. Gaod. .lfenmlar.•
Sister Mary Sbmislaus..
We still did ..th,. studied histmy.
And learned graJMIIU'.
But didn•t bow the EPeaninc of pan,c:luaL
We raced all over our holY &alf acre at recess.
P).Qying chicken. bocking ev-mybady dmm
As hanl and quickly as we hew how_
Once we discovered To and lffizaheth • the clothes closet..
And later. found them in the dlun:h vestmule.
Giving us all a lesson in sins of the flesh..
One of the cardinal sins we were sure.
On Thursdaw we alw8\YS went to the caol recesses
Of the church and confessed to .Almighty Gad,,
And I.lather Michael all of our sins. great and saalL
And made sure we alwQS meant it.
For as malW dAQS as we could_
Bady Fridaw morning. every Frida(y- aominc.
The Father wlio resided in lite parish haase
Taucltt us relicionWe learned about the w-t,y.ed llacalJees.,
The golden ark of God•• covenant.
And. a whole sbinc of hob' people and saints
Before Bild after Christ.
We learned of fear and deatlt.
Guilt Bild ...e.
And. of the lrapc diff•eace
Between i&lw:an..e and ....,_h.clge..
H aaet Breaclter
Pati-
PlilCKlnJlla. ..... DIii. .... Z3
OKT.E'S
F.IRST
MUSIC
TEACHER
For years Okie tried to teach herself how to play
NTwinkle, Twinkle Little Star" on a battered violin
t hat had first been her sister's , then hers
fo r si x months in the sixth grade. The violin
then hid in the attic for years , before it became
a par t of Okie's mom 's art-deco collage
collecting dust in the hall.
Twenty years passed and now the instrument
had a broken bridge and just one string,
but Okie wanted only t his violin , this link
with the rollick of childhood .
She had it refurbished , learnfl d
the strings had been stru ng backwards
for her sou thpaw sister. No wonder
Okie never got fi rst cha ir .
Al thirty-three
there was more than words Okie wanted to read.
She spent seventeen dollars on Suzuki's album and book,
couldn't remember a thing it. said, except
to be a good musician, the Japanese master
claimed one, first, must be a good man.
She listened until the record was so scratched it skipped,
practiced daily. as if she could find her way
back to God by playing the perfect. song,
or having the perfect climax, or
smoking the best dope. She almost went crazy,
striving, trying to define good,
ever searching, even knowing
she. as the Glancer, illuminated light
from withi n.
Pag e 24. Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
She kept the violin in an old, dusty,
coffin-like case, until she turned forty
and the crisis came. She re-opened
the casket to begin the familiar refrain.
She carried this carved wood everywhere,
hoping it would rub-off like a Mozart
concerto on a Stradivarius.
She back-packed through Europe
with her weapon in her hand , thinking she could protect
herself by playing open "E's."
Further East, in Greece
she carried the violin down to the Matala Beach.
Now, Okie believed in karma and predestination,
and just at that exact moment she was t hinking
it's time for a good teacher ... a good man.
She rubbed sand
out of her third eye and a v1s1on
of a hippie approached with long braids,
rotten teeth, hiking boots, cut-offs,
and no resin for his bow.
This unexpected mystic
could make his fiddle sing, and by the time
the sun had set somewhere in the Libyan Sea ,
this transient farmer from Idaho
had taught Okie "01' Suzanna," and was falling
in love with her, as if she could return t he love
of a man with ingrown fingernails and fangs .
Too dark now to sit in wet sand,
her teacher downs three orders of french fries,
grins and seduces, with catsup in his beard.
PIECEWORK, Fall 1988, Page 25
He lived in a cave,
had a plastic table-cloth for a door;
a black star of David and a red Satan
painted on stone walls. They sat on a soiled mattress,
and ate lime-green ice-cream. Okie thought, ain't it
funny how life often resembled her wildest dreams.
Legends tell that before flower children
from the sixties came, these caves had been occupied
by early Christian Crusaders, then Nazi soldiers,
proving again, to Okie life is bigger than it seems.
A full moon was out now, and
Okie wanted a new song . .. but,
Greg's fingers were fast on the fret,
and Okie didn't stick around to learn
"Au Clair de la Luna"!
--Kathianne Osburn
Oklahoma City
Page 26, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
PROPHETIC
PREDICTION
I shall sleep well tonight.
Every loose end there was
is tied up now, completely
and neatly.
I will not spend my energy
Playing some counting game;
Instead, I'll place my head
in the contour of my pillow,
and before some new unfinished
business presents itself, with
work diminished -1 shall be sleeping well tonight.
--Oneta M. Whitlock
Altus
PIBCBWORK, Pall 1988, Pace 27
EMPATHY
Towering, spreading old oak tree-Semi-sphere, domed umbrella ...
My retreat,
•
Apart from the bigger world,
Within the sanctuary of those wide-spread arms
That hug,
Yet leave me space.
Alone there, I feel loved.
It is my retreat.
Cool, protected, enclosed
Like embryo within a womb
Sounds of wind, oi birds calls,
Muted.
The heartbeat of my oak keeps rhythm
With my own.
That was so long ago,
And I a little girl back on the farm ...
Now,
Driving out the dirt road,
Windini past the old windmill,
Heartbeat fast,
I catch a glimpse-And stop.
My oak stands,
Lifeless ·limbs dangle.
I stand and star~.
And I feel hollow.
--Wilma Goodman
El Reno
Page 28, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
DISRUPTION
Last year, after the fire,
door bell chimes replaced
. with a cheap, rasping buzzer.
A woman alone,
hates that buzzer at night,
Feels fear first of all,
fear of invasion of privacy.
The deep push of the circle-a sound bringing shivers, goosebumps.
She expects no one, no date, no plans-so why this scream in the dark?
Damn it, she wouldn't be living alone
if •she wanted intrusion,
now would she?
She answers to Charlie, her gay friend;
Later, the young "down-the-street-aways" fellow
pushed long and hard--buzz, blast, buzz.
Charlie· and "whosis" found each other
mutually interesting--left arm in arm.
A big hole in- the private hours.
Can't be mended now!
--Carolyn Hayes
San Antonio, TX
PIBCHWORK, Fall 1988, Pase 29
WITHIN
THE
RABBIT•s
EYE
Tonight my brother drove 100 miles to visit.
Of course it's business, Harley-shopping
in the dead of winter. He refuses anything
new.
AT SEVEN HE SHOT A SICK RABBIT
STANDING TARGET-LIKE, FROZEN WITH SOME DISEASE.
Riding highways, snow-soaked, come spring,
f eeling every bump in his spine, struggling
with his freedom, living for open spaces,
meadow air tugging at the side of his face.
HE TOOK IT EASILY, SLUNG IT OVER HIS BACK.
And we visit uncomfortably with the silence of old lovers
until boredom and suffering drive us out to look for color.
He buys ties, fluorescent pink for me
orange for himself.
AND GUTTED IT OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM WITH HIS BOWIE.
Happy with our ties, we bar-hop.
At one place we eat free pizza and watch reruns of
Monday night football. Cheers for distant people
we don't know and don't care to. But there isn't the music
we'd hoped, and the dancing later, too slow.
PARALYZED EYES, LOCKED OUT WITH A LIFE SENTENCE,
CRYING, SNOW FALLING, HIS HANDS RED WITH WARM BLOOD.
Page 30, Fall 1988 , PIECEWORK
Remote, sitting in a separate light, we try
to be happy for each other. You tell me it is the past
that stings, more than smoke, in this crappy little bar. The words
we want, we never learned.
HIS EYES RED WITH TEARS MORE THAN SORRY.
In this bar, brother, with the same eyes I saw you had
at seven. But there is nothing to tell us we are free, nothing
to forgive. Really.
--Linda Nowlin
Wichita, KS
UCO Women's Research & BGLTQt Center
100 N. University Dr
Edmond, OK 73034
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 31
S C R A P E BOOK
We played as kids
In brown-clay gullies;
Steep-sided, sharp-edged
Against the fall sky.
Commando raids and sneak attacks
Were our forte.
The hard out-of-breath run;
Mocking the scenes on the tube
With make-believe blood.
Mom's voice calling us at dusk
Drifted across the empty
Field-sized lots;
The corpses were resurrected
To run home for supper.
--J. Leigh Perry
Moore
Paire 32, Fall 1988. PIECEWORK
CHAINS
On the same night
I put on my Christ-chains
those my near-ghost grandmother
held up to me
my brother went down in a gang fight
he, arrested
the others, free
leaving him broken-.iawed, with bonds
of hatred
for authority.
Was it that night, or one so like it
as to make
no difference
my too-young sister began her baby
.ioining her
stranger-man
her forced matrimony, t he child
dragging
weighing her down
drowning her in stagnant life.
The baby's chains,
his parents'
his parents'
his guilt hammered
by anger
fear
bound him forever.
forged in white-hot heat
love
hate
into him
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Pase 33
On nights like those there is little to do
no money
no time for anything
but adding links
to
links
to
chains.
--Betty Barrett
Yukon -
Page 34, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
LADY
LOVES
THE
BLUES
she holds to great sorrow
defines it in verse
disguising in metaphor a consuming depression.
she hides from herself
an abundance of empathy
while she waits for the wind
as it moves the earth
soul wind, flares of the sun
she is venus, fragmented by a glow on lunar morning.
she is focused on the moment
driven towards the future
open to the light
a student goddess,
too s.e nsitive to slander
hearing the crowd but never the applause.
--Lisa Schwartz-Amos
Nashville, TN
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 35
OLIVER.
0
5
THEME
There's more to it
than the three square-cut
rooms upstairs
where you share peanut
butter and hair
dye and more, the rooms
of smoking cloves and left,out skins
of hard salami and •nightclothes-like the buckled LPs we bought
way back in Haight-Ashbury,
now grooving against the mesh of the screen
doors at the top of the stairs .
Top of the stairs, cedar loveseat,
beanbagged planks
where you sag together, sharing
more than a cup of licorice
schnapps , the stairs
where she promises you
she 'll introduce me
to the ground, if I ever come
around to ask what's up.
She knows there's more
up the sleeves of those
old records than pressed
potleaf and spot
lyrics. That I might know
by my heart that vinyl,
those sheets, and the rasp of eucalyptus
in their voices when they stretch
Australian branches from your pillow
to the porch. She and I, we share
that, too, like our green
eyes and wishbones .
--Ruth Tobias
Los Angeles, CA
Page 36. Fall 1988. PIECEWORK
FAMILY
TR.EE
At nineteen, my grandmother danced a quadrille
with a merchant more than twice her age. Impressed by
his good manners and the jingling coins in his pockets,
she accepted his proposal of marriage under
a pumpkin moon. At a country dance, my mother's
orange colored hair caught my father's eye
as they do-si-doed and allemained right in time
to his clicking heels and joyous whoops.
At a Halloween dance, a boy taught me the Lindy Hop.
When the music stopped, we stood beside a jack-a-lantern.
He kissed me and I tasted Sen Sen.
Our granddaughter, prettiest of all, living or dead,
is enamoured ob a boy with a pumpkin for a head.
--Maurine Smith
Tahlequah
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Page 37
THE
TRAVELER
Womenfolk belong in the kitchen,
ain't got no need to roam,
Grandpa decreed. True, Grandma
never really wanted to leave,
she loved her Ozarks home,
but once in a while her foot
would itch, and she'd rock
a little faster
as she sat and stitched,
needle flashing through loops
of embroidery thread
with numbers and exotic names,
No.
No.
and
No.
35 Paris Blue,
12 Persian Pink,
her favorite,
57 Chinese Red.
--Billie Marsh
Tulsa
Page 38, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
PASSERBY
There she stands, rejected
Weary, old house
A forgotten mistress
spurned by her lovers
Blank, staring eyes, beneath
eyebrows of rusted guttering
Her twisted stoop making
an unpainted sneer.
The tottering chimney--her rakish hat
seemingly doffed to me
Each time I pass
Brambled gardens send forth
A faint scent of roses
I pause at the sagging gate
my thoughts poke inquisitive fingers
into her past
longing to know her secrets-ls she sad? Lonely, as I?
The only sound is a blue-jay's ribald
chatter _
I hasten homeward along the dusty road.
--Myrtle Burks
Oklahoma City
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Pase 39
PRO-CREATION
Oh, yes, let's
devil up these eggs
enrich their futures
tint them red
toss away the caution
watch them grow up
moisten down the hourglass
and make the sand stop ...
I dream I hatched six r:hildren
and [ bore them in a carton
as soon as I delivered
I wc1s slender as a siren
my orood dropped in so quickly
that I couldn't name them all
my mom gave me her Gold Card
and said, "Here, go shop for fall."
there 's more than meets the couch
in my misfit imagination :
I may not be Rtght-to -Life
but I am right-on Pro-Creation .
-- Emma Mayer
New York City, NY
Page 40, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
GOODBYE
TO
A
FRIEND
These losses come again and again,
and the telling makes me dull.
I no longer awake to the tone,
a call I turn from accepting.
I know now and have long that
losses are marked off at the five
and supper comes at six.
Cynicism spears my goodbyes.
I know they are deaths,
although we speak of letters, visits,
and remembering one another.
Days in and days out are
what matter, and they
never last. Leaves dust,
skin thins and lets vessels
swell through and my pain
must pump out loss' toll
so you can see.
But the regularity
of separation
makes it as familiar
as my face in the mirror,
and as surprising each
time . I am not like
Narcissus, innocent
of self knowledge.
I only glance at my
moments when you are gone.
I turn my back. The purpose
of pain escapes me.
--Carol Hamilton
Page 42., Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
UNTITLED
Larkspurs
A Live Monet
Against the stockade fence.
Its pastel beauty warms my heart
All day.
--Mary Clay
Oklahoma City
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Pace 43
AFTER
FORTY
Ounces and pounds
Don't say tons
No butter
For the buns
Pinch an inch
Squeeze a bunch
Water with lettuce
For lunch
Spinning scales
Heavy tippers
Celulite thighs
Broken zippers
Control top panty hose
In place
But she has such
A pretty face!
--Mar.iorie A. Hall
Tahlequah
Page 44 . Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
roi- our younger readers
:CLOVE
TO
SKATE
<
I love to skate, to go so fast-All the things I zoom right past-Doors and trees and a garbage can.
It's so much faster than if I ran!
,
~
I love to sway and turn and flip.
It's so much fun -- until I trip!
Then I cry and moan and talk.
I think it's safer iust to walk!
\
,,...
--Patricia J. Ramsey
Boise City
Art by Audrey Cochran
PIBCBWORK, Fall 1988, Pace 45
INSIDE-OUT
MILLIE
Silly Millie ate her dinner standing on her head.
It should have filled her belly, but it filled her nose instead,
And after dinner, Sneezing Mil climbed in her tub for bed.
Silly Millie washed her laundry in a drinking pail,
And watched for ducks inside her bedroom. Said she, "Without fail
They fly somewhere for the winter. I wish they'd go by rail."
Silly Millie cleaned her kitchen with a garden hose,
Then hung her laundry upside down with clothespins in her toes.
Why Silly Millie acts this way, I'm sure nobody knows.
--Sharon E. Martin
Cushing
Page 46, Fall 1988, PIECEWORK
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 and
political significance, for centuries. Hair makes statements for
and about us, and we are looking for the statements women
make about their hair. The editors want to do an issue of
poems, photographs and line drawings on hair.
If you have work, send it. If you don't, here's an idea to
work with: how do you see hair--yours, the blonde goddess'
hair, Veronica Lake's dip, Clairol's creations, anyone's--how do
you see it?
Send all your "hair pieces" by February 15, 1989, to:
"Hair"
PIECEWORK
P.O. Box 60693
Oklahoma City, OK 73146
Prose Anthology
Red Dirt Press, Inc., in response to your inqmr1es about
publishing prose works, is making plans to publish an anthology
of essays and short fiction •by women of this region in the
summer of 1989.
Send your double-spaced typed submissions, with a short
biography and a self-addressed stamped envelope to:
Prose Editors
Red Dirt Press, Inc.
P.O. Box 60693
Oklahoma City, OK 73146
The deadline for submissions is May 1, 1989.
PIBCBWORK, Pall 1988, Pace 47
GIFTS FOR SPECIAL PEOPLE
l" HE
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FE AST OF TH E ASSU MPTJONS
fi r st boo k of
us es r e l igious
w hich t he poet
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by Abigail Kee gan , t h e
poetry published b y Rerl · ll1rt Press,
f ra nt f" w ork. on
sy m bolism to form thP
m oldt.
# 0 - 9, 1 797-02-3,
h~r
v1s1011
o f
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I nd i an he ri ta ge an d surrou n ding~ o f i ts
BY KAY KILLGORE, M .ED.
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FOR T HE GIFT TH AT KEEPS ON GfVING
A Magazi,,e of Poetry by Wom en
We will send an attractive gift ca rd for you
Send PIECEWORK to :Name _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __
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Page 48 , Pa ll 1988, PIECEWORK
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Send $ 12 per subsc ript ion to:
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P.O. Box 60693, Oklahoma City, OK 73146
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OK
M 001 109 407
Red Dirt Press, Inc., a women-owned and women-operated publishing
company, is seeking manuscripts by women writers. Novels, volumes of
poetry and books of short stories will be accepted. Send your typed,
double-spaced {except for poetry) manuscripts for consideration, along
with a SASE, to Manuscripts, Red Dirt Press, Inc.. P.O. Box 60693,
Oklahoma City, OK 73146.
SUBMISSION DBADLINBS: November 15 for Winter issue; F~
ruary 15 for Spring issue; May 15 for Summer issue; August 15
for Fall issue.
SUBMISSION POLICY: PIECEWORK accepts subnJssiorts of poetry by
women, particularly from Oklahoma and the south ceu.:ral region. Payment is in one contributor's copy, with Red Dirt Press, Inc .. retaining
first rights only. Simultaneous submissions are acceptable, but 1-Ie.:se
inform us of this. Submissions should be typed and accompanied by a
brief biographical statement of the poet, and a SASE. We will r eport
within three months.
PIECEWORK is also accepting submissions of art work and photographs, especially seasonal to be used as covers for the quarterlies.
Send black and white photographs or black ink line drawings to
PIECEWORK, Red Dirt Press, Inc.. P.O. Box 60693, Oklahoma City,
OK 73146, by the submission dates above. Payment is in one contributor's copy. Please enclose a SASE.
FALL 1988
VOLUME 3. NUMBER 1
''I salute PIECEWORK for publishing so many fine
women poets in the region. So many new voices! It is
one more proof that the best writers these days appear
in the little magazines. Bravo tu the 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
Part of Piecework : v.3:no.1(1988)