Prompt Images
I am standing, not kneeling
over the toilet bowl
Shivering
Waiting for the next wave to co—
There it is, no wait…
A line from Heathers pops into my head
as I double over.
“Greetings and salutations,” I say to my latest
work of abstract art.
I say to my latest work of abstract art.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I’ve never seen two lines appear so fast.
And if we weren’t sure, there’s a digital
YES+
on the other one.
I laugh, like I’m on a reboot of Punked.
Good one, Ashton (dick).
Days pass by in blips—I black out after retching up food and pills and wake up driving.
My son wants his sister to “go away.”
She is aware, yet still blissful in the way back.
Ah, to be under 2.
She thinks the lady in the driver’s seat knows everything.
After all, she does the strapping in, and the pony tail tying, and
she makes the snacks appear
and their dregs disappear down the drain.
Every day is a magic show!
Why yes,
that IS Carly Simon playing again on shuffle.
You’re right, I’m singing and sobbing
at the red light,
—but only because my kids have no idea.
By the time we’re in the driveway,
my stiff cheeks will dry and it will be on to the next disaster—
“What’s that, my darling?
You want me to play The Beach Boys again? You got it!”
Those peppy Wilson voices wash over
Carly’s domestic pain like a killer wave.
And here they come, begging a woman for help:
No please, no thank you, just
HELP ME, RHONDA! HELP! HELP ME, RHONDA!
High-pitched, imperative sentences.
We’re all Rhondas.
I’d like to know who the original Rhonda was…
I bet she’s in Carly’s boat:
wants to be left the fuck alone.
Anne Bradstreet scratched ink and quill
by candlelight.
I read those beautifully composed early pieces
But underneath that gorgeous cadence,
I swear I can hear her cursing a husband
who dragged her to a “New World”
that just ended up being Massachusetts.
Sylvia plunked away,
sometimes angrily
(not all the time, like the caricatures suggest)
on her typewriter while her pies baked.
Ted would eat the pies and win the prize,
and Sylvia is remembered more for her
last night in a kitchen.
Me? This is going on my Notes app
Because no one will be analyzing this in a grad class some day.
The kids are hungry again
I guess it’s—
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