{"id":3938,"date":"2011-04-01T00:01:46","date_gmt":"2011-04-01T05:01:46","guid":{"rendered":"\/nashvillereview\/?p=3938"},"modified":"2015-03-25T21:25:05","modified_gmt":"2015-03-26T03:25:05","slug":"i-find-that-we-as-a-people","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/archives\/3938","title":{"rendered":"I Find That We, As A People: An Exquisite Corpse"},"content":{"rendered":"

by\u00a0K.D., Ryan Sartor,\u00a0Lawrence Scott Parkinson,\u00a0Gwenn Gebhard,\u00a0Kathryn Locey,\u00a0Nikolina Kulidzau,\u00a0Michael Barach,\u00a0Kate,\u00a0Steven Wolfe,\u00a0Tom Wheatley,\u00a0Burt Kimmelman,\u00a0Jana Russ,\u00a0Michael Rumore,\u00a0Ariel Moore,\u00a0Allyson Mead,\u00a0Heather Severson,\u00a0Alex Geng,\u00a0June Marie Wade,\u00a0Harvest Henderson,\u00a0Meredith Gray,\u00a0Bryn Chancellor,\u00a0Tim Dempsey,\u00a0Michelle Tokarczk,\u00a0Emma Sovich,\u00a0Freya Gibbon,\u00a0Jen Dempsey,\u00a0Mark Spitzer,\u00a0BJ Hollars,\u00a0Paul E. McCullough,\u00a0Lesley Clark,\u00a0Adence Washington,\u00a0Lindsay Moore,\u00a0Brit Blalock,\u00a0Sara Grossman,\u00a0Sandee Umbuch,\u00a0Helen Ruggieri,\u00a0Holly Stone,\u00a0Elizabeth Lara,\u00a0Ivy Page,\u00a0Joshua Mensch,\u00a0Bradley Paul,\u00a0Peter Jurmu,\u00a0Brad Modlin,\u00a0James Celestino,\u00a0Katherine Pearl,\u00a0Noelle Rankin,\u00a0Gro Flatebo,\u00a0Michael Khandelwar,\u00a0J.S.,\u00a0Bridgette Shade,\u00a0Karen Lizon,\u00a0Cathy Che,\u00a0Brittany Cavallaro,\u00a0Michael Barron,\u00a0Jim Hilgartner,\u00a0Jenny Lupes,\u00a0Laura Davis,\u00a0Sharon Harrigan,\u00a0Tyler Harper,\u00a0Mattie Davenport,\u00a0Samantha Killebraw,\u00a0Tyler Harper,\u00a0Frank Dobson,\u00a0Gwyn Fallbrooke,\u00a0Amy Whitaker,\u00a0Tyler Harper,\u00a0Angie Hogan,\u00a0Jessica Handler,\u00a0Mickey Dubrow,\u00a0Araba Maze,\u00a0Adrienne Su,\u00a0Juan Carlos Reyes,\u00a0Vinny Sunguttuvan,\u00a0John Carr,\u00a0Tommy Dean,\u00a0Michele Reese,\u00a0Mary Marwitz,\u00a0Lindsay Key,\u00a0Eleana Levine,\u00a0David Dill,\u00a0Daniel Schall,\u00a0Christine Herrmann,\u00a0David M.,\u00a0Kona Morris,\u00a0Lena Rogue,\u00a0Becky Firesheets,\u00a0Karen Chronister,\u00a0Margaret Hutton,\u00a0E.K.P.,\u00a0C.E. Wheeler,\u00a0C. LePage,\u00a0David Collins,\u00a0Robert Evory,\u00a0Michelle Banczek,\u00a0Linda Umans, Isaac Butler,\u00a0Tyler Harper,\u00a0Emily Anderson,\u00a0Leslie Sussan,\u00a0Tina Richardson,\u00a0Christine Cutler,\u00a0Erin Tocknell,\u00a0Max Thamos,\u00a0Ava Leavell Haymon,\u00a0Jacqueline Mehring,\u00a0Louisa Dang,\u00a0Amira Pierce,\u00a0Marilyn Knight,\u00a0Madelaine Hoptry,\u00a0Samantha Holley,\u00a0Lucy Green,\u00a0Tarfia Faizullah,\u00a0Khaled Mattawa,\u00a0Kate Cumiskey,\u00a0Purvi Shah,\u00a0Elsbeth Pancrazi,\u00a0Julie Chinitz,\u00a0Mason Manna,\u00a0Marissa Tinloy,\u00a0Mark Jarman,\u00a0Sara Marshall,\u00a0Terri Witek,\u00a0Lucy Norman Spencer,\u00a0Peg Boyers,\u00a0Don Petersoy,\u00a0Catherine Pond,\u00a0June Rockefeller,\u00a0Jillian Clark,\u00a0Matt Ramey,\u00a0Ezekiel Rahloof,\u00a0P.S. Salvador West,\u00a0Gina Vivinetto,\u00a0Joshua Gottlieb-Miller,\u00a0Robyn Kohlwey,\u00a0Alyse Knorr,\u00a0Grigsby Hubbard,\u00a0Valerie Vogrin,\u00a0Liam Beare,\u00a0Anna Joy Springer,\u00a0Beth Staples,\u00a0Josh Morsell,\u00a0Britt Melewski,\u00a0Taylor Mankid,\u00a0Adrienne Celt,\u00a0Emily Howarth,\u00a0Mariette Pan,\u00a0Bob Girardi,\u00a0Dewitt Brinson,\u00a0Sebastian Paramo,\u00a0Cynthia Grier Lotze,\u00a0Wendy Oleson,\u00a0Tera Vale Ragan,\u00a0James Ragan,\u00a0Colin Pope,\u00a0Casey Smith,\u00a0Susan Levi Wallach,\u00a0Maria Tomasio-Moore,\u00a0Amy Souza,\u00a0C.A.,\u00a0Mant,\u00a0Abby Beckel,\u00a0Smallhands Rejected,\u00a0Anastasia Kozak,\u00a0and Trenna Sharpe,<\/a> edited by Kendra DeColo and Matthew Baker<\/p>\n


\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

Poetry is a sickness. The muted glimmer<\/p>\n

is suffocating, in a Denny\u2019s parking lot,<\/p>\n

whilst checking the cars for stray goods.<\/p>\n

The dog blanket was stretched out across the back seat so that after a run through<\/p>\n

the woods, along muddy trails in the spring and dust paths in the heat of<\/p>\n

August, the dog wouldn\u2019t track dirt into the car. Other stray goods strewn on the<\/p>\n

backseat included two library books, an empty water bottle and a wrapped half-eaten<\/p>\n

sandwich: not such a mess, really\u2014<\/p>\n

the bread, a marbled rye, was so thin that she expected the pickle<\/p>\n

to soak through, but even though the bread showed a few holes\u2014those<\/p>\n

come from air bubbles, she had heard\u2014the thing still looked basically<\/p>\n

intact, and if she had known how long that sandwich had been there, she<\/p>\n

might have eaten it.<\/p>\n

But she didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Neither did the sheep. A straw hat,<\/p>\n

nothing more than decoration, lay on a wicker rocker in the corner,<\/p>\n

feet swinging like ripe durians, huge and stinking,<\/p>\n

after a night out without neon lights.<\/p>\n


\n<\/code><\/p>\n

I stumbled through the streets toward home,<\/p>\n

bleeding in high heels like some Cinderella stepsister\u2014<\/p>\n

but, fairy tales are awfully clich\u00e9.<\/p>\n

Like the one about the princess in pink,<\/p>\n

who picked the dragon in the end,<\/p>\n

and lush, sweet choices made us.<\/p>\n

The bitterness came next:<\/p>\n

birds battered the windows<\/p>\n

as though they knew something we\u2019d forgotten\u2014<\/p>\n

they were ready with hot tea and toothbrushes.<\/p>\n

All she could think was, Stains<\/em>.<\/p>\n

The man in the porkpie hat yelled, \u201cThis cream is rancid!\u201d<\/p>\n

Then he said, \u201cLake George is the worst place to<\/p>\n

live: snow in November\u2014no health insurance.\u201d<\/p>\n

But she did not heed his advice,<\/p>\n

for she dearly loved the lake ponies.<\/p>\n

Lake ponies bite and kick, like Chincoteague ponies, but lake ponies can\u2019t swim<\/p>\n

the way they dreamed. This is all that matters: the way water<\/p>\n

rushes between her honey thighs\u2014eye<\/p>\n

the color of sheep gut\u2014<\/p>\n

reminded me something like Don\u2019t Be So Trite.<\/p>\n


\n<\/code><\/p>\n

He could never be my only obsession,<\/p>\n

because the butterflies twirling in my gutter flutter more.<\/p>\n

(She didn\u2019t want a biologist as a father<\/p>\n

but his eyes were electrons gone haywire, belief in something burning,<\/p>\n

like the Bible, or a Confederate flag.)<\/p>\n

Like ice in frozen grain,<\/p>\n

my life is Buffalo winters,<\/p>\n

equal darkness of silent obscurity submerged<\/p>\n

in the most anonymous deep purple.<\/p>\n

It was almost night and on the horizon purple shadows threatened<\/p>\n

to rise, choleric and raging, over the sound.<\/p>\n


\n<\/code><\/p>\n

Bring me to your ear, hear the whisper of the laughter I keep behind closed teeth.<\/p>\n

But don\u2019t tarry, lest the lobster boils down to its own poached shell\u2014what wonder, or else.<\/p>\n

Though all things are poached eventually! Or smoked, or other\u2026<\/p>\n

The convention hall is now closed\u2014please move to the nearest exit\u2014<\/p>\n

The convention hall is open once again, all who enter are welcome\u2014<\/p>\n

Among your troubles, however\u2014you can\u2019t find it with this map.<\/p>\n

Although, for me, the ephemeral discovery is the absolute:<\/p>\n

at six-years-old I thought myself quite powerful, believing I had caused<\/p>\n

the death of my parents\u2019 child.<\/p>\n

I found out later that bad milk was to blame for their death.<\/p>\n

(It pissed her off when he used words like \u201cmomentarily\u201d when one-<\/p>\n

syllable \u201csoon\u201d would work just as well.<\/p>\n

She tried to restrain herself, but her hand was operating<\/p>\n

with its own thought; she slapped him hard.)<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s my cherries jubilee?\u201d she shouted.<\/p>\n

They\u2019re mocking me, the cactuses.<\/p>\n

Outside the air was sweating lizards.<\/p>\n

I carry within myself borders.<\/p>\n

Dark walls. A rattle. The sound\u2014<\/p>\n

is this heaven? No, a Tide commercial.<\/p>\n

Give a dog a steak, he\u2019ll eat for a day;<\/p>\n

teach a dog to steak, he\u2019ll eat for the rest of his life.<\/p>\n

He will examine, perhaps, his steak-blessed life with a new<\/p>\n

sense of urgency, and take himself, perhaps, to the woods\u2026<\/p>\n

(\u201cVeggie burgers be damned,\u201d with a fist raised to the sky, he shouted his manifesto as<\/p>\n

the medium-rare juice ran pink down his chin.)<\/p>\n

Composting meat is forbidden. You must never bind meat to leaf matter.<\/p>\n

Leave the feathers on the wind. Bind the sausage with hair ribbon.<\/p>\n

The Great Day begins with a sign:<\/p>\n

if it\u2019s a red octagon, stop.<\/p>\n

(To lift his head one last time<\/p>\n

and say, \u201cI can smell the cherry blossoms again.\u201d)<\/p>\n

And the light as truth shines upon you as a great river flows!<\/p>\n

And the river runs deep; its currents crest and plummet.<\/p>\n

Fish gleam like lost coins through the silt.<\/p>\n

If not museums, art. If not art, your life.<\/p>\n

Water ripples through the night, and hope to all there, all<\/p>\n

will be sense and swift.<\/p>\n

If you place a dark stone in my hand, shall<\/p>\n

make a light, says the Buddha.<\/p>\n

They made me ugly, she said. They failed, he replied.<\/p>\n

The sky is getting higher.<\/p>\n

After which, the kiwi took off,<\/p>\n

landing four short steps from Brighton Beach. Brooklyn police called in Federal investigators<\/p>\n

to ascertain the nature, structure, and future of the kiwi, seeing as the last time these sands<\/p>\n

had held one, outgoing Mayor Delano La Guardia declared, \u201cThere is nothing much we can do now that our<\/p>\n

children are permanently scarred by these abominable fruit droppings from on high.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fruit, that sweet nectar of the skies, dripping in a succulent gooey mess onto the shoulders<\/p>\n

of teenagers inhaling under the umbrella of stout branches.<\/p>\n

That fruit, those crushed red raspberries he wore as face paint, war paint, ready for<\/p>\n

the coup.<\/p>\n

The horses bridled and fed, awaited their writers in a fog of steam.<\/p>\n

(I bought a bag of dog food from the lesbian at the feed<\/p>\n

store off the books.<\/p>\n

My dog has an exquisite social conscience; he may not<\/p>\n

eat something\u2014<\/p>\n

even when he was a puppy, he begged for avocados only.)<\/p>\n

Bon appetit in the non-kosher realm,<\/p>\n

cicada.<\/p>\n

Squints through Jhumpa Lahiri\u2019s pupil<\/p>\n

and asks, Why are we all here?<\/em><\/p>\n

What you want to know\u2014why we drink beer\u2014<\/p>\n

we smell deep and then we understand.<\/p>\n

Sometimes our own aroma gets in the way.<\/p>\n

I find that we, as a people, are confused yet say we know.<\/p>\n

And so, what is left are flowers and theft.<\/p>\n

(Whoever thieved\u2014without leaving fingerprints\u2014received a bouquet of lilies.)<\/p>\n

Here in D.C.\u2014so much fun to visit my son, out of<\/p>\n

the rest\u2014<\/p>\n

a baby bird died, just out in the cold.<\/p>\n

My poor son cried because it was not old.<\/p>\n

Jesus said, \u201cDon\u2019t touch that mold.\u201d<\/p>\n

Push toward the ground-<\/p>\n

hog, whose shadows draws the new planets,<\/p>\n

whose light draws the new moons, whose energy inspires the roots<\/p>\n

to intertwine, and I, after seeing you again,<\/p>\n

the time I thought not to live, to be free forever,<\/p>\n

the time I knew you, and lived forever already,<\/p>\n

and had already forgotten the long quiet of death<\/p>\n

(until she decided to sit and make a bow of Barbie doll shoes;<\/p>\n

she\u2019d decided her life was not perfect after all;<\/p>\n

but perfection breeds complacency, so she let the tea continue to steep.)<\/p>\n

Nevertheless, she found the tea made her neither complacent, nor<\/p>\n

perfect, but only tired.<\/p>\n

Things. It was over early.<\/p>\n

(Why did I eat that potato?<\/p>\n

It was green, there were sprouts growing out the top!<\/p>\n

My rainbow-colored mop, my leaking heart, the clammy world!!!)<\/p>\n

Gum, the flavor of high school kisses.<\/p>\n

Metal arms embrace the sky.<\/p>\n

I wish the pen regained its might,<\/p>\n

that dark earth would birth jewel-colored answers.<\/p>\n

Nightly, the dark wind scalloping the dark river.<\/p>\n

Must we go on sailing this detritus, we thought.<\/p>\n

And the lyrics of my sister\u2019s hands, thistle, carving air,<\/p>\n

the stolen song of my father\u2019s land, a country generated by wind\u2019s desire\u2014<\/p>\n

tall grasses, rails, pavement, grout, and always higher,<\/p>\n

scrub scrub scrub.<\/p>\n

(Smile until your cheeks are sore, and then smile some more,<\/p>\n

said the woman with the rings around her eyes, her retinas\u2014the color of an old<\/p>\n

wedding band.<\/p>\n

The fecund fruit fulfills a furious fantasy.<\/p>\n

Loud curatorial music governs from its aerial bassinet.<\/p>\n

Oh, that the answer may always be ocean.<\/p>\n

Oh yes, until the storm comes,<\/p>\n

or until the\u2014and we are swept into the river of<\/p>\n

poor handwriting.<\/p>\n

The nail polish was chipping.<\/p>\n

She was biting at her fingernails, and no one cared.<\/p>\n

Her gel-polish manicure wouldn\u2019t last three weeks\u2014not ever.<\/p>\n

Instead her yellow diamond would stand guard\u2014<\/p>\n

Stand back<\/em>, the yellow bird warned, emerging.<\/p>\n

All of the birds warned this, they would not stop with their warnings\u2014<\/p>\n

and yet, the blood people continue to roam,<\/p>\n

their credit ratings in intensive care<\/p>\n

and bad checks, spoiled as month-old tomatoes,<\/p>\n

piled, piling, on the nightstand you used to call hers.<\/p>\n

Which digits now serve to reach her? Is it ever too late to call?<\/p>\n

She pressed her palm to the leaf\u2014terribly<\/p>\n

intricate on the base of her spine.<\/p>\n

Germany to the Czech Republic in three hours\u2014<\/p>\n

remembers every step\u2014<\/p>\n

oh fuck you, you stupid\u2014<\/p>\n

your kitten\u2019s half this kitten\u2019s size.<\/p>\n

(This kitten must be a bobcat, and it ate my tuna sandwich.)<\/p>\n

With its departure, with the message it did not survive;<\/p>\n

they didn\u2019t pay enough postage, and the smoke signals were in Spanish.<\/p>\n

Semaphore was even worse.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d taken a bite of the Dachshund\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cAloha Foxtrot Tango!\u201d cried the chubby zookeeper. \u201cBravo Charlie!\u201d<\/p>\n

But it was too late\u2014the lemur had escaped<\/p>\n

from its cage.<\/p>\n

Sexy, no sexy\u2014boy smile<\/em>\u2014<\/p>\n

in solitude I still find my hernia above<\/p>\n

and here, in winter, I find it keeps me too warm\u2014<\/p>\n

warm, or worm, really\u2014bisected and regenerating.<\/p>\n

As the crickets sing their gossip into the mute midnight air,<\/p>\n

as if they knew\u2014at sixteen her eyes were ocean wide\u2014<\/p>\n

I show you a good sky\u2014it could hold a fleet of geese<\/p>\n

above a kite, sipping in a breeze\u2014or foliate<\/p>\n

with leaves of cherry wood and hedge\u2014<\/p>\n

a cornucopia of geese pouring from<\/p>\n

the lake of our estimation, of love\u2014<\/p>\n

my frail heart wants nothing more<\/p>\n

than to beat a moment under a hard orange shin\u2014<\/p>\n

like a citrus-flavored candy liable to shatter if bit and make the tongue bleed sweet juice,<\/p>\n

the hard-backed insect.<\/p>\n

Stretched out, played dead, played possum.<\/p>\n

The earth smacked blood red and wet<\/p>\n

leaves blew a wasteland of Spanish moss.<\/p>\n

And from a distant planet, a cosmonaut, named Smallhands Rejected, shifted his<\/p>\n

eyes to a balding head.<\/p>\n

It was the most exquisitely shaped head in the world.<\/p>\n

So I shrank it\u2014I hung it on the wall.<\/p>\n


\n<\/code><\/p>\n

Read more poetry in our current issue<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by\u00a0K.D., Ryan Sartor,\u00a0Lawrence Scott Parkinson,\u00a0Gwenn Gebhard,\u00a0Kathryn Locey,\u00a0Nikolina Kulidzau,\u00a0Michael Barach,\u00a0Kate,\u00a0Steven Wolfe,\u00a0Tom Wheatley,\u00a0Burt Kimmelman,\u00a0Jana Russ,\u00a0Michael Rumore,\u00a0Ariel Moore,\u00a0Allyson Mead,\u00a0Heather Severson,\u00a0Alex Geng,\u00a0June Marie Wade,\u00a0Harvest Henderson,\u00a0Meredith Gray,\u00a0Bryn Chancellor,\u00a0Tim Dempsey,\u00a0Michelle Tokarczk,\u00a0Emma Sovich,\u00a0Freya Gibbon,\u00a0Jen Dempsey,\u00a0Mark Spitzer,\u00a0BJ Hollars,\u00a0Paul E. McCullough,\u00a0Lesley Clark,\u00a0Adence Washington,\u00a0Lindsay Moore,\u00a0Brit Blalock,\u00a0Sara Grossman,\u00a0Sandee Umbuch,\u00a0Helen Ruggieri,\u00a0Holly Stone,\u00a0Elizabeth Lara,\u00a0Ivy Page,\u00a0Joshua Mensch,\u00a0Bradley Paul,\u00a0Peter Jurmu,\u00a0Brad Modlin,\u00a0James Celestino,\u00a0Katherine Pearl,\u00a0Noelle Rankin,\u00a0Gro Flatebo,\u00a0Michael Khandelwar,\u00a0J.S.,\u00a0Bridgette Shade,\u00a0Karen Lizon,\u00a0Cathy Che,\u00a0Brittany Cavallaro,\u00a0Michael […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-11w","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3938"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3938"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3938\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11839,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3938\/revisions\/11839"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3938"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3938"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3938"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}