VERNON WARING : The Rescue of Natalie Wood
JEFFREY C. ALFIER : Seeking Dawn at Capri
NANCY CHERRY : The Hammer
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The Rescue of Natalie Wood Seeking Dawn at Capri The Hammer  
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VERNON WARING
The Rescue of Natalie Wood
She plays the victim so often, her small shaky voice seems as tiny as she is, those beautiful dark Russian eyes pleading like rippling pools of fear... And now she is here - in this dark water - no camera to record her fear, no sound engineer to capture her cries... just a curious moon spreading no light as her slim form slips almost imperceptibly beneath the surface. I wait in the cold current, then surge forward, grabbing her. She's so fragile, doll-like almost. I can barely make out her perfect features in this troubled seascape. I hold her firmly, her face just above the wave. We struggle in the darkness, no ship's light, no miracle lifeboat, no compass, no guide... I hold her tightly, our breathing labored. I hear her whispered prayers like soft billowing epiphanies carrying us  quietly   gently    safely back to shore.
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The Rescue of Natalie Wood Seeking Dawn at Capri The Hammer  
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JEFFREY C. ALFIER
Seeking Dawn at Capri
The sky, harbored with thunder, ferments time into beauty, unfurling cumulus sails to olive trees' silver-green that dreams of the shadowed depths of twelve villas for twelve gods... symphonies of latent storms.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 066
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The Rescue of Natalie Wood Seeking Dawn at Capri The Hammer  
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NANCY CHERRY
The Hammer
There is a hammer lying on the floor of my bedroom I want to pick it up but I don't pick it up because that would be a digression. If I pick up the hammer, it will leave an impression, hammer-shaped, in the rug because it is heavy and has lain there all night. it will look as if the hammer is still there even after I have walked out of the room and put it away in the toolbox. The carpet will not let go of its hammer-shape; it is not grass that will gradually lift itself after a night of heavy sleep. It will only stand up if I run my fingers through the fibers or vacuum; and if I vacuum, I will not stop with the foot-square shape of hammer, but will run through the house vacuuming carpets and no one will remember there was a hammer. Last night I brought the hammer into the bedroom to unstick the window swollen with winter because I was beginning to suffocate as the barometer dropped toward rain. Even now, though I am in the kitchen and it is raining at last, I am thinking about the hammer and what it is doing alone in the bedroom pressing carpet fibers to the floor. It presses silently and does not move in any direction except down. It does not inch toward home but plows through my thoughts with the claw end made for prying and getting things unstuck. And what will I discover inside but another toolbox full of anxious hardware: the screwdrivers, the pliers and directress and an empty space at the back for the hammer.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.06: 066
VERNON WARING : The Rescue of Natalie Wood
JEFFREY C. ALFIER : Seeking Dawn at Capri
NANCY CHERRY : The Hammer

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