GALE ACUFF : Honeymoon
ERIN C. HASTINGS : Letter to Victoria Lucas
MATTHEW RETOSKE : A Place to Wait Out the Rain
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10:118
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Honeymoon Letter to Victoria Lucas A Place to Wait Out the Rain


GALE ACUFF
Honeymoon
  I have parents and they love me and my dog loves me and I guess Jesus loves me, that's what the song says--why would a song lie? --and God and maybe the Holy Ghost, Who -ever that is, exactly, but I need more, more love, or love of a different kind, the kind I could get from Miss Hooker, my Sunday School teacher and a damn good one and a real beauty, too, red hair and green eyes and more freckles than I've ever seen on any one face before, let alone her neck and arms and legs, if it's no sin to say so--I can't help but notice them. Last night I dreamt I married Miss Hooker and on our honeymoon I asked her what she wanted to do, anything at all, and she said, I'll do anything you want to do, Honey, so I said, Okay, let's play checkers for a while, then watch TV because the Braves are on, and read comic books. Then we can have pizza rolls and french fries and maybe ice cream for dessert, Neopolitan because we're married and that's special, and then we can play cards. Well, alright Honey, she says--you know just how to treat a woman. I think I blushed because I wanted her to be satisfied. So we had a busy night and we both won at checkers and cards, even-Steven, and didn't bother to break the tie or pretend we were in the championship like I do with guys because we're married now and to each other so equally, I mean Miss Hooker and I, not my pals and I. And the Braves even won their game, though it took extra innings. And then   it was time for bed and we were pretty sleepy after all that fun and we saw each other naked and she's got freckles everywhere and I told her so and this time Miss Hooker was the one who blushed. Then we put on our pajamas and crawled into bed and kissed a couple of times like we meant it, which we do--did, I mean --and shook hands and rolled over, then out of nowhere I heard a voice asking, Do you want to make a baby, and it was Miss Hooker's voice but it sounded kind of husky, kind of deep and growly, so I said, Well, just what do you want me to do? Then I woke and it was time for Sunday School so I still don't see how you make them, babies I mean, but I was pretty close, in bed with a woman and the lights off and our teeth brushed but come to think of it we forgot to say the Lord's Prayer before we fell asleep and maybe that's what does it, that or a secret one for after. If I dream it again I'll remember and when I'm all grown up, I'm only 10, and I still don't know the secret then I'll ask it on my wedding night. Then Bingo.
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10:118
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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Honeymoon Letter to Victoria Lucas A Place to Wait Out the Rain


ERIN C. HASTINGS
Letter to Victoria Lucas
The humidity makes me think of you. Alone in that oven baking breast cookies with heart-shaped nipples, your children staring in with carbon copies of your heuristic sequined eyes. We are two of the same with our expert smile practiced in every passing mirror, restless nights spent floating about the bed and insulin shock treatments that plowed through our bodies to reveal exhausted farmland. I know about the doctors who bobbed their heads in your dark waters, never supporting your weight and the melancholy cork that seduced you within the bell jar like a fine Merlot. I know about the fire for one man, the blazes set within the inside of your thighs as well as the loss and the shards of glass felt in the small of your back with every sleepless turn. I know of the waiting, the endless waiting for the phone to ring to pacify the colic child within and the god awful silence that drowned you in your bed. But our experiences separate us like wind exhaling through strands of angel hair because I am your Lady Lazarus and you are merely my guide.
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10: 118
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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Honeymoon Letter to Victoria Lucas A Place to Wait Out the Rain


MATTHEW RETOSKE
A Place to Wait Out the Rain 
They sit together in gray and green. Chased by boredom to activity, She hammers the white tips of her unpainted nails Into a Caerffili of rotten clotted cream Left over from the post-war ration days. This barley and malt nostalgia That only Americans, and divergent lovers Seem able to detect. She sits alone in gray and green. They sit inside beneath a gray paneled sky Dim lights and disinterested plaster Set against the hedgerow undulation. In the unique melancholy of tourist towns During offseasons that begin later And end earlier every year. Picking some dust from the foam in his beer He has nothing to say, He sits alone in green and gray. Together in disparate occupations That intersect with eclipse-like frequency; She never wonders what he is thinking about; The chipped pint glass or the tea pot spout Facing each other oblivious. Two comets straying through two separate galaxies One on each cheek of the table's time-creased face, Buried beneath the gray silence of the place. Cigarette smoke crawls across the ashtray And swirls away in circles of gray From two opposing smoldering sticks; They consume space for two absorbed in solitude, Neither lamenting the bare-knuckle Yesteryears that reverberate Undisguised through the scene. They sit alone, one in gray- the other in green. copyright MATTHEW RETOSKE
POETRYREPAIRS #193 13.10: 118
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GALE ACUFF : Honeymoon
ERIN C. HASTINGS : Letter to Victoria Lucas
MATTHEW RETOSKE : A Place to Wait Out the Rain


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