Mannequin Envy
quarterly journal of poetic and visual art
Featured Artist:
Theresa Pfarr
More artwork by:
Cecilia Ferreira
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Ray Sweatman
when trees were dogs and we were trees
when the gods get stoned
they stick together like trees
and bark like wooden dogs
throughout eternity
best we can do
is carve our love in stupid hearts
and roll over on our side of the bed
be she ever there or not
and try to remember when
they were us and we were them
and could not be separated.
Balloons
Chekhov was a doctor. He knew the human heart. And the red ripeness
of cherries where the orchard was not. It starts as a Charley Horse.
Someone or other in the calf. It could be any leg. Any horse. Any
time. And blossoms like a helium pain balloon. As I lie in bed. Or
walk down the street.
I try to grab it. Give it a massage. Try to get it
under control when it jumps bigger in the thigh.
And then in the groin. Just as the woman with
the schnauzer passes by. Someone yelps.
Look! No hands!
In the classroom, it moves across my belly.
Slides up to my chest. I try hard to breathe.
De-de-flate it. Turn to face the board.
Surely they are laughing. And concentrate.
Concen-on the present perfect. Make it.
Make it. He. She. It. Has made.
They have…
It lands in my throat. This round jelly bulge.
I try to swallow and finagle. Swa-swa-llow.
Til it settles on the right cheek. I grab my face.
And turn quickly around: 'So did you get that?'
No one seems to notice. No one seems to grasp.
They must have their own balloons to worry about.
| Bio: Ray Sweatman has an MFA from Columbia University, teaches ESL, is co- poetry editor with PJ Nights at From East to West and is still waiting for one more person to buy his book Nothing lit can leave from lulu.com, so he can afford to buy one for himself. |  |
