"The Place Above the River" by Kate Northrop
The house is empty and girls go in.
They drift through hours in the summer.
Across the river, music begins:
Love, it's summer. The closed homes open.
The docks are decked with lights. But further
the house is empty and girls go in
to light their lovely cigarettes; they listen
closely to the woods. Leaves? A slowing car?
Across the river, music begins
where wives are beautiful still, and thin
(in closets their dresses hang, sheer as scarves)
while the house is empty and the girls go in,
shimmering, to swallow vodka, or gin,
which burn, and to lean from where the window were.
Across the river, music begins
and will part waves of air. Now. Then.
The season's criminal, strict and clear.
The house is empty. Girls go in.
Across the river, music begins.
My Improv':
A place, he said, made by me n' Freddie mostly; a
young stang's stage--the oak's always standing,
applauding with flimsy flicks of their limb-
like wrists. A play place frankenstein'd by second
grade break-nic'ers... I didn't dare tell him this
place would be the first, or how V-Slims and
Bulgari's Pour Femme made a pallet out of
air between my palate and hairy tongue; their
morning breath, sweating, always feels like
sweaters on my teeth. No, I didn't tell
him about that staining night with uncut rock
and Hades blue butane, how it raped her red-
rubber--pity; and she six months in.
This place, a king-bed of two-x's; tree
hair loose-leafy shedding, it's October
30th now. He springs one foot, two, waltzes
a 180, tickles nothing with an airy sword--
the 'Thespian of Coker'--and recites the
wrong line from Shakespeare's Romeo: "What,
drawn and talk of peace?" he Chesire
Cat's a grin--I started. Literally blood
dripped, but not the amount, not the color
she said before the crytsal-lite blue shards
melted her into the mural stucco of our family
fun room--ha! how's that for Romeno, indeed!
Sydney,
ReplyDeleteFirst off, I am always jealous of your language. It tends to be somewhat dense, but always very conscious, worked with, and image laden. I love the phrase "limb-like wrists" in reference to the oaks. A grammatical change needs made though, in that "oak's" should be "oaks'", otherwise the following agreements should be singular. I like the subtle repetitions such as "sweating, always feels like sweaters." This is a good techinique to drive the piece forward and create a coherency of style. I do suggest being careful with the density of language though. It's great to an extent, but at a certain point it starts getting in the way of comprehension. I get so sucked into the sounds and individual phrases and words that the wholeness of the piece is ambiguous. Overall, it is an interesting move away from Northrop's poem and a clearly talented draft.