That’s it. No more robots in the living room. Period.

::

Crap. I just got a business card stuck to my lower lip. Oh wait. Now it’s stuck to my upper lip, too.

::

Sometimes when I’m thinking, I use air quotes around certain words. I wonder what that’s about.

::

Using my mouse wheel actually has an intensely calming effect on me. Who knew the way to serenity was through my index finger.

::

Someone just made their way to my site after searching for the term “words to express pregnancy.” How about this: “I’m pregnant.”

Someone just made their way to my site after searching for the term “A bottle of bubbly makes naughty girls giggle.”

Someone just made their way to my site after searching for the phrase, “what slang do cops call it when they take a nap at the squad.”

::

My husband tries to sneak little robots into every room, as if I won’t notice.

::

How is it possible for my stress level to be directly proportional to the number of tabs I have open on my internet browser?

::

I just saw a drapery rod finial out of the corner of my eye and mistook it for a wasp’s nest.

::

It has been decided: The hermit crabs are coming with us on vacation.

Aphrodite Responds to Inquiries Regarding Her Relationship with Ares, God of Bloodlust

Must we go over this again?
I first saw him in the mist, near the blooming
onions, and a new bibliography
for my life was written.

What my muscles misunderstood
draped between him and me
like a veil of notes, all off key.

I took “seep” for sepia
and the trees behind me shed their
colors at my feet.

I took moribund for “more abundant”
and let my breasts grow
to the size of gourds ready to split.

It’s been years since I bellydanced under
a tonnage of coins, each coin taken
into his mouth for good luck,
the vellum-thin
fabric cinched at my waist as a tether.

It’s been years since I heaved for the muted
trumpets in his voice.

Your threats and convoluted
note-taking mean nothing.
I bark at every hand that’s ever bled me.

* * *
Process Notes

I wrote this piece for this week’s Read Write Poem prompt, brought to us by Jessica Fox Wilson. This is a word-based prompt using words from two Read Write Poem participants, Beth and Claudia. Click here to see the prompt.

I know the poem contains many anachronistic elements, and that’s intentional. I have another piece about Persephone that’s the same way. Maybe I will go back and change those elements that aren’t historically accurate. I haven’t decided yet.

When you know what a poem is trying to do and understand how it is working, then you become useful. The poem has every clue you’re ever going to get. Stop worrying about what’s not there. You can do what you want with a poem, but it’s only OK if you take it back to the poem and the poem says, “Yeah, that’s OK.” — Sharon Bryan

I am very excited to have three poems up at Thirteen Myna Birds today. They are all going to appear in my chapbook, The Spare Room, which is forthcoming from Blood Pudding Press this summer.

Only thirteen poems appear at any given time on Thirteen Myna Birds. As new poems are added, mine will get shoved down the list and will eventually be deleted from the site. So get over there while you can still see them. (And read the other 10 poems, too, while you’re there.)

There are globs of flesh underneath each of my arms, near my armpits, that I didn’t know existed until 2 minutes ago. I was casually feeling around on my left arm with my right hand — don’t I know how to party on a Friday night — when I came upon its glob and immediately thought, “Who put my mother’s arms on me!” I thought it just like that, with an exclamation point. I’m sure the legs will be next. Just not the stomach, please. I can handle anything besides having her stomach.

::

I just wrote a letter to a famous poet. It’s cool. He gave me his address, so it’s not stalking. Unless he wants it to be, then it totally is stalking. Writing the letter made me happy because it helped me put some things into perspective. Mostly about poets. And poetry. And letter-writing, which is something I stopped doing years ago, when the internets came around with their fancy promise of slick electronic communications. (A promise on which they delivered, I must admit.) I’m pretty good at writing letters, though. I should do it more often. If anyone wants a letter from me, let me know.

::

I went to an interview for a part-time position that I thought might be ideal while I am in graduate school. The employer said he’s going to hire two or three people and then let them compete against one another before deciding which one to keep. That’s mean. It’s a job, after all, not Project Verse. I mean, really — especially in this economy — who would muck around with people’s lives like that? “Ethical” is one of the required skills he listed for the position. How is his approach to hiring ethical?

::

I finally bought some food, after eating stale popcorn and stale tortilla chips and stale bagels and stale bread and chewing gum (which was at least fresh) for days on end. I only bought enough for today, though, and somehow still managed to spend $28.

::

I love surprises, like turning around and seeing my hamster — who I think is completely crashed out in her Igloo house — clinging to the side of her cage way up high by the cage’s ceiling.