wicked alice| fall 2011
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| dgp| sundress
Jessica
Rainey & Edward Smallfield
Lola’s Reading
past :
body : six of swords
dreams
have no titles
past :
mind : two of wands
negar es pensar
past :
soul : three of cups
the
suitcase with the antibiotics
present : body
: the devil
and I will
tell you who you are
present : mind
: page of wands
no eres ambicioso
present
:
soul : six of cups
the kisses
open
future :
body : the hanged man
death is the mother
of beauty
future :
mind :
three of swords
the subject of all poems is the clock
future :
soul : nine of pentacles
and smarter than you think
Dime: 2
Tell me, Miss Quote, what
do your tattoos
mean?
Our history is written in ashes,
some
poet said, but you wear yours, a sign like lip
-stick on a pillow or
scribbled on a mirror.
Have you seen the other
women looking at your shoes?
This
life often tastes like dust.
This
life only tastes like dust
when
the corners don't get swept! My
tattoos
are
me, my true identity. My
shoes
are
a figment of our collective prostíbulo projection.
For me, ashes
belong
in the past—mirrors
do too. Nuestras
historias son meras reflexiones
: everyone has lips.
…but
they’re not your lips,
as
the old song says. And the dust
that
gathers in the corners of our souls and poems, that blurs our mirrors,
can’t
be blown easily away, though we try. Your tattoos
remember
like love’s bruises. We
wish our pasts were ashes.
I
wonder, though, who you really are on summer nights, without your shoes.
I
am different without my shoes
and
my lips
are
not mine either. But, Ramón, summer nights, like ashes,
can
only be experienced now... Have
you tried the stardust
pickmeup?
It tastes to me of summer dreams and overcoloured
tattoos.
Perhaps
I will see what they really are if perhaps you would hold up your mirror?
Tell me, Miss Q, will I
see you in my mirror
or
are you truly una vampira? Please
take off your shoes
and
feel the wet sand. I’d
like to learn the taste of your tattoos,
your
summer dreams. None
of us owns our lips,
that’s
the life we’ve chosen for ourselves.
“Stardust”
is
an old song, &, perhaps like us, it tastes of ashes.
Imagine the taste of us—a mouthful of ash
I would rather look in my own mirror
though
perhaps when covered with dust
I
would see only red shoes
and
red-stained lips
not
because I am a vampire, Ramón
I prefer not to see my tattoos
and
the ashes feel
soft without shoes
as soft as your
lips se debe colocar siempre
detrás del espejo
escondido como el polvo we hide behind
our tattoos
Mado’s Reading
Past : body
: king
of cups
what
I like most
past : mind :
seven of wands
the
tongue searches for a thread underneath
past
: soul : nine
of swords
and
we killed the Gods
present
:
body : temperance
I wanted to do evil
Present : mind : ace
of swords
les rêves n’ont
pas les titres
present : sou l
: knight of pentacles
kill the light
kill the moon
future
: body : the
moon
la vida es
future
: mind
: five
of cups
indistinguishable
from magic
future
: soul :
queen of cups
I
was just an innocent young prostitute
Dime: 4
Dime,
Miss Quote, are you alive inside a
sentence?
Does
the scent
of
jasmine stain your dreams?
…there’s
been a change
in
the weather,
baby,
a change in the sea… Always an after, &
a before—
I'm not sure anything comes before
el
Prostíbulo Poetíco—except
perhaps a sentence
of
allegiance... Inside we weather
the breath
of others & inhale the scent
of their stains. I like when
you talk of change,
Ramón, then I
feel alive inside a dream.
La
vida es sueño,
Miss Q, &
before
we
were other persons, other selves change
is
within us & erupts, a
sentence
without
punctuation or much meaning. What is the scent
that
lingers here? Tell me
your interior weather.
If I tell you, Ramón, will the weather
be
warmer inside? Will you share more of your dreams,
Ramón?
I fear the scent
of
the past, of the things that came before…
I
prefer a perfect sentence
with
or without meaning to
change.
…what
does not change
is
the will to change… I can´t read your weather.
Are you rainy? Near the sea? A life sentence:
an
island. A highway. You can be in my dream
if
I can be in yours… There were fears
before.
Now there´s music,
tingling skin, a garden of scents,
a
tree bearing cents.
I pick the fruit & give you the change.
...there's
been a before,
baby,
there will always be an after whether
of
highways or islands or gardens we
dream
—we are alive tienes razon inside this sentence.
…whose
soul is sense
el aguanta el tiempo…
...only
the dreamer can change or change
the dream...
Before our world began someone supplied a sentence
Miss Quote’s Reading
Past : body : the
sun
I have morals again
past
: mind
: two
of cups
what you depart
from
past :
soul : death
in which nobody
will win
present : body
: queen of wands
the sadness of a healthy
libido
present : mind : ace
of swords
les rêves n’ont pas
les titres
present : soul
: seven of swords
negar
es pensar
future : body
: the
empress
you must be loved to be
fertile
future : mind : page
of swords
¡que camino tan largo!
Future : soul
: justice
thought
is the only thing
Edward
Smallfield is the author of The Pleasures of C,
One Hundred Famous Views of Edo (a book-length collaboration with Doug
MacPherson), and locate (a chapbook collaboration with Miriam Pirone). His poems have appeared in Barcelona INK, e-poema, Fourteen Hills, New American Writing,
Parthenon West Review, Transfer, 26 and many other magazines.
Jessica
Rainey is a writer and translator from the UK. Her work has appeared in All
Angles (a bilingual English-Catalan short story anthology), Barcelona
INK, Dusie, e-poema.gr, Páginas Rojas, Ricci Ricci
Journal, Sawbuck, and as a winner of the Science Fiction Poetry
Association’s new poet competition.