When I sit alone and write
I sometimes look out on the night
It isn’t often that I write
By day, I just can’t stand the light
I write at night and watch the moon
I wonder if I’ll see it soon.
In the court room sits the evidence
an old coffee cup full of twisted twine.
Vaguely sinister what can it explain?
She was a girl in grade 6 like most others
pretty but awkward as she was starting to
come into her own as a woman,
as a member of society that knew
she had a role in her community
But now she has become the center
of a grim tale that shocked
her small Nova Scotia town.
A 12 year old girl murdered in the name of love!
A twisted tale of a mother
and daughter
In a remote spot where the girl finally moaned
“Mommy, don’t.”
But her mommy did.
Threw her on her spine.
Knees upon her chest,
Rushing to pull out her twine.
Mommy wrapped it around the little neck
closed her eyes and became a wreck
What were those moments like for her?
A mother killing her daughter to keep
a lover!
What were those moments like for her?
A daughter hurt by the one meant to be
safe cover!
What were those moments like for him?
A dirty relation to the girl, eating his lunch
while he played a role so Grim?
(These moments, will they forever
define the life of the young girl?
Or can we be more clever?)
The mother called the police
a teary eyed press conference
“my daughter is missing”
Everyone went looking
Eventually she was caught
as she tried to pay to have
the evidence destroyed but could not
In court she cried crocodile tears as
The judge laid down new laws
“You can never call yourself mother in conjunction
with Karissa’s name again.”
But mother she was
that is the chill in this buzz.
The courts cannot change biology.
Even weary police eyes went wet
when they learned the mother’s debt
held in the old coffee cup full of twine.
This is the site of a community health care center that is chronically overrun by demand of the extreme poor. Despite the overwhelming need, they do extremely good work. If anyone would like to contribute to what they are doing, let me know!
I am lacking inspiration lately, well writing lots but producing little of value. Much to be reworked! As such I offer up a poem by one of the most prominent Persians ever to bother to write down his thoughts. I post it because in these frustrating economic times (several of you on the site will surely concur) we could use a poem to lift the spirits or at least offer a little guidance. I fin this poem funny and also, due to financial troubles, quite soothing. A reminder to be happy I have the time to sit and read and think with Tchaikovsky in the background.
Deciding not to go to India
Hafez (Robert Bly Trans.)
To spend even one moment grieving about this world
Is a waste of time. Let’s go and sell our robes
For ordinary wine. Who says robes are better than wine?
In the crooked alleys where the wine sellers
Hang out, a prayer mat may not buy even
One glass of wine. What does that say about prayer mats?
The tavern keeper scolded me, saying I should turn
My face way from the door. What is this?
The dust on a doorsill has more value than a head?
Hidden inside the crown of a king there’s always
A fear of assassination; a crown that is a a stylish hat,
But a head is too much to pay for it.
It seemed quite easy to put up with the ocean
And its torments to receive a profit, but I was wrong;
A hurricane is too much to pay for a hundred pearls.
It’s better if you turn your face away from your
Admirers; the joy the general receives from dominating
The world is not worth the suffering of the army.
It’s best to aim — as Hafez does — for contentment, and abandon
What belongs to the low world; one grain of indebtedness
To the base life weighs more than a hundred bushels of gold.
I lived in a town in the north of Alberta.
The winters were freezing cold,
And the summers were burning hot.
But it was the place where I slept,
And I would do anything to gain back the sight,
Of seeing so far across the fields,
Of seeing so far into my self.
Ramón Sepúlveda lives in Canada since 1974. His short stories have been published en many anthologies in Canada, Unites States, Mexico, the Dominican Republic and Chile. His book of short stories Red Rock was first published in Canada in 1990, and its Spanish version in Chile in 1991. One of his short stories is part of the English Text, Pens of Many Colours, published by Seneca College, Toronto, 1998.
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You left me for a vegetarian man.
no one called me.
there was no letter, no email.
it was you who said it.
you had met him at the Green Door restaurant
he had long hair and magnetic bracelets
forty’sh and unemployed.
but he was your soul mate
your mirror
your spiritual mentor. › Continue reading
It was at the Met after my 1965 Tosca.I just got back into my dressing room, still holding Scarpia ’s knife.If I knew then, I would have used it a second time, she was there defenceless.She was all smile, an apparition,at the time the most famous woman in the world,as famous and revered as queen Elizabeth.
– Madame Callas,I have never enjoyed opera as much as tonight…she said with her breathless voice,Marilyn Monroe playing Ophelia.I did not think that she was beautiful, pretty yes,and chic,and classy.She wore a gorgeous off-white silk gown by Givenchy, her favourite designer at the time.The make up was perfect,every hair in place and no jewellry… It was her first official function for the Democratic party, after a year of mourning.She was still Sainte Jackie, and within three years will become the most hated woman in America.
I never believed the press, that she wanted to marry Onassis more than he wanted to marry her.She had an aura, and the power to cast a spell,I recognised it because I had it.I had that power on stage when singing and acting,she had it in real life,Ari was powerless.The French called it …emprise,the magic is real.Not many performers has it, only a chosen few.The divine Margot Fonteyn had it ,on stage and off stage.I saw her in a short number, a ten minute variation, when she was in her fifties.She bewitched the audience and the critics with half a smile,a port de bras…she needed nothing else.
I just had yet another annoying argument with my old school folks about fair trade coffee. I hate to sound like the preachy type, but goddammit there is no excuse for not shelling out the 10 cents it costs extra per cup to buy fair trade. I’ve documented the effects of fair trade, and seen with my own eyes the impacts it can have on the livelyhoods of producers. Despite it’s problems, it is a very real way to make a HUGE difference for producers.
This is a photo of a traditional coffee ceremony in Addis Ababa. The coffee there is some of the best in the world, but most producers are locked into extremely unfair trading patterns that limit fair trade certification. So if you do find Ethiopian fair trade coffee, buy it! It’s rare and they need the support.
Last night I dreamed that I went back to Manderley…
I love the opening…
Last night I dreamt that I went back to Scorpios. It’s after dark.She has her own suite,the Ithaca,the one I had, the most luxurious… a huge bedroom,a boudoir,a mini spa,a wardrobe and a bathroom with golden faucets. I know his routine,after a last drink he will come to her room, his breath smelling of his favorite Cognac and his body of Ulysses, his own cologne created by a Mayfair parfumeur …he will make love to her…over and over… then he will leave to go back to his room to make more business deals over the phone.At the beginning we made love at sunrise,sunset and during his business breaks.He did it anytime,anywhere,we never had enough.That was nine years ago.Now at sixty-four I don’t think he has the same stamina.Too bad for him,too bad for her. I don’t think sex or love were their priorities. She wanted financial freedom, he wanted more prestige than I could give him.I was desperate,I went to see a psychic,a very intuitive astrologer.The marriage will not give him happiness nor peace of mind.She was born with 2 or 3 of her planets in Pluto…malefice,malediction,it was in her chart, destiny and the fate of men closest to her…her husband and his brother died a violent death…she will destroy my Ari, his son Alexander will die young , my Ari will loose his most cherished dream,Olympic Airways,and she will become a widow a second time.Life is life…What goes around comes around… All will be said and done within seven years.
