Southern Appalachian Digital Collections

Western Carolina University (21) View all

Western Carolinian Volume 61 Number 07 (08)

items 27 of 44 items
  • wcu_publications-15950.jpg
Item
?

Item’s are ‘child’ level descriptions to ‘parent’ objects, (e.g. one page of a whole book).

  • 10.19.95 invisible academy ■17 "I Had a Terror I Could Tell to None" My brain too sick to swallow anything there are bits: The small girl of another poem, still being with brown hair, sadly swung in clothes that fit her but are not pretty; my walking with her, her hair now black. Neither of them are smiling as they stop by a coin of water in the sidewalk and she leaves him, fitting the liquid also. He steps back, not astonished, half standing, half crouching beside the pool bending a paper clip of air around each finger, thinking of their drive together: how her head bent closer to the window than his. His brain curled up in a headache like a small cat who would ball in a chair facing the northern end of his living room and house also, and that he kicked unendingly. Until his pointy boot toe birded, cardinal in its funny mouth. The drive is someplace in the midwest. The seats are brown taffy. She snaps him, hard, into talking. They drive. The car's windows are darkening. There is a boy in the back seat he does not know, but who, flannelmouthed, says his name is Virgil. The boy points out monuments. They stop speaking shortly. He and the boy are both afraid. They plumb their noses on the far outside. His leaning forehead leaves spots of ricepaper grease on the reliable glass. The boy says something about animals buried in the soot of volcanos hundreds of miles away and millions of years ago, the bones now dug up a ''Me off the road they now are on. He imagines the blast the sky satiated. °ut in Montana old animals grouped together in drinking at a pond, glancing upward, cnk-necking themselves, at something spraying d°wn to them, knowing they would be buried, but still incapable of looking down. kenosis I am no prophet. I have not stayed in fields, or on walls of fields. arrowless, alone, full names following the silence bitten in the corners of my mouth. I have not woke wet. I have not seen my semen on a leaf, or been carried in a bird, or dropped into a fish mouth, or been bom later, the small fish open, ending. I have no speaking. I have not lain with lions secretly, or combed my hair with the blue feet of fire, or been with water fanned together like eyes somewhere emptying. I have not swam my bed. I have not breathed windless air the endless color of heat, or grown beyond light, through food into not eating, into clear butter, into that which is neither. I have no arms of sky. I have been no beast of air collected from the constant fat of all animals or rounded into summer fuel, into feet of servants, into the mouth of anonymous. 'McLachlan Poems" Continued from page 16 I have not walked pregnant. I have not walked with the nervous embryo that is everything, with eyes and mouths on all sides into the lining of the sun, into a soft rain without food, into steam figures entering after. History When first there was a girl the hair was pulled back and the exercise was pointless as she was learning to leave how good it is, and clean, as it is. She was not able. I mean by that she had no way of knowing time would be unkind to her, time was not a Tennessee Williams then, for, my turtle, that was before Nixon, and we both know how hard the children were then not even astronauts. Now the girl is girls again. They keep their lipstick well, or do not, or wear vests like prostitution, with as much smiling at boys, as much breathing. Their hair is not brown like yours, my turtle, neither is it always short. The men, who are not boys, do not cry over them, they are unwanted, they make their breasts to compensate. Scott Sentell's: We're All Banjos "Stop picking on me!" But the confident musician P'ayed on and replied, "What do you exPect, you're a banjo." Unfortunately, this is all too com- m°n a scene in our day and time. A tlme °f powerful countries stepping on weak countries. A time of gigantic corporations swallowing the old neighborhood produce market. A time of dogs ea«ng dogs. A time when I can't walk 0 class without someone pointing at % earrnuffs and laughing just because they don't understand me. It's high time we stopped taking advantage of those littler than ourselves. If there's a bunny in the middle of a desolate road, do you swerve to hit the trembling thing? No one would ever know, but c'mon. That's just like shooting a whale in a barrel. You can't miss (unless the bullet goes straight into the blow hole, then it would just come out the other side). The rabbit's fate is in your clenched hands. Consider a person who would do such a thing. What's more, consider the sick person who tied the bunny in the middle of the road. Doing the right thing is never easy. Oh, it's easy to say. Sort of like building a K-mart in the middle of the desert. It would always be full because there are no other stores in the desert, but who would want to work there. I guess a better example would be the time a family friend came up to me and said, "'You sure do look a lot like your father." I replied, "I never knew who my father was." The friend answered, "Neither do I," and ran off. If you're like me, you know what I'm getting at. Let's put an end to the backstabbing, the lying, the cheating, the cannibalism, and turn over a new leaf. We can wad up all the aggression in people, spit on it, throw it into the ocean and then join hands. Remember, when you're holding someone's hand you can't stab them in the back, unless you do it with your free hand. But hopefully that hand will be on someone's shoulder, encouraging them. All I'm saying is don't be the banjo or the musician. Be a human being.
Object
?

Object’s are ‘parent’ level descriptions to ‘children’ items, (e.g. a book with pages).