By Thom
(We've been looking at memoir lately. This recent piece
by our favourite guest workshopper seems right on cue.)
I was a Writer in Residence
Kansas City School Of Performing Arts
their exercise was making face masks
She presented hers-white death with pins stuck in her lips
"Is this true?"i asked.YES
Never allowed to speak in a male world
She reached to art to open her lips/pull out the pins
and send a hand grenade of personality self defense
rolling down the art room floor
Each night,a certain light
animates the faces of those exposed
to radioactive self-revelations.Your own stories
winds intestinal snakes -to strike out when unexpressed
and to wind python round the mind of those
willing to embrace
When fully exposed-every Emperor Penguin is naked
We are all Presidents of our Queen of Stories
Memories,diary moons,handscrawled lyrics of forgotten tunes
snatches of mulch remembered composted childhoods-
these belong to you.Share them -quickly!
before the pins of self-censorship are re-inserted
just to prove all is possible. |
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