Rebecca Kaiser is a Master's student in Theatre at San Jose State. She settled in San Jose two years ago with her husband and son. She has been writing poetry since she was a little girl, and now writes scholarly articles and scripts as well. She also has an online book entitled "What Do Your Colors Tell" at www.auraphoto.com/support/aurabook.html.
Can you go slower than
Now that I saw the world
Laughing leaving loving knowing
Can you look over there
Now we run through the trees
The ones who know who I am
Can you stop the pain
Can you stop the game
It's a leaving day.
The blues and greens swirled
It is beautiful
It is sensual
It's a loving day
I can't see you river flowing
Roaming throwing giving growing
Hands are reaching fingers showing
Spinning swirling masking meaning
Sky is crashing tree is leaning
Can you breathe it is seeming
Burning lightning we are heaving
See the sand on the shore
Can you lay your hand
Can you warm the land
It's a giving day.
Green and brown if you please
It is beautiful
It is sensual
It's a loving day.
Shallow is the wave of the setting sun
And it washes back when she blinks.
Sparrows pick the wave of the setting sun.
And rise up at the sweep of her eyes.
Settling around the toes of the trees.
Pulled up by the moonlight in her eyes
Wash around down when she blinks.
They sing over the whispers of the trees.
The dip down to bathe in the soft maroon
Rise up at the sweet sleep in her eyes.
See the snake it's bleeding,
she said,
and we'd never seen a snake bleed before-
clearer than a winter's sunrise--
with it's eyes the same slanted pools
as in life,
reflecting the sparkled glass
the curve of the earth...
It doesn't know it's dying, she said,
so I reached down to touch it.
It spanned an evolution chasm
to bit,
to wrap itself in a circle
about my hot wrist.
Please, she said,
let's leave it here.
I left quickly, holding my wrist close.
It was dress-up in-drag day
at the local Elementary
And Ms. Pimple Nose
the second grade spinster
even participated
sporting slicked back hair
and a polyester pinstriped
throwback suit.
The kids proudly called her
in homage to the day
Mr. Zit.
At recess the girls played
touch-football
and the boys huddled
in small groups
gossiping,
swishing their skirts.
No one wanted recess to be over.
They all shouted
for just a few minutes more
Until the principal himself
had to come out.
He was wearing a green gown
of lace and velvet,
a French-braided wig.
The children were amazed to see
he actually had breasts of a sort
and under his spell
they returned.
Assembly that day
spontaneously turned
into a fashion show,
as the boys practiced their glides
and the girls their struts,
placing their caps
just so on their heads.
Someone had the idea
to grab some old
spelling bee trophies
to give to the best dressed
of the day.
The principal won
by a unanimous vote
and they named him
Bessie Buxom Beauty
and adorned him with trophies.
That's when Superintendent Dr. Harry Dodd
broke up the affair.
On the spot
he fired the principal
and arranged for psychiatric evaluations,
tests,
and reports,
sent the children home,
and sat sputtering
in the auditorium alone
with his head in his hands.
The next day
boys wore boys'
and girls wore girls'.
Ms. Pimple-Nose had runs in her stockings
again
and droned on about addition.
The principal didn't ever come back,
and the children swear
to this day
he's Bessie Buxom Beauty
all over New York
and they dream
of how they'll join him some day.
All text and images in The Central California Poetry Journal are copyrighted. Copyright by © by Scott Galloway 2000. All rights are reserved. See main Journal page for
copyright information.
Authors and poets submitting original materials to this journal retain all rights to their original work, except those rights specifically assigned in writing to Solo Publications including the right to publish the submitted work in The Central California Poetry Journal. The poems on this page are copyrighted by the author. Copyright © Rebecca Kaiser 2000.
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