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Days: 2012: September 2012
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Wednesday, September 26, 2012. Girl in the Swing. Jean-Honore Fragonard, The Swing,. How would I have written that if I lived in the age of Watteau & Fragonard? Subscribe to: Posts (Atom). View my complete profile. Where to find me. Fondo los Ruiles, Pencahue, Chile. Girl in the Swing. Simple template. Template images by gaffera.
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poems: Coming Home
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Thursday, August 15, 2013. I mistake my kitten for a demon. Breathing sparks and trailing fire. He grew wilder. While I was gone. When I crouch low. Outside the front screen door, he raises his paws. Mewing like a child lost, now found. Back when I was eighteen, stranded. Without my car, the aged Pontiac I lived in. That summer between high school and college,. I saved my tips to buy. A Ducati —. All I could afford. Freshmen couldn’t have cars. At this women’s school, but no one thought. My mother aiming...
carolpeters2012.blogspot.com
Days: 2012: October 2012
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Friday, October 5, 2012. Were You My Sister? After cyst removal surgery. She felt the spasms, watched the dark. Mass slither down the bowl. She was not surprised, she. Knew she would lose you, fourth. Child — Esperanza de Felicidad. She would go on. To bear a fifth, a second boy, despite. But no, no second abortion —. Remembering the bleeding after the first. So nearly killed her and would have. Negated three more of us —. She disregarded their male. Pleadings, taught John and me to read. You, my sister.
carolpeters2012.blogspot.com
Days: 2012: Winter
http://carolpeters2012.blogspot.com/2012/06/winter.html
Wednesday, June 20, 2012. In slow, careful. I ask Pablo, "Can you make me two wooden boxes, 60 cm wide by 50 cm deep by 30 cm high, with top & bottom (. I stop to think. Algorrobo. Is the hardwood the builders used for our window and door frames. Pine is cheaper, algorrobo. Is more expensive," he says. His workshop is outdoors, a sea of wood and sawdust, partial & completed rustic-style furniture, two dogs. The table saw has a meter-long vertical blade. Morning or afternoon," I ask, knowing he will say a...
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Way: Bhanu Kapil
http://carolpeters2013.blogspot.com/2013/11/30-november-2013.html
Saturday, November 30, 2013. Pratt Institute Writers' Forum. 3 A Healing Narrative. Fragments attract each other, a swarm of iron filings, black with golden flecks but without a soul. I stroke them with my finger so they scatter then relax. In the involuntary response to being touched. Against the tree, a woman is pinned, upright and strung with lights or gunpowder flares and nodes. Who stuck her there? Can you smell her burning fur? One day per room. It's raining. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
carolpeters2012.blogspot.com
Days: 2012: Fondo los Ruiles, Pencahue, Chile
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Friday, February 24, 2012. Fondo los Ruiles, Pencahue, Chile. Mike and I spent much of February 18th-19th at Fondo los Ruiles, an 1,100 acre farm recently purchased by Simon Black. Entry to Simon's farm. The property is a working farm that produces and markets crops of blueberry, plum, tomato, and wine grapes. Simon plans to sell lots — 36 in total, that includes one for him — and hoping to create an amicable community of freedom-loving people. Mike walks up the road next to the plum orchard. I suppose S...
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poems: After Watching Another Video of the Tsunami
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Thursday, August 15, 2013. After Watching Another Video of the Tsunami. Half a city flooded on top of the other,. Houses broken apart, whoever. Was inside them gone, whether. Or not anyone reported them missing. Gone because the houses are downriver. Once these were homes. Many who lived in these homes. Don’t care, they’re dead. After Fukushima. Who remembers how many died —. Many more, we suspect, will die. Why not watch, again and again. The wave when it arrived, how it damaged. 8212; 13 August 2013.
carolpeterspoems.blogspot.com
poems: Mrs. X
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Wednesday, July 31, 2013. The woman pulls her wealth behind her. In a wheeled cart. If she’s my mother. It’s because between our last visit. The day my family told me she died —. Alone in her sleep — she escaped,. Queened herself onto a plane. To San Francisco, a bus to Santa Cruz,. Her white blouse tucked into frayed slacks,. Permanent curls though she’s transient —. She’s taller now, seems thinner. But bustier, if foundered swells signify —. Cratered-moon face, moth-wing hands,. 8212; 9 September 2013.
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Days: 2012: Spring
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Monday, August 13, 2012. Winter simply ends as the ill-mannered. Zonda wind arrives. Now budding willows. Sway red, thorn trees green, succulents. Polka-dot yellow, irises three to a spike. Wearing but a T-shirt. Gardening shorts, I dig through frost-scarred beds. Fork up mint, transplant curry, crewcut. Cold-browned stems of oregano, sage. Seeds await in multi-colored packets —. Rhubarb, papaya, artichoke. Cucumber, eggplant, zucchini, carrot and kale. Lettuce and beans, echinacia, beet and tomato.
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