Monday, April 18, 2016

Unlace Yourself

to C

Who else out there lives in a house where just as the teakettle lets out its maniacal scream, the mistress is backing her car out of the driveway so one of the princes can depart for adventure, and the princess stirs in her sleep, perhaps seizing and prompting the other prince to wake and shout, "What is going on?"

What is going on?

Think renaissance. Think elegy. Think nineteen and ministers who write poetry.

Today is April 18, 2016 and I am off to my eighteenth and final annual Individualized Educational Plan meeting. I am contemplating a mimosa or Bloody Mary in a flask but will probably only bring donuts and a bit of extra resin so as to impress the crowd below with my dogged prowess. Teakettle, seizures, a drab table, a box of donuts, an array of pawns. Eighteen times.

Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.

from John Donne's Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed


  1. The last, the last, the very last and let that make room for new. Yes, off with that girdle! Stride forth, mama! Glow with your power, hold tight to that rope with your glorious toes.

  2. Your final IEP. That's a milestone. May what comes next be less Kafkaesque.

  3. You deserve an effing medal, you tightrope walker extraordinaire, you.

  4. your writing, and you, impress the hell out of me



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