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week of December 3 - 9, 2007



Durenda and Chad Prevost

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Durenda
DurendaX@aol.com

Bio (auto)

Durenda lives in Tennessee. She has been published in Identity Theory, Cornell's Rainy Day, and Zygote In My Coffee, among others. She is queer and vegan. She has been praised by Stellasue Lee Ph.D. who is the Editor Emeritus of Rattle and was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in poetry.

The following work is Copyright © 2007, and owned by Durenda and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


The grain in the wood that the cabinets are constructed of
seems striated like muscle tissue
or rays of light in summer.
In summer I realize my mind must
fry, popping and crispy on sidewalks
yellowed like bright leaves left on the balcony too long
a jaundiced dying reflecting in hot-blooded waves
to get to the meat of the matter of summer.
And have lemonade eyes with pineapple smiles
to understand the sour sweetness of
children sun burnt silly in the sand.
I have never understood how children communicate.
When I was a child I could only relate to adults
yet as an adult I can only relate to children.
As I am alive I feel that I walk among the dead
and when I’m dead I will dance among the living.
However, no matter what I am,
the embrace of my mother is what I long for most
yet with my luck, I’m sure,
that by the time I get there
she will be rebirthed
and will no longer be a ghost.


Chad Prevost
chadprevost@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Chad Prevost was born in Marin General Hospital in Fairfax, California and divided his childhood between there and Chicago, Morgantown, Phoenix, and Richmond. Prevost is the offspring of Mr. Mississippi College 1968 and The Queen of the Forest Beauty Pageant 1967. In other words, genetics alone might have suggested Prevost was destined for success as an all-around personable, high-achieving, handsome young man. His parents both graduated from high school and college with perfect GPAs. During the 70s in California when it was the style to wear one's hair slightly longish, Prevost's father looked a bit like Tom Sellek of Magnum P.I. It helped that Prevost's father was also named Tom. Over the years, however, Prevost's father's hair line receded until the center of his father's hair line was but a squiggle resembling a question mark. Nevertheless, with a beauty pageant winner mother and a father that resembled Tom Sellek other than a receding hair line, Prevost felt certain he would grow from a cute kid into a handsome man. In fact, as Prevost grew tall and lean and his blond hair lightened in the summer sun, someone mentioned that he resembled Val Kilmer, who played Ice Man in Top Gun. He was also told that he looked like Ricky Shroeder from Silver Spoons, and also the brother of Robb Lowe, Chad Lowe, who starred in his own sit-com for a brief stint, Spencer. Prevost especially like the idea that he looked like Chad Lowe since they shared the same first name. These glory days, however, were all only a mere brief stint on the radar of Prevost's life just before puberty arrived. Before he knew it, Prevost far more resembled Goose, played by Anthony Edwards than Val Kilmer. Prevost had yet to come to terms with a feature he inherited from his father, a feature he had overlooked in his father and a feature that really kept his father from resembling Tom Sellek beyond the mere receding hairline. That feature was a weak chin. Prevost inherited his father's jaw line which is barely a line at all. Prevost had the misfortune of inheriting his mother's long neck and missing out on her strong chin. Whereas a long neck is graceful on a woman, it tends to produce chicken-like necks in men whose Adams Apple sticks out almost like a second nose. Prevost was also slow in developing the substantial facial hair of his father. One of Prevost's issues related to the shade of the hair itself. Whereas the hair on his chin was a dark brown, the hair on his upper lip was a light blond, virtually undetectable unless one got up very close. When he was 21 and serving as a Youth Minister at Williams Trace Baptist Church in Sugar Land, Texas, Prevost had had enough of his moustache's fairness, and decided to darken it. By darkening the blond hairs, Prevost believed he would finally achieve that Tom Sellek-like handsomeness, possibly appearing more generally distinguished and even perhaps a bit biblical. Two treatments of the Just for Men dye didn't do much, so Prevost treated it again and again until he believed it evenly matched the color of his eyebrows. Prevost actually went around like this with an almost black moustache at the age of 21 for a week before he had second thoughts and just shaved the whole thing off. As Prevost grew older and finally did put on a little weight, his neck merged with his chin. Occasionally, a student would try to ingratiate herself with Prevost by noting that Prevost did seem to have an uncanny resemblance to Owen Wilson. Prevost liked Wilson and believed him to be as cool as the characters he played on the silver screen, but did think privately that he had a better nose than Wilson's crooked one. Someone else had noted that Prevost resembled Owen's older brother, Luke Wilson, who had darker hair and although Prevost didn't initially see it, still wanting to believe his brownish hair was blond, Prevost came to believe he did resemble the elder Wilson. After decades of denial about just how weak his chin was, Prevost finally decided that the best way to overcome the physical deficiency was to grow a goatee which would give his chin more substance and hide the merging line between his chin and neck. This backfired on Prevost as he came to resemble the skinny, chinless, hairline-receding, Canadian comic Tom Green. To this day, whenever Prevost dares to grow any facial hair, people stop him on the streets, in hallways, at bars and ask Prevost if he, Tom Green, will sign their autograph, and they won't take no for an answer.

http://www.crpress.org/

The following work is Copyright © 2007, and owned by Chad Prevost and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Seven Lightning Strikes

Strike #1
No one to see how his eyes had been on the waving pine boughs as the ump raised his hands and the players hustled in. No one to him just a few beats behind, as he crossed the infield just past second base. No one to see his every hair stand on end. A flash as quick as an eyeblink, thunder booming in the chest. No light shown in his eyes. Only his boots blown halfway to first as if he'd leapt ahead of himself.

Strike #2
He doesn't tell anyone his heart flutters, his ears ring. The strike means he was born to preach. People flock to him. The Itinerant Miracle. Witness the Man Who Lived Thru Lightning. Lazarus in the Flesh. He's baptizing a young believer in the river outside Palm Beach. "Luck," he bellows to the multitudes, "is just another word for fate." Amen. "We all have mountains to climb." Preach on. "I baptize you in the name" A dazzle of light. The girl shudders in his arms, passes on to the Second Birth. He can't feel his body as he carries the girl's to shore.

Strike #3
Hammering, this time, out of the open blue. Right in the middle of the duck boat like a bolt from Zeus. When he wakes he feels his hairless arms, smooth brow - the knot of burned flesh on his scapula. He remembers it like a dream. Fish swimming just beneath the surface, the water lucid. He closes his eyes and sees the stripes on the bass, can almost count the spots on the freckled bream. In the mirror, he sees the eyelashes are gone too. How like the hairless creatures of creation we are, he thinks.

Strike #4
How much more miraculous is he now? A man struck down by 300 kilovolts three times, a man still on the right path? This time during the Invitation at a revival in downtown Minneapolis. No rain. Just people waving their hands, some swooning, some speaking in tongues. Only wind gusting off the river and across Memorial Hill. No thunder warning. Quick, sudden, like death to Ananias. Blasts him backwards out of his Samsonite metal folding chair, right out of his toenails. When he rises again from the hospital table after minor surgery, the dumbstruck town rejoices.

Strike #5
Hell's Canyon, Idaho. Through his pick-up's window-a direct blow to the temple, his hair blazes hot and fast like dry pine. He says, I saw the beast who comes from the Euphrates and the many heads of the European Union and strange flowers blooming on Megidda. An angel struck me with his rod. With each blow he yelled out a name, each one standing for the twelve tribes of Israel. The angel said it stands for all who cannot contain the words of terror which reign in the hearts and minds of men. He said if the rulers of this age understood God's wisdom they would not crucify the Lord of Glory again.

Strike #6
Golfing on July 4th at 4:00 in the afternoon in Panama, Florida. The most likely time and place to be struck on the planet. He has nothing to lose. No one can believe how he goes on living. His fiancé fans herself in the golf cart. The nine iron flies from his white glove which flies from his outstretched hands which flies from his thumbnails. His fiancé leaves him, says she needs space. "Thank you," he says to the nurse, coming in with food from the hospital cafeteria. "You're a lucky man," she says.

Strike #7
"Not all who wander are lost," he says. He drops a clay pot on the stage. It shatters to smithereens. Lightning blows through the stained-glass window. His body seizes. His white robes flutter. Someone says, "O my God." Someone says to call 911. His robe is singed black. They're carrying him away on a stretcher when he opens his eyes and says, "Who will pick up the vessel's pieces?" I re-dedicate my life on the spot. He shoots himself in the heart the next day. Three lead fingers from a .22. They say from losing in love. They say a lot of funny things.


A Man With No Teeth Serves Us Breakfast | I'd Like to Bake Your Goods | Stolen Mummies | Brendan Constantine is My Kind of Town
Up Liberty's Skirt | Feeding Holy Cats | Mowing Fargo
| I'm a Jew, Are You? | Lizard King of the Laundromat | I Am My Own Orange County
Paris: It's The Cheese
| Poetry Super Highway | Judaic Links | Rick's Bookmarks | Cobalt Poets
E-mail Rick
| Other Cool Rick Stuff / Upcoming Readings | Who The Hell Is Rick