Carol Hamilton and Tova Siegel
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Carol Hamilton has recent publications Louisiana Literature, Southwest American Literature, San Pedro River Review, Dryland, Pinyon, Pour Vida, Lunch Ticket, Adirondack Review, Commonweal,, U.S.1 Worksheet, Broad River Review, Fire Poetry Review, Gingerbread House, Shot Glass Journal, Poem, Haight Ashbury Poetry Journal, Sandy River Review, I-70 Review, Blue Unicorn, former people Journal, The Sea Letter, Poetica Review, Zingara Review, Broad River Review, Burningwood Literary Review, Abbey, Main Street Rag, Poetry Leaves and others. She has published 17 books: children’s novels, legends and poetry. She is a former Poet Laureate of Oklahoma.
The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Carol Hamilton and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Shopping Malls Are
The teenagers clumped and roiled
like clouds there, and managers kept
a sharp eye out for shoplifters.
We did gather there, the places being
glitzy and glam and reverberating
mysteriously with an echoing rumble.
Sometimes there were makeshift stages
which launched our voices
into the cavernous space.
Richard cast forth Shakespeare,
a blessing of sound amidst
the scurry of commerce,
and Robin pulled tickertape scrolls
of his poetry out of his hat.
My son and I tinkled the ivories
outside the music store
with Rogers and Hammerstein,
Ferranti and Teicher.
Last week I walked the mall
in Muskogee, a place lonely
with empty space and lined
with papered-over display windows
between the half-dead anchor stores,
places of many mark-downs.
History says an Americanized Fin
dreamed of the mall to provide Americans
indoor, comfort-laden village squares.
As a child I sat in our old 1934 Chevrolet
on Saturday nights or Sunday afternoons
watching the people window shop
around our town square, centered
with the courthouse and post office
set regally on grassy expanses.
America rages through fads,
going Gang Busters, and now,
we have moved on to the latest
technical version of community.
Some ponder that we may be
moving too fast, may be too fickle …
may be too … something or other.
Tova Hinda Siegel’s work has appeared in Salon.com, I’ll Take Wednesdays, On The Bus, and several anthologies. She holds a BA from Antioch University and an MS from USC. A midwife, cellist, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, Tova has studied with Jack Grapes, Tresha Faye Haefner and Taffy Brodesser-Akner. A mother, grandmother and great grandmother, Tova and her husband live in Los Angeles.
The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Tova Siegel and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
The Fly in My Kitchen
complains about his plight
I am alone, doing my thing
and you want to kill me. You know
there are no cities of refuge that will take
you once you have done the deed.
He hums and buzzes thinking of his lady love
who gads about on peels and crumbs
inside the dancing disposal.
The zucchini dodges my knife
and punts the pomegranate seeds.
I am lost in the fray.
call me through the moon and
nail me to the sun. Where is that fly?
I peer into its multi-lensed eye
looking for relief.
Prickle to stars, zoom into the sky,
race the rain to the beginning
of dewy life, self-destruction
in the solar eclipse of time.
Shimmery nightgowns, nesting
birds, screaming mushrooms
fill my space with noisy meringue while
my helmeted brain spins
into a dreamy sequence of light.
The Getty pleads through its garden.
Photographs blink and burst the starlight
next to zinnias and cosmos.
Time to go, time to stay,
time to dissolve into the hazy layer of smog
a plague of fly-filled darkness
hovering on the edge, covering
the L.A. view.