April 30-May 6, 2007: Mary Harrison and Ramsy

week of April 30-May 6, 2007

Mary Harrison and Ramsy

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Mary Harrison

Bio (auto)


I am 80 years old, a retired clinical nurse specialist

Some of my work has been published in “Kansas Quarterly,” “Midwest Poetry Review,” “Olympia Review,” “Mediphors,” “Reflecrions,” “Poetry Motel,” “Golden Isis Magazine,” “Articles of Conscious Seas,” and KOTA Press “

Visit Mary on the web here: http://www.geocities.com/mysongbird@sbcglobal.net/index.html

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

Like the Shadow of Your Hand


you, seventeen year old newlywed
I, your firstborn,
red, crying,
broken flower–
not the son you’d hoped for–

baby powder, goat’s milk,
carriage in the parlor
steamy air, bluefish breath
rough red hands
orange juice & castor oil
blue-eyed baby brother–
another then

baseball, basketball, football
lit up your eyes,
not the paper doll
wondering why–
so many spankings

the visit

decades later,
trying to dilute the bitter,
my own children gone,
we sit in the sunroom
facing each other–
identical wicker love seats,

talk food,
doctors’ appointments,
names of medicines,
price of eggs,
old arguments hanging–

Sun snakes slither up the wall,
spread onto the baker’s rack,
reflect the colors of the crystal vases
and your blue-gray eyes A snowman sweatshirt
that used to fit
hangs below your shoulders You cough into a tissue,
twist it into a ball at eighty-seven, you
clutch to a life
you no longer enjoy,
neither of us aware,
in three weeks, I’ll be
kneeling at your grave

a call

breaks through
early morning dreams
“she’s dying”
I dress in yesterday’s clothes Grab the keys Strap myself
into the Buick and back out
the garage door, a spider
web in the vent, the garbage–
everything left open Rivers roar through my head Light from the sodium lamps
scatter the street
revealing darkness I am
numb Caught in the early
morning silence Not far off is
thunder, hot stones

Mother, I have lost you, & all
unspoken promises I place my face over your
heart, find no beat–
not even a flutter,
Your moth open, as if words
caught in your throat, still
want to be said Outside the wind moans.


I’ll go to Elfindale Manor
where you once lived You’ll be
wearing blue
slacks and fresh white shirt We’ll hug,  kiss,
smooth each other’s hair And we’ll talk Oh, how we’ll talk!
praying absolutions.


Lip pressed against steel,
he did what he thought
he had to do–

the cats hid under the bed,

hot crimson
on desk chair rug
orange embroidered
“yadda yadda” pillow,

the clock
on his entertainment center
now on my mantle


Bio (auto)

Ramsy, a.k.a Ramona Adams, lives in Des Plaines,Il After sifting through her varied collection of work accumulated for twenty years, she’s planning on arranging a chapbook for next year Her credits include “Poems:Niederngasse”, “Neo-Victorian Cochlea” and “Bareback Magazine”
Visit Ramsy on the web here: http://www.freewebs.com/ramsyandherpoetry/

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

I Wanna Sleep

Dance sweet baby! Shake that barbed wire nest of yours and lift your
fat feet higher than the ground Shuffle quickly to the back kitchen and drag
Granny Chalteria away from that big,black kettle where she’s boiling down my dreams
and force her out here to dance
Clap your hands sweet baby! Knock those dusty knuckles together and HOWL
at the top of your withered lungs See my hooligan cousins who slouch drunken in
the corner, sucking down Papa’s juice and the whores they brought with them to
steal my Mama’s stockings?

I want to go to bed, baby! Do me this favor and I will ask no more of you Take the reins of this party and ride it until all four legs snap
until the sun peeps between the curtains .enraged at the pile of dead
bodies in the corner and Grampy having lost his choppers

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