In 1976, a woman filed a lawsuit claiming one of the Three Little Pigs ran up to her at the “it’s a small world” attraction, grabbed at and fondled her while exclaiming “Mommy! Mommy!” She claimed to have gained 50 pounds as a result of the incident and sued Disney for $150,000 in damages for assault and battery, false imprisonment and humiliation. The plaintiff dropped charges after Disney’s lawyers presented her with a photo of the costume, which had only inoperable stub arms.
we could almost shock the pink back into her small face with a soft tug of a dark curl, a beam of light bouncing wall to wall from a flashlight, a gift of a blue robin’s egg.
we almost did, once.
we almost kept her breath in a jar, pried her open with a fork and knife, plugged her wounds with butterfly kisses.
we almost did, but our love no longer had effect.
our baby, once a fetus; once with blue eyes, now with brown; once a dragonfly, and now dust.
our baby, drowned gray at the bottom of the pool, looking for pennies.
our baby, with needles in her toes, saving strands of hair in a bag by the bed.
our baby, hung from the ceiling by a belt.
our baby, dancing with the bugs and the doves, kicking her heels in her black dress.
like somebody died….and I just can’t rub the dirt out of my mind to remember who….
How shall I conjure with this? What shall I make of these fragments - each one sharp enough to cut me again?
When I met you I was moving like a blind arrow shot in time of need. I was flint-sharp, flint-primitive. I was aim, arrow, and target. I wanted to be wounded again. I did not want to seal myself against life. I would rather be cut than dry.
Is everything in this life about love or its lack?
I want to touch you. I want the sweat of skin. Salt and blood are better remedies than talk. No talk found me the spell. The need of you and the touch of you found me the spell.
Time passed. It always does. In the white room there are no clocks. The white room is a lover’s room, and we keep time on the run.
How long have I got? I don’t know. The beating heart of our love may stop at any time. How can we hold what cannot be held? How can we measure what cannot be known?
How long is a spell?
But though you enchant me, I am not enchanted. I am free.
The white room is a place of freedom.
No longer love’s exile, I claim a closed land. The door is open - pass freely. I never thought to be inside love again. I never thought to kiss the homeland of your body. I know this place so well - I used to live here. My house fell down and I was captured. Where have I been in these heavy clothes that exiles wear? I am naked now, in the sun of my own land.
My own land. Not you, love, who none but love can own; but love itself, and you its emblem. Let me wear you on my shield.
Love has rescued me. Love has carried me home. There is music in the room. You are in the room. Lie down with me under this skin-white love. This love is ours…” —Excerpt from The White Room by Jeanette Winterson
Cops: Drunk Pa. man tries to revive roadkill
and you feel it, like rough tongue
I wanted to tell you it was wrong
I wanted to tell you, you were dead like those
like you were sold down a black river.
I built the cliche with your name.
three blank words
blank blank blank
you called me home,
you tugged the loose
three letters and lets sing
what kiss, did I feel you,
Daddy, can you taste my strings?