dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: Dexter
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2011/01/dexter.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Saturday, January 15, 2011. On the occasion of Meg Shaw's facebook commenting). Jaw line firm with a small tic moving the smile. Up and away from the magic trick of. Plaster lips and clay eyes—matte beige coats. Thick enough to cover both mistake and sin. See here—behind long capes, false bottoms, and mirrors—. The rabbit duels the saw at dawn, without seconds. If killing is an instinct, why deny the intrinsic order.
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: Matrilineage
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2010/11/matriarchal-lineage.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Monday, November 15, 2010. She knew the crucifix, the potato,. And the shepherd, not this dry soil, corn, and. Pigs She had daughter who wrote her name in. Buckets of milk and seed, they said she never. Smiled. She had a girl child who lived with. Flour, sugar, and the same blood from the. Same crucifix in the creases of her fingerprints. She gave birth to a pixie with long, blond braids who. I love to laugh, so make me.
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: To Mary
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2010/11/to-mary.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Wednesday, November 17, 2010. If today I heard an angel—. Sounding of sweet rain on wind chimes, looking as the sun does glaring off water—. I wouldn't tell my own mother. I would hold my secret in my chest, dark and hot as a closed-off cave, and smother it. Beneath my ribs until it disappeared. If I learned the Son of God lived inside me, I'd say nothing of divinity and wait for. The cock to crow. And call it by name?
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: Assassin's Creed
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2010/11/assassins-creed.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Sunday, November 14, 2010. I don't love killing people. I don't love being chased by guards for killing people. But I'll play this game because of the Leap of Faith. Climb a stone tower in Italy, terraces for handholds,. Arches for grips, to reach the top of the city. The hawk screams and spreads its wings, leaving you. Synchronize by pressing "Y". The world spins and you're atop it, crouching as a great. It is awesome ...
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: All Hallows Eve, All Saints
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2010/10/all-hallows-eve-all-saints.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Wednesday, October 27, 2010. All Hallows Eve, All Saints. These sidewalks huddle under white rain. Flashing green lights blink on the water. Caught in small pools on the road. Darkness settles like snake fingers, and. Bites her magnetic teeth. I see crooked nails driven into wooden tradition. All that's left on the table when the children leave—. Salt and a broken violin. We sleep on pillows stuffed with knives. Some Ps...
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: Yellow
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2010/11/yellow.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Sunday, November 7, 2010. This is the dream Yellow carries through the world—. She peers under tabletops to find old gum,. She looks in picture windows of pristine homes to find lonely children,. She picks the lock on closed doors to find places of clutter. Yellow wants a piece of darkness to open her—. Stretch her into more than the sun,. The center of useless flowers,. Spotlights, and neutral nurseries. I want to build.
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: How We Came and Went
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2011/02/how-we-came-and-went.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Wednesday, February 9, 2011. How We Came and Went. Light finds its way under doors, in cracks one misses. Until bright streams swallow the darkness. As we were in that past alleyway. When we paused for breath, you looked beyond me to. An empty field—the wheat long harvested—& couldn’t see spring. Could you paint me now? You’d abandon rich colors and your favorite shades and you’d make. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: Fragment
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2010/10/fragment.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Sunday, October 24, 2010. Your full-toothed smile is creaking. Parlor games with crackling sparks. Make-up. Makes you sneeze like plucked violin strings. The sky groans a deep note to off-white. From the blue you remember singing soprano. Fire snaps its power. Tight drums hit. You learn to burn slowly. Clinking crystal trays of cocktail shrimp. Champaign bubbling like a harp, less transparent. Listen, now that it's over:.
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The 14th Station: My Little Chalice
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2011/01/single-cordial-glass-is-half-filled.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Tuesday, January 11, 2011. A single cordial glass is half-filled with dark wine,. Three dark diamonds are cut into the sides like grips for tiny climbers. Sister Joan Marie handed me the set in a blue-lined box,. A little row of glass chalices for my wedding gift,. Saying without speaking,. I would rather you not. I sip the wine slowly, wishing I weren't allowed to—. That I still had cheeks rounded and ridged with acne,.
dianembry.blogspot.com
The 14th Station: It's January
http://dianembry.blogspot.com/2011/01/its-january.html
Hanging from an unlabeled dot of my timeline, hoping I'll figure it all out tomorrow. Friday, January 7, 2011. I haven't had a journal entry on this blog, but seeing as my journals have proved invaluable in my nonfiction classes, I'm thinking I should continue. What the hell is it? Anyway. It's January 2011 and scary changes are planned for this year. Moving, marathon, thesis, job changes. I should take up meditating or the baby will pop out looking like the old woman on Requiem for a Dream. The Syntax o...
