Attem

pts

Table of Contents

_________Pine Tree Ascension 2

_____Rain 4

_________Visual Practice 6

_____Spin 9

_________Ache 10

_____ To the Bitter Roots in My Teacup 12

_________Carry in my Mouth 14

_____Story Like an Autopsy 16

_________Dead Sleep 20

_____Misapprehension 23

_________You, Like Anycity 26

––––– 1

Nicole Padgett2012

Pine Tree Ascension

From the last thought of a dying

fox she grows. Out of a seed,

bones are strengthened by layers

of thick cellulose, skin

of bark - dark,

rough. Grooves run down her

body to feet, nothing more

than spiraling roots - like those

that make up her hands.

Her blood, the sticky sap that drains

from wounded trees. She contorts

her minuscule body around

the streaks of barred light

filtering the forest

floor. Branches, leaves

that block her -

protection from the heavy rain that floods

already wet dirt; and she grows.

Taller. Wider. Her limbs lie

under the surface and wind

through the clumps of soil,

intermixing with those

of her ancestors - predecessors.

Farther she reaches, until, no longer

can she hide

from the pouring sun.

Ph

oto

Cre

dit:

Jh

ony.

S

2 ––––– ––––– 3

Attraction; molecules dense upon light gasdarkening with every growing connection.

Let go.

Free fall splitting sky Divein descentto dampened ground - particles of dirt left to their ownintervention finallyfrom atmospheric occurrenceDrops slowed only by perceptionpassing othersfixed toward the surfacein stream-line columnsfasten their decent

and bounce. Offwindshields - off the sleek edges ofpolished aluminum; flung,nothing to grasp,Wind playsthem against each other; they clingto be rippedapart by animatronic extensions, tightagainst fake glass;slide downsoft curves to pavement.Pool up in pot holes.

Escalate.

Joining others they spillinto the hungry mouthof wet soil,parting each thick clumpof stuck earth.

RA

INph

oto

cred

it: A

man

da M

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––––– 54 –––––

Visual Practice

Hips sway as color

grasps nude parted lips.

Work into curves and crevices.

Focus on her

golden folded mirror

in murky light.

Foot tapping time.

Tubes of pigments -

deep red hues

paint away a smirk.

Hand around another

pressing it to sensitive skin.

Reach forward. Touch

the gentle flesh

of a woman’s waist.

Uncovered bruises, prints

of others. Stretch

for her mouth. Stop.

Mock kiss in a motel room,

she closes her reflection.

––––– 76 –––––

photo credit: N

icole Padgett

Spin

The sky speeds up,

forcing one continuous

image; your world mixing together

at the edge of dimensions

spinning against the rotation

of the world, air becomes

more like a tornado,

eclipsing breath and sight;

the surrounding faces

are nothing more than points

to which you cling - stabilizing,

grounding your mentality

in the dirt.

Time stands

stagnant and motion hurries

to keep up,

your feet

find themselves

greeting the ground less

as you force the unfamiliar plain

into existence.

You’re intoxicated with the dizziness

that you’ve let engulf all senses.

But it stops -

And again you stand still

on the grass of your lawn

failing to cross into this place,

and failing to resist reality. phot

o cr

edit

: Nic

k L

azu

r P

hot

ogra

phy

––––– 98 –––––

Ache

She lies on a broken bed

wanting the grief back -

the pain that’s so overwhelming,

so encompassing that it burrows

deep in bowels

tearing at the thin pink walls

of her intestines, and

rips through, underneath

the skin of her exposed belly.

She wants to feel its hands

grasp around her muscles

and force spastic movements;

the scratches against her heart -

she wants to bleed to death

in a misery that if not removed it

manifests into dark wrinkles around the eyes,

mirroring her lack of interest

killing ties to family, to

happiness at it’s most general.

She wants it to engulf her, to spread

out over her limbs, take hold of her

thoughts, kill all other emotions.

She wants the pain to never

have killed itself in its attack on her system.

The excuse to move from

behind the blackout velvet curtains, to get up

and feel something

other than the desperation to feel.

phot

o cr

edit

: Sar

ah A

nn

Lor

eth

––––– 1110 –––––

Producing a welcome to the day

you cling to the amber-tinged liquid

eager to infuse yourselves

in spiced water perfumed with

exotic good mornings.

Climb to the top of the pot,

tilt out, through

the strainer’s holes, and spill

into the warm porcelain.=

Immediately you hit the sides

in an angry spin.

Don’t be jealous of your

painted counterparts -decorative

twigs and floral patterns useless except

to aesthetic, only resting in your gentle heat.

Thrash against them; stick

to the coarse cane sugar which dissipates its brown

With swift movements you drift together

and give the best flavor,

but trying too hard, for too long,

you’ve become bitter.

To the Bitter Roots in my Teacup

photo credit: Sanjalydia

––––– 1312 –––––

Carry in My Mouth

Yours is a tangible language -

one that places incoherent syllables

next to miscellaneous meter

and engrains itself in the walls

of my mouth

like dice thrown

against my cheek,

ricocheting over my tongue,

orbiting,

never really landing,

pushing instead to escape

from pursed lips.

Yours is a language you carry

in your limbs.

I’ve tried to mimic it,

but you still know

more than I do;

False ideas make

their way to the surface.

Your words mean too much

in the soft morning light.

I’ll carry them in my mouth.

––––– 1514 –––––

Prying itself out

of the osseous coffin

enclosing the marrow

of multiple generations, it hovers

in stifled air, hinting at existence -

above a blank page it waits

for a pen to act as a scalpel

cutting into an obscured body,

exposing the bacteria

which calls itself thought;

the secrets held

up in context.

Undesired liquids mixing

through pores, it leaks

becoming the blood

that uses veins

as ladders - each bend

a foot hold - carrying

ideas through to the heart

the brain, the hand,

to the pen and back

into stifled air

as an image engrained

in the mind’s eye,

holding onto every membrane,

every synapse until the desolate page

is saturated with perplexity

and the body, sewn back together.

Story like an Autopsy

Story like an Autopsy

––––– 1716 –––––

Across the breaking table yousit, arms crossed, empty containers left splayed in front of your stiff body.

Words pairing in incoherent orders.

Tell me you don’t notice.Tell me the heels clicking by don’t notice.

––––– 1918 –––––

––––– 2322 –––––

Hers is a perfect figure againstpale silhouettes of hanging plantsboasting tendrils - past exploits splayed out in their failure -disembodied voices humming the windthrough vines, browned and brokenweeds detach bricks in alleys connectingonce lush gardens now overrunwith expired grass, faded floral patterns act as the lone movement on fractured grey tiles, and she sits, alone, in the midst of dead leaves that cling to her skinlike he longs to. That man,cold in his honed stare, impotentand incompetent, walking daily toand from his office past thegreen fractured glass inhibiting sun; he thinks of her - the curve of her backcontrasting the straight edgeof the cut stone; the angles of bent, dead stems; her sunburnt, auburn hair falling in glossy grey eyeshides a rough gaze -a taste of disapproval.Her loud stares yell every complaint,every comment that can’t escape from her permanently closed lips. Lifeless she leans, wanting.

She’s a static piece of his collection - waiting with an incurable vagueness.

Dead Sleep

photo credit: Scott Eaton

In the farthest bend

of a vacant room, muteness wanders

between her and I -

the seeming vastness,

caught in the spiders’ webs

and resonated: the intense sounds of isolation.

I want to flee

the awkward air beginning

to fill my lungs, but to leave

her, would be a misdeed, like leaving myself

in the opposite corner,

surrounded and contrite.

Guilt pulls me closer,

only to see

the trick of the eye -

the pile of dark cloth lying

crumpled - tossed aside -

and the loud surroundings gone

with the people

so that I take her place.

20 ––––– ––––– 21

phot

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: Ran

dall

J. S

eave

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Misapprehension

To see a soul,treat it like all othersreaching from a cold riverwith a skeletal fingerpointing toward the home they lost,is her winter and fall. Waiting like her mother,anxious for the joydisplayed in the coming of spring,the soon harvest promptedat her return. Persephone.Photo Credit: Leo Berk

River Full of Blood2008 ––––– 25

You, Like Anycity

They think this city is the boardwalk,the glamour mansions and Hollywood parties.They think the spotless sidewalks and Rodeo Drive are a clear representation - that the skyline and the hype are the only parts.They think that high tide or getting sand in their shoes are the only problems surrounding the city’s sunny beaches.

But you are more like the citythan anything they imagine.Your garbled voice, like the sound of rain water passing through cluttered gutters,grates out a plea for dollars.Clothes patched like the intercity buildings allow un-prejudiced wind to blow through you,like it does the crowded streets. Your untrimmed beard,grey wires protruding your facelike weeds from the cracked concrete,holds pieces of the cardboard you sleepin; the dirt, also coating your skin; twigs and small wrappers littering you.

They think you’re the exception,the anomaly that occurs once in thousands.They think like tourists.

––––– 2726 –––––

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: tav

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abri

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Mid-August, Forty-Eight Years Ago

The water, falling rhythmically

from the kitchen sink,calls your name. Muted

photos cling to musty wallpaperdefying the dust attemptingto take their places.

They look to each otherfor attention - stagnant eyes

exchanging stares in the dim lightthat sinks toward lamented tilescurling in their disgust

of the very foundation. Our mattress lays bare at the top

of the stairs serving as only a replacement to your touchin the room that once knew comfort.

Twenty-six months in a distant cornerI’ve sat waiting for you to come

and take me somewhere, like you didon a hot day in Charlotte, North Carolina.

phot

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: Tan

ya (

card

boar

drab

bit)

28 ––––– ––––– 29

30 –––––