From The Grouper
by Lissa McLaughlin
WHERE IS THE PART?
Mr. Charles Dickens, a long look at his head. Reveals
serious shortcomings, hair like dimity, every scalp a
fanlight. No way, says Dickens, I hate these abstractions,
I'm more than a fanlight. And he's right.
No one to give us a real roof to stop this
pubic grass slapping so hard up and down.
PROVIDENCE GAS DRIP
Wrap up that side of beef,
the one that smells slightly funny.
COAXING
Coaxing a plant to grow, coaxing a child to eat, coaxing a dog to sit. Coaxing a viper into a box. Coaxing cough syrup down a gut. Coaxing music out of a piano. Air into a narrow space. An apology out of a bitch. Blood out of a stone. Plaster over a leg. The sun to give you a couple of good hours. The hill to shrink, the leaf thrashing at its base.
SOMETHING GOD-AWFUL
Something god-awful that you bought at a yard sale. You'll take it home. Maybe it talks to you. Maybe an enormous guinea pig. Maybe a badly made afghan. Unlooping,the yarn trips you up. Maybe it stands in the corner, using up air. Maybe you decide you made a bad mistake. Maybe your regret makes walking difficult. Maybe you begin to blame yourself. Maybe it looks just like you. Has your cheap past, your name, and maybe in the meantime someone has gotten rich off you, gotten out from under, jumping now, up and down, straight up and down for joy.
THE PHOTOGRAPHS
She is hot, and retouches a series of publicity photos from Hollywood movies, getting rid of the man, putting herself in his place. Now Audrey Hepburn bends close to her hand, needing a light. Katherine Hepburn hangs onto the back of a chair looking down at the top of her head. All of these women say, You're so hot. You are so, so hot. Not here, she tells me, impatient, standing in the lobby, They can't be shown here, they'd never be appreciated.
THE ROSES
In the vase, the roses have slowly tensed up as they've dried, like a hand, the tips of the fingers pushing together. On the lawn the patients have an hour when they sing songs. They stay in their wheelchairs and sink inward a little, they shut their eyes, who knows what overwhelms them just now. This could make such a pretty picture, couldn't it? says one nurse. But after all she can still walk so she sits, points one leg out and shakes the foot up and down. A rose held to the face can bring you joy or make you want to sit. Make you want to cry, turn your whole chair backward, what can't it make you do, the light tipping into a glass. The nurse tips further back as you suddenly recall the original insult. What brought you here.