"Unmediated Experience," Bob Hicok

She does this thing. Our seventeen-

year-old dog. Our mostly deaf dog.

Our mostly dead dog, statistically

speaking. When I crouch.

When I put my mouth to her ear

and shout her name. She walks away.

Walks toward the nothing of speech.

She even trots down the drive, ears up,

as if my voice is coming home.

It’s like watching a child

believe in Christmas, right

before you burn the tree down.

Every time I do it, I think, this time

she’ll turn to me. This time

she’ll put voice to face. This time,

I’ll be absolved of decay.

Which is like being a child

who believes in Christmas

as the tree burns, as the drapes catch,

as Santa lights a smoke

with his blowtorch and asks, want one?

"The Blue Bowl," Jane Kenyon

Like primitives we buried the cat

with his bowl. Bare-handed

we scraped sand and gravel

back into the hole.

They fell with a hiss

and thud on his side,

on his long red fur, the white feathers

between his toes, and his

long, not to say aquiline, nose.

We stood and brushed each other off.

There are sorrows keener than these.

Silent the rest of the day, we worked,

ate, stared, and slept. It stormed

all night; now it clears, and a robin

burbles from a dripping bush

like the neighbor who means well

but always says the wrong thing.

"To Tell the Truch," Alicia Ostriker

To tell the truth, those brick Housing Authority buildings

For whose loveliness no soul had planned,

Like random dominoes stood, worn out and facing each other,

Creating the enclosure that was our home.

Long basement corridors connected one house to another

And had a special smell, from old bicycles and baby carriages

In the storage rooms. The elevators

Were used by kissing teenagers.

The playground—iron swingchains, fences, iron monkey bars,

Iron seesaw handles, doubtless now rusted—

Left a strong iron smell on my hands and in the autumn air

And rang with cries. To me it is even precious

Where they chased the local Mongoloid, yelling “Stupid Joey! Stupid Joey!”

Now I’ve said everything nice I can about this.

"Interstate Sonnet," Carl Marcum

A cigarette kiss in the desert. The wind-proof arc

of flame sparks inside the speeding Buick. Menthol:

a break from the monotony of highway nicotine—

most intimate of drugs. Make this mean sorrow

or thermodynamics, whatever small gesture

there is time for. Light another one, the vainglorious

interstate dusk and ash—the long, silver tooth.

This shirtless abandon, this ninety-mile-an-hour

electric laugh. The edges of windshield, haphazard

chatter. The clatter of the hubcap and the thunderclap:

the white-hot retinal memory of your life as a Joshua tree.

Permanence in the passenger seat. This long haul,

this first drag—nothing like cinnamon, nothing

like the iron taste on the back of your mortal tongue.

"Sonnet," by Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson

I had not thought of violets late,

The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet

In wistful April days, when lovers mate

And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.

The thought of violets meant florists' shops,

And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.

So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,

I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;

The perfect loveliness that God has made,—

Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.

And now—unwittingly, you've made me dream

Of violets, and my soul's forgotten gleam.

My gallery response.

Rachel Dafforn, "Edge."

With Rachel Dafforn’s futuristic, tunic-like dress “Edge,” the muted colors, clean lines, and surprising geometry project a subdued and dignified playfulness. Dafforn crafts her dress with a soft, brushed cotton and corduroy, and her color palette is narrow, ranging from the soft black of the high-waisted black skirt to the mossy green that hides behind a gray top. The unusual triangular cut from this top, combined with the comfortable, wide wale of the corduroy provide an interesting mix of the modern and the traditional. This mixture of style and material makes Dafforn’s dress as fun and friendly as it is earnest and thoughtful.

Round 1 Winners

Daniel, Chelsey, Mary, Hannah, Londen, Christine, Abby, Kyle D, Amanda, Scott, Cole, Daniyal, Vanessa, Kyle G, Angela, John.

Congratulations, winners, and great job making your readings personal and enjoyable for us as your audience.

Round 2 will be on Monday of next week. Everyone must have their one paragraph response done and printed for that day. Winners must print theirs with an alias, while non-winners simply need their names.