Back in the Bedroom.

Hi there. Been mulling over some projects...books, a film and/or a series of videos. Gonna meet with some people and see where that leads me. Def need some help w/ this idea. It's a biggun. STILL working on getting Book Four out to you as well. Stay tuned. However it gets out, I know I'm proud of the work. A powerful little piece for you today. Enjoy....Love, C.A.

Back in the Bedroom

Back in the bedroom, she

Turns gray in the yellow
Light. Today,
Under cover, she is deeply
Buried.

Smoking, dying, getting

Off

The best
She can. Words come easy --
So
Real,

That was,

And wide open --

Here lies her starving heart.
Such a clean
Party --
Flat on the back,
And the nasty
Clock is stuck on the stupid beat of

One.

Post-
traumatic. Good enough.
Shaky hands,
Headache, please, fuck you.

Right now, someone tells her that all she needs
is air.
Right now, someone tells her that all she needs
is everything.

There is a place we call
Up there,
and a place we call
Down below, and somewhere in
Between,
Lives a human,
A canine,
Vicious desire,
And a small, empty

House
For sale.

Hold her hand when you take her
To the showing.
Make sure the lights are
On.
Make sure it is brick
Or stone.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Ault, Morning

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Untitled.

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Untitled

 

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Embrace

 

C.A. MacConnell

Limousine Girl, 1989

Sweat-drenched, once again,
her body became
the rain to the bed,
her sudden nightly windshield.
Engine starting,
she stretched to rise,
holding her racing head,
shifting into
her fake-tan,
fake-nail,
fake-face role
with vehicles, run sheets, and chauffeurs,
and she was never anything more
than a stuck car door,
and she was never anything more
than a stay-at-home groupie.
Fifteen, going on twenty-seven,
she arranged rides
for businessmen and stars,
making sure the drivers
remembered the ice,
watching her pager
vibrate and flash,
later collecting backstage cash,
shaking hands with managers,
when they had no idea
that Mom was her ride that day,
when she nodded, frowned,
and made a note of it
when the man in shades,
the big-toothed contact,
mentioned that one car
didn't have the right juice.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Babies.

C.A. MacConnell

The Good Knives

Was talking with a friend the other day, laughing about scenarios like this, and I was reminded of this funny little essay...hope you smile. Love, C.A.

The Good Knives

When I was little, there were these weird people called "traveling salesmen" who appeared every now and again in the neighborhood. Now, of course they're long gone, but back in the day, we'd let any old Scott or Tim or possible murderer into our house. Encyclopedia Britannica? Mom and Dad bought the whole set. Tupperware? Bring it on. We didn't even discriminate against the guy selling Cutco Knives. That's right -- he was selling knives, and one night, Mom opened the door for him like he was her best friend. Soon, I think he was.

Hunched in a corner of the den, I watched the transaction go down. I always thought it was fun when something interrupted dinner.

The salesman laid out the butcher knives, the steak knives, the machetes, the swords, and the various types of scissors. I'm sure there were some nun-chucks, axes, daggers, and crossbows in his bag.

Mom listened intently as he described their possible cutting, dicing, and slicing techniques.

Wide-eyed, I thought, What do we need more knives for? But the salesman wore a suit, and he smelled like Polo cologne, so I figured he was the real deal.

Then the salesman pulled out the Cutco scissors. He began to demonstrate how the scissors were so sharp, they could cut a penny in half. And they could -- that serrated edge cut right through any old penny.

Mom shouted at Dad, "Honey, come look at this! These scissors cut a penny!" Then to me, "Can you believe this?"

"I can't believe it, Mom. Never saw anything cut a penny in half!" I yelled, agreeing wholeheartedly.

With his skeptical face on, Dad slid into the room. "What's this racket all about?"

Smiling like a wild clown, the salesman did another demo of the penny cutting.

Dad gasped. "Never saw that before! Unbelievable. Those things cut a penny right in half! Where's Matt? Get him in here."

Matt, my brother, wasn't around, so I was the sole recipient of the day's magic, and I admit that I was pleased about it.

Mom promptly purchased the scissors, and then she added about five knives on to her bill. She seemed excited, maybe even sweaty.

The salesman seemed excited, maybe even sweaty.

But as the salesman was leaving, reality set in, and a horrible thought about the scissors occurred to me. I waited a few minutes until Dad was gone, and then I tentatively asked Mom this very pointed question: "Why and when would anyone ever need to cut a penny in half?"

Holding her knife set, Mom scrunched her eyebrows, shrugged, and whispered, "You never know." Then she looked around, and I could tell she was listening for Dad's footsteps above her. We did that all the time -- just stared up at the ceiling to make sure he was up there. Then Mom chuckled and winked, whispering, "At least I finally got my good knives."

C.A. MacConnell

Church

Howdy. Here's something I've been tinkering with just now. A love poem, in a way. Has a lot of pattern, sound going on. See what you think. <3, C.A.

Church

I see your face
in the faces of strangers –
in the quick lip licks,
in the thin-legged stride
that leans right,
hips tilting
with sudden sweeping.
I see your face
in the teeth
tearing through lettuce,
in the church drunk
fresh from detox;
he shudders and hovers
kitchen-counter-style.
I see your face
in the picnic table
bad man, who watches
the ladies, carving into knots,
tugging the tangled leashes
on his hound dog,
and the mutt.
I see you inside
the jerky walk
of the wedding photographer,
the squint of the close-up shot,
and the nervous groom’s
flute lip.
You must be behind
the blue wristwatch glass,
keeping time zones straight,
holding a half-cracked
lollipop.

C.A. MacConnell