Loose Mary, fine hag and how
her ruffles swim
down to scrap with her
knees, maligned territory.
Spring’s tang swells
old sheets and soft clothes,
the wind a spoon
to stir them with.
Put me, says Mary,
in touch with the guy
who moves things.
From the letterpress chapbook Loose Mary Bedridden. Limited edition release 2012
Dale Arden, Away Too Long, Speaks to Parade Magazine
Dale, Flash Gordon’s sweetheart, is homesick
for earth. She likes to cry—it tastes
like chicken soup. Over anything, say, a fly
in her Jello. She feels less dry, less
one of the Clay People. I know,
she says, you didn’t ask
how I got so soft, you asked
how I got so white.
I lay out all night to get this white.
Lathered up with Silvertone, catching the rays.
But I would rather sleep
inside and stay sallow.
Dale is deluded by heights. Even on other planets
she can believe her feet are on earth. She rhapsodizes:
Up this high, ears
ring like Jonah’s,
The moon hides, it’s like
a violet in the grass. And even though
I sport sweat socks under my prairie skirt,
a rose bush springs up at my feet
(But, Dale, this is a silver jumpsuit
with lightning bolt appliqués--)
because I am the sweet,
sweet inspiration of Ming
the Merciless. At seventeen
I figured any man
I wanted could have me;
I’ve been fainting ever since.
Beth Seetch is a Chicagoan residing in PA, involved with a Vandercook and learning to make paper out of underwear. This piece was originally published in River Styx Issue 22.