Sonnet

The salmon girl had slanting eyes,

And a projection for a nose:

But still she was hot to all the guys,

Or so the story goes:

In Sunday mass she'd strike a toke,

And then she'd get really dumb:

Always the butt of a funny joke,

And always leaving crumbs:

But if you ask, "what girl is this?"

For this I have no answer,

She shakes around her dwarfish fist:

And sticks around like cancer,

But what is this bully to do

When all she has to tease, is you.

I chose the Shakespearean sonnet because I like the flow and beat of it. I don't know how it complements the image or idea; I guess it is all encompassing. I didn't stray from the form, I kept the ababcdcdefefgg format.

Speaker

I came with certain expectations of "The Green Manifesto" that David Gessner did not live up to. I thought his book was going to be technical and informative... like a manifesto. It did not resonate with me. I had a lot on my mind and didn't pay too close attention. Not to mention it was 8 o'clock at night on a Monday - that's not the most conducive environment. That mean's that there are only two types of audience members, those that chose to be there and those that are required to be there.

That said, I most likely won't read his book. I like fiction novels or Biographical A-Day-In-The-Life books about Veterinarians or Animal Medicine.

Where the Sidewalk Ends (Shel Silverstein)

When I was a little kid, my grandma gave me copies of "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and "A Light in the Attic" and "Falling Up" for Hanukkah. I'd have my mother read the poems to me before bed. Sometimes I'd have her read the same poem over and over again until she'd fall asleep with the book open in her hands. I don't know what it is about his poems that I enjoyed (and still enjoy) so much. Maybe it is the fact they are short and easy to read, and they're fun and nonsensical. Even now, childhood memories aside, I seem to gravitate to his books and try to write in his tone of voice.

"Hug O'War" by Shel Silverstein

I will not play at tug o’war.

I’d rather play at hug o’war,

Where everyone hugs

Instead of tugs,

Where everyone giggles

And rolls on the rug,

Where everyone kisses,

And everyone grins,

And everyone cuddles,

And everyone wins.

...Even when I'm upset and need to vent my frustration.

My Reply

I will never step foot in hug o’war.

I’d rather play at tug o’war,

Where everyone suffers

Instead of buffers,

Where everyone bleeds

And rolls on their lovers,

Where everyone screams,

And everyone cries,

And everyone withers,

And everyone dies.

Here to Serve

Hey You! You standing there

Wont you sit down in this chair?

Can't you sit down for a while?

I see you want to from that smile

Face flushed and grinning wide

Follow me. Come on inside.

What's that now? Don't turn away!

Won't you hear what I have to say?!

Take off your coat, keep off those feet-

Here, let me help you find a seat?

See now? Isn't this nice?

Perhaps some hot tea will suffice

Stay right there- I'll grab a pot

Be careful though, the kettle's hot

Excuse me? What was that?

To you, I shouldn't turn my back?

My dear sir, I'm so confused

You wonder if the soup is used?

I beg your pardon, I'd never serve--

How dare you Sir! You've got some nerve.

I'll answer your questions; however vague

And I doubt that you'll contract the plague

But once I do, I've had enough

And may ask you to grab your stuff

So Sir. If you must know

Here are your answers before I go

Perhaps you will fall the down the stairs

Maybe you will get caught unawares

There's always a chance you'll lose some cash

Sir please! I cannot ID that rash!

Now that I must avert my eyes

I ask you to replace your guise

Maybe you will inherit diamond rings

But Sir- how am I to know these things?

I'll bring you a menu and a beer

For I am just a waitress here.

Read This Over

Original:

“Read it one more time,” my mother said. It was 12:40 at night, we spent all day in my parents made bed with papers and folders covering the new duvet cover, and we were exhausted. No one should spend all day rereading the same two pages of an online application, even if it is for Veterinary School. I had already lost a page of text because my mother had accidentally unplugged my charger and my computer died before I could save it. It took me an hour to plug in all of my coursework, again. I was ready to murder her as she made me reread my work for the hundredth time.

“Sydney, if you don’t want to go to vet school that’s fine with me,” she said as she puckered her lips and waved a pointed finger at my face, “I know what it takes to apply to these professional programs. So, you better stop interrupting when I speak or you can do this on your own!” She was yelling now and I was crying angry, fat tears.

“Fine!” I said loudly, surprised by my own volume, “but I’m going to sleep after this page.”

“Fine,” my mom responded, passive aggressively.

There was a moment of silence. “Can you read it over?” I asked cautiously, “My eyes are killing me.”

She motioned for my laptop. When I placed it in her lap, she looked at the screen and immediately started squinting; she scrunched her nose which lifted her upper lip and bared her front teeth. “Make it larger, I can’t read this.”

I increased the screen magnification before I collapsed my upper body onto a nice cool pillow. My eyes burned as I closed them, but in relief. The moment I got really comfortable I heard, “Uh, Sydney. Come here.” My mother had found a mistake.

“Here,” she says as she pulls my computer back into my lap. “What biology course did you take? Do you see why we need to do this? You would have sent that to the schools and they would have laughed your application right into the garbage.” Her tone was full of venom, but not the kind I had a right to be angry at.

“Biology 220, Biology of Living Orgasms.”

I hate when she’s right.

* * * * *

Alternate Version:

“Read it one more time,” my mother says. It’s 12:40 at night, and we had spent all day in my parents made bed with papers and folders covering the new duvet cover, and we are exhausted. No one should spend all day rereading the same two pages of an online application, even if it is for Veterinary School. My mother unplugs my computer charger and the battery dies; I lose a page of text and my begins to twitch. It takes me an hour to plug in all of my coursework, again. I’m ready to murder her as she makes me reread my work for the hundredth time.

“Sydney, if you don’t want to go to vet school that’s fine with me,” she says as she puckers her lips and waves a pointed finger at my face, “I know what it takes to apply to these professional programs. So, you better stop interrupting when I speak or you can do this on your own!” She is yelling now and I am crying angry, fat tears.

“Fine!” I say loudly, and I am surprised by my own volume, “but I’m going to sleep after this page.”

“Fine,” my mom responds, passive aggressively.

There is a moment of silence. “Can you read it over?” I ask cautiously, “My eyes are killing me.”

She motions for my laptop. I place it in her lap and she looks at the screen and immediately starts squinting; she scrunches her nose which lifts her upper lip and bares her front teeth. “Make it larger, I can’t read this.”

I increase the screen magnification before I collapse my upper body onto a nice cool pillow. My eyes burn as I closed them, but in relief. Just as I get comfortable, I hear, “Uh, Sydney. Come here.” My mother has found a mistake.

“Here,” she says as she pulls my computer back into my lap. “What biology course did you take? Do you see why we need to do this? You would have sent that to the schools and they would have laughed your application right into the garbage.” Her tone is full of venom, but not the kind I have a right to be angry at.

“Biology 220, Biology of Living Orgasms.”

I hate when she’s right.

_______________________

I will keep the original version because having to change the tense forced me to alter sentences and rethink ideas. I already have trouble to sticking to a single tense and this just made it awkward and made me feel frustrated.

It also reminded me of Taylor Mali and his proofreading sketch.

"She is going to be fat when she grows up, just like her mammy." -Tayari Jones

I walked into the Foster auditorium expecting failure. My assumption was reassured by the astounding four people in the 100 person capacity room. I watched as the man in the green shirt set up two collapsible tables in the front of the room while I contemplated how I’d sleep in my hands.

The man in the green shirt began unpacking books and then sat down with a credit card imprint machine. This was looking more and more like a waste of my time. Then the first girl started to do the tapping on the mic “Testing. Testing. Is this thing on” spiel and I tried to think about reasons that this girl should be so damned nervous. There are seven of us in the room, and two of them are sleeping!

Then Tayari walked up to the microphone. I didn’t like her voice at first. She was too whispery and the whole thing felt too erudite to me. Oh ex-cuse me Margareet, I seem to have left my tweed in the motor car (fiddles with mustache).

I don’t remember when I stopped coloring in the boxes of the day’s crossword. I don’t remember when she stopped reading; I didn't snap back to reality until I heard people clap. I was in what my mother likes to call “the zone.” I get there when I watch television and it’s not always a good thing. Sometimes I lose all peripheral vision when I’m in the zone and sometimes I go completely deaf to the outside world; I am completely unresponsive. My roommate hates it, but I can’t help it.

Tayari Jones struck a chord that I really wasn’t expecting. Hell, she got me to buy her book with the money I was saving for groceries. I had to have cereal for dinner when I got back home.

Her dialogue reminded me of home even though her story was set in Atlanta and I am from Brooklyn. In my mind, I could see the girls tapping on their braids and sucking their teeth like how I used to imitate one of my friends. I could smell the oil in their hair and hear them "mm-hmm" and stomp their feet as they laughed at something that was said.

Her book makes want to be back home. And I cant wait to read it.