Mississippi blues festival Gussow and Turner), 2013

Finally Finally ...

This was a very tough issue for me as I had no one to do layout except me. As it turned out, the cover was created online using pages which it took me a minute to figure out. With the rest of the issue I used microsoft word which didn't seem any more difficult than pages but is a bit easier than Adobe in Design. I spent about 20 hours and a full day sitting at my computer. Boy was my butt sore!


UuuuuugggggGGGGG

Here she is in all her glory.

Short stories, poetry and art.

Featured Poet:   M. Miriam Herrera

Featured Artist: Chor Boogie

Yay for me I made some headway!

The Cartier Street Review is out July 2013

Other artists:

Joe Giodano

Florence Weinberger

Thomas Hubbard

Williams

James Maloney

DAYBREAK

Cellophane moon rides high in sky

Moon tides burst with song

Stings my unnurtured heart with ruptured longings deeper than sea ringing inconsolably

Jimmies the lock triples the false starts below the bistro glows yellow lights glimmer

Flickr the night away dreaming fritter the morning sun warming the ground I lie upon

Pray to the diverse universe of sounds emerge reborn from the womb

I am

The sting hurts worse the first time I lay claim to Cleopatra’s birthright

Scent from heaven

Love makes wrongs right

You get it or you don’t

Try harder to bite the dust emerging from my womb

Clean house, sweeps dirt from beneath the rug

hidden corners emerge bathed in dawn’s light

Aglow with merchandise to show I sweep the surface below words running rapids

Afraid of the flow falling unbidden from lips unspoken nerves violet loves

bright blue golden fringed butterflies dance in my eyes

Walking through the rain at daybreak, no longer feel teardrops flowing with the rain

Flooded by memories, past difficulties, unable to eradicate even one memory

Live through memories daily, replay in my head, I can’t deny

Memories thrive, can’t forget no matter how hard I try

Memories linger, replay day after day

Memories cling to me like worn out clothes

I have the sense to trash these memories insist, resist any effort to throw them away

Memories return to torture me repeatedly

Lure me to decipher hidden sentiments tucked away

To lonely dark secluded places deep beneath the rubbish that stands for anything real

I assign a name to a place tortured by time grown wise beyond the horizon

anger seethes beneath crimes committed, I admit my guilt,

“The fault … is not in our stars, but in ourselves.” *

Memories stand in my way. I am my own personal Judas Iscariot.

Between dawn and dusk searching for remnants of luck, stuck in no man’s land

Under a moonlit sun

Lost in traffic disgruntled and disavowed

Eyes gaze into mine deeper than the deepest

see emerging from the constraints in my veins,

crumbs from my womb sweep clean, a diamond ruby triumphs

Blinding sun breaks at the crack of dawn, mystifies soul watcher

Desire tinged edges lost in the catacombs of fire

* Julius Ceasar

Call Me The Bedbug Warrior

I won’t let them succeed

I’ll get them before they get me, you’ll see.

Bell Environmental said they’re all dead

I wonder if it’s true

Feel them crawling around in my hair

They say they’re all dead

But they’re still there in my head

Can’t get a grip

I hire Pestrol instead.

Their dog also confirms, there’s no more bed bugs alive

Perhaps an egg survives beneath the rug

I’m loath to tear up

Movie-theatre style carpet

Wall to wall, an unusual pattern

Two-toned green vines crawl between five circles

Each circle containing a fleurs de lis

One in each corner, eighteen inches between the four

Nine inches to the center fleurs de lis

One in the center

Four fleurs de lis in each corner 

Repeated endlessly

Light and dark golds, rust orange leaves, dark vibrant green,

A Kelly and lime green vine floats between the circles

I sit here dreaming of surfing the Internet

with my new steamy bed partner

A hand held Haan steamer

I feel them; they scuttle across my neck, crawl behind my ears

The better to sting me inject me with their venom,

Creep through my hair, I dare not turn my head

I dare not fall asleep

My steamy new bed partner lies silent beside me waiting to be put to use.

The Internet said 98 percent of the human race 
has tiny hair mites we can’t see

I’m sure I feel them jumping up there in my hair somewhere

It’s very scary

“What should I do? Should I rip up the wall-to-wall rug?”

Joey says, “If it makes you feel better mom, it’s ok, throw out the rug.”

“What about the furniture? Should I throw that out too?”

“Only if it makes you feel better Mom. 
If it makes you feel safer, throw it out.”

“But you don’t think there’s any of them left?”

“No Mom, but that’s me. You had two dogs in here last week. 
You can’t hire a dog every single week to check for bedbugs.

“It’s ok Mom, throw out everything you want if it makes you feel better.” 
He pats me tenderly on the shoulder. Insane sanity. 
His crazy mother’s really gone off the deep end this time, 
gripping sanity tightly in her fist, then splat, she’s gone.

Diatomaceous earth sprinkled throughout the house

Sprinkled in drawer corners and around the edges

Use a business card to push the powder into the cracks,

Sprinkled between the rug and walls

Sprinkled where the old baseboard was torn up

Sprinkled beneath the bed

Sprinkled on top of the head board

Sprinkle soft white powder into a take out plastic container 
place each leg of the bedframe separately
into a container of its own diatomaceous earth

Sprinkled in a bag of shoes

Diatomaceous earth slices and dices 
dehydrates insects who steps through the soft white 
deceptive powder sprinkled liberally everywhere

Dreaming of new tiles and a clean pinkish swirl beige porcelain floor

I’m sure a porcelain floor will make me feel safe

Don’t rain on my bedbug parade