HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Wednesday, January 16, 2008 the girl and the mirror you don't know what you want, said the mirror, you'll be sorry when you get lonely. really? the girl asked. she was juggling globes of air--one was red, one blue, one green, tilting her body to catch them all, quite out of breath. yes, said the mirror, and you'll come to me crying with your eyes of tears. and we'll have a party out of it, said the girl. we'll toast with glasses of tears, and stay up all night till we're quite drunk and silly. why, to the promise of tears! to the promise of tears, sighed the mirror, sometimes you make me feel so old. -- in truth, i am quite sad, said the mirror. i am doing everything you have asked of me. i am ironing out my face, i am eating my vitamins and vegetables, i'm running in the snow and walking down suspension bridges and, aaaah...wearing your awful striped tights-- and my flippy tops, and my short shorts?-- asked the girl yes, your flippy tops and short shorts, sighed the mirror --- but the striped tights... aaahh, the striped tights. (the thoughts of the striped tights against your thighs distract me, like misplaced chairs.) but i must finish. i had wanted to say this: in truth, i am quite sad. what? asked the girl. in truth i am quite sad, said the mirror. what? asked the girl, what? in truth, I Am Quite Sad, the mirror repeated. she could hardly breathe now. the words came out like scrambled eggs. she was hyperventilating, choking on her own laughter. nothing, said the mirror. i'm going to sleep now. you can't sleep until i sleep, said the girl, that is the truth, whether you admit it or not. -- you make me quite a horrible person, said the girl, such a troublemaker. no, you were horrible because of yourself, said the mirror. you were the one who chose to wear those striped tights. i would never be horrible, if you didn't show up my horrible-ness, said the girl. and neither would you never be beautiful, if i didn't show up that face of yours. -- i'm leaving, said the mirror, will you miss me? no, because you would have never left, said the girl. you had to be the heroine of the story, didn't you? said the mirror, you had to have the last word. you know what? i'll give you the last word. say something clever, or pretty. like you're good at. she resisted the urge to say "sardines!" and kept very quiet. posted by dawn # 7:54 PM Comments: Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] travelling packed beauty world slowness signed my contract for 308 wait avenue in ithaca, ... the reality cups dog days running towards strong arms [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

the girl and the mirror

you don't know what you want, said the mirror, you'll be sorry when you get lonely.

really? the girl asked. she was juggling globes of air--one was red, one blue, one green, tilting her body to catch them all, quite out of breath.

yes, said the mirror, and you'll come to me crying with your eyes of tears.

and we'll have a party out of it, said the girl. we'll toast with glasses of tears, and stay up all night till we're quite drunk and silly. why, to the promise of tears!

to the promise of tears, sighed the mirror, sometimes you make me feel so old.

--

in truth, i am quite sad, said the mirror. i am doing everything you have asked of me. i am ironing out my face, i am eating my vitamins and vegetables, i'm running in the snow and walking down suspension bridges and, aaaah...wearing your awful striped tights--

and my flippy tops, and my short shorts?-- asked the girl

yes, your flippy tops and short shorts, sighed the mirror --- but the striped tights... aaahh, the striped tights. (the thoughts of the striped tights against your thighs distract me, like misplaced chairs.) but i must finish. i had wanted to say this: in truth, i am quite sad.

what? asked the girl.

in truth i am quite sad, said the mirror.

what? asked the girl, what?

in truth, I Am Quite Sad, the mirror repeated.

she could hardly breathe now. the words came out like scrambled eggs. she was hyperventilating, choking on her own laughter.

nothing, said the mirror. i'm going to sleep now.

you can't sleep until i sleep, said the girl, that is the truth, whether you admit it or not.

--

you make me quite a horrible person, said the girl, such a troublemaker.

no, you were horrible because of yourself, said the mirror. you were the one who chose to wear those striped tights.

i would never be horrible, if you didn't show up my horrible-ness, said the girl.

and neither would you never be beautiful, if i didn't show up that face of yours.

--

i'm leaving, said the mirror, will you miss me?

no, because you would have never left, said the girl.

you had to be the heroine of the story, didn't you? said the mirror, you had to have the last word. you know what? i'll give you the last word. say something clever, or pretty. like you're good at.

she resisted the urge to say "sardines!" and kept very quiet.

posted by dawn # 7:54 PM

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