And the Sky Was Made of Amethyst

Dear Reader: on my refrigerator, amidst the magnets advertising various non-addictive prescription pharmaceuticals, I’ve a sticker of John Cusack during that famous scene from Say Anything. You know the one — the one where John-Cusack-as-Lloyd-Dobler is holding the boombox above his head. The boombox playing, of course, “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel. Now, I am more of a Better Off Dead woman than a Say Anything woman (don’t even get me started on Chuck Klosterman’s essay in Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs about how all women are in love with Lloyd Dobler and that is what is ruining romance in America today because that is absolutely untrue — I was never in love with Lloyd Dobler, and had I ever been in love with any John Cusack character, it would have been Lane Meyer from Better Off Dead). So. Even though I am not in love, nor was I ever in love, with Lloyd Dobler (no matter what Chuck Klosterman may think), I am in love with the story behind Lloyd Dobler’s boombox holding scene. An unholy number of takes was necessary for the final scene. John Cusack had difficulties holding the boombox at the right level. John Cusack looked too indifferent. John Cusack looked too bored. During all these takes, Mr. Cusack began to get a tad exhausted, which is, of course, understandable. The take that was actually in the film is one of these last takes in which John Cusack is extremely exhausted. That’s why he has that incredibly realistic exhausted look on his face. (Disclaimer: I’ve no idea if this story is actually true; I just like it a whole lot.)

So. What does this story have to do with poetry? Well, sometimes surprises are good! Sometimes surprises are the best part! I was surprised, for example, that I could actually write a poem about a golf course. See below.

---

fade

the last time

[rest-of-poem has faded into black... goodbye!]

Because Rue Really Is Indeed Something to Rue

For this poemlogue, I shall adopt Zelda’s third person narration, for there are really times when first person absolutely will not do. This is one of those times, for, you see, Vivienne is a woman of Odd Interests: collecting pennies she finds on her walks, hunting for Sears Merry Mushroom products on E-Bay and at thrift stores and in relatives’ closets of abandoned goods, learning about the digestive systems of pelicans, the lost art of macramé … And though Vivienne is not especially ashamed of her Odd Interests, they are nonetheless Odd Things for her to bring up. To whit: spurred by a children’s book on astronomy, a Young Vivienne developed an abnormal interest in red giant stars. One Christmas, after unwrapping a most fabulous and fashionable Rose Petal Place Roadster, Vivienne sat on the couch and proceeded to tell her cousins everything she knew about red giants, especially their propensity to explode. The cousins responded with wide-eyed looks of horror and shock (please note: the linked cartoon is what Google Image thinks I must be looking for when Googling the term “shock”), and Vivienne was scolded and told to better learn to gauge others’ interest in celestial explosions. Vivienne has since learned that there are a good many Odd Interests she should keep to herself, but can’t seem to follow this rule when it comes to herbal folklore, especially that used by so-called “witches” in the middle ages. How else would she know not to accept an offered cup of henbane tea? How else would she know to induce lust in others with lettuce? How else would she know that there is nothing better than rosemary to cure a weak memory, or aconite to draw the poison from the bites of venomous animals?

Herbal

Don’t eat the berries.