trying to write better.

The lemons on the counter

enshrouded in a dingy grocery bag

radiate through dark surroundings

to light the kitchen

as a replacement for the bulb that burnt out after you left.

I grab them with both hands

Their yellow

pock marked skins firm beneath my grip.

Steadfast and whole

Each predictable,

tiny yellow triangles form a circle

dotted by seeds

protected by thick peel

both defensive and alluring.

I slice them in half

one by one

and massacre them on the juicer

no warning

or mercy

squeezing the life out of these glorious, brilliant fruits.

Innards gushing into the bowl for all to see,

I conquer this impertinent object

and feel the juice of its existence

seeping into the nicks and cuts of my

beaten hands, stinging and searing the irritated skin.

The pain is welcome

because then at least I’ll know I’m alive

and the nectar of this passionate,

self-loathing world will course through my veins

to help me remember your absence

instilling in me, the naïve belief that

someday you will come home

to fix the burnt out light in the kitchen.

mad men.

I have recently been trying to watch new television shows as they come out on DVD (because I hate watching ACTUAL television) and recently stumbled upon Mad Men, a show about the top advertising agency in New York City in the 50's. The roles of women and men are very blatantly addressed as is the public's opinion of these roles.  I have always been fascinated with gender roles and the idea of domesticity, perhaps because my family never followed any of those rules. I did an entire journal based on the story of a man and wife during this same period of the 50's, early 60's. The husband is a high powered business executive and the wife is a stay at home mother. The journal tells the story of their relationship on one particular night when the husband doesn't come home and the wife stays up, waiting for him to call.

Although I believe we have come so far since these days of cat and mouse, I also believe we fall into gender roles much easier than we think. Many women who categorize themselves as strong and independent will still wait up nights just waiting for him to call. They enjoy the door being opened for them and a hand offered to get out of the car. Chivalry may be dead, but a woman's need for companionship and care is not. In the words of my coworker, "You just want him to at least make you feel pretty, don't you?"

So in honor of gender roles and Mad Men and feeling pretty, here are a few pages from my journal about domesticity.

the gift of work.

Clever review

Of last night’s event

The ruckus

And noise

Polluting cramped apartment spaces

Little girl accepted amongst

Those in black get ups

Servings food and filling waters

Waiting for approval and learning to exist

Plainly

And without consequence

Entrusting in her

Solid foundations

Of days gone by

Nights in bars

Dancing beside animosity

And fellows watching her hips

Swing back and forth

Back and forth

Possessed by rhythms of the DJ

No age

No consequence

Under red lights in confined spaces

Through side doors and back doors

Smoking cigarettes on porches

Pondering fallen hopes and washed up ambition

This they gave her

A package neatly tied up

With ribbons and bows

The card left blank

No signature

No consequence.