Hi Erica, this is a single-sentence piece called Blue High Heels - 431 words - I'd love any and all feedback (I like to know what my words actually accomplished!) I'm hoping this is the correct place to post it, if not let me know. Thanks in advance.
It's one of those can't-find-my-left-shoe days, dammit, gotta go back upstairs and change this outfit, my very favorite navy blue suit, slim jacket and sexy pencil skirt, to something that matches black leather loafers, so I know I'm gonna be late for work since I haven't even left the apartment yet because of the amaryllis—yeah, that one, the one on top of the cabinet in the corner that I haven't watered in weeks because, yep, you got it, I thought it was dead until just this second, I just now finished searching under the sofa for the missing blue high heeled shoe, the left one, well you know how that is, I'm on my belly on the wood floor looking sideways into the dark under there, and there's a bump over in the far corner by the stumpy back leg that might be a shoe, but it turns out to be, god I hate to say this out loud, but, it's a gross dust cluster of cat hair all clung together with cobwebs, and when I give up looking under there and sit up, there's a coating of cat hair on the sleeve of my blue jacket, so I give up and try to get off the floor, y'know it's harder and harder these days to get my feet under me, I'm not so good at squats anymore, but I get my elbows on the sofa cushions and heave myself up and whammo, there it is, that amaryllis I left in the darkest corner of the living room—and I'm just, just, I'm just dumbstruck by that single green leaf, that two foot long graceful curving blade, (okay, okay I held my hand up and that leaf is three handspans tall give or take a few inches—and I know the spread of my thumb to pinky is about eight inches), and it's like life itself leaping up from that brown peat, brown even though it's covered in a layer of dust, I mean, you'd think after blooming how many times in the last few years there wouldn't be any more nutrients left in that peat, right?, and there's that dead-looking corm, all dried-out peeling and papery, poking up out of the dust, and then suddenly there's this pale green-white neck and the leaf above it gets greener and darker and more intense the wider it gets—yeah, well, I guess I won't make it to work today, I'm gonna pour myself a shot of rum and just sit down on this sofa and watch this crazy, out-of-season amaryllis grow.
Hi Claudia, I received a message from you that looked like it posted here to Substack but now I don't see it. If you wanted to post the first 600 words of your ghost story here, it's ok!
What your words did was "blow the top of my head off" like Emily Dickinson says of great poems!
I love how you use all the senses here to create what Mary Karr calls "sacred carnality." Great contrast between the "gross dust cluster of cat hair all clung together with cobwebs" and the amaryllis. Also, awesome sound in this line with the alliteration of all the C's, and the assonance of "dust" and "cluster."
I love the use of specific diction when you hone in on the amaryllis: "peat" and "corm" made me look at the flower in a new way. I also love all the colors you used -- it's painterly like Todd Dillard in "The Widower's Wife..."
The form is working. There's momentum here and a volta or turn at the end, as the speaker decides to enjoy the rebirth of this plant, which is also her rebirth. Your images create emotion without sentimentality.
I don't really have any suggestions except maybe to cut the question mark as it's the only one, and unnecessary.
I'll end by saying I love momentum but the uncanny often requires slowing down as does defamiliarization. But not always, as I feel like you do defamiliarize the amaryllis by looking so closely at it.
Strong voice here too: " I mean, you'd think after blooming how many times in the last few years there wouldn't be any more nutrients left in that peat, right" I can't help but think of how the speaker, and all of us humans, keep "blooming" even as we age, and are whacked by life again and again. We keep blooming.
"The body keep bodying" one of my students said as an echo of Shlvotsky's "make the stone stony." There's a wonderful erotic joy in the body in this poem!
Hi Erica, this is a single-sentence piece called Blue High Heels - 431 words - I'd love any and all feedback (I like to know what my words actually accomplished!) I'm hoping this is the correct place to post it, if not let me know. Thanks in advance.
Blue High Heels
© Claudia McGhee
It's one of those can't-find-my-left-shoe days, dammit, gotta go back upstairs and change this outfit, my very favorite navy blue suit, slim jacket and sexy pencil skirt, to something that matches black leather loafers, so I know I'm gonna be late for work since I haven't even left the apartment yet because of the amaryllis—yeah, that one, the one on top of the cabinet in the corner that I haven't watered in weeks because, yep, you got it, I thought it was dead until just this second, I just now finished searching under the sofa for the missing blue high heeled shoe, the left one, well you know how that is, I'm on my belly on the wood floor looking sideways into the dark under there, and there's a bump over in the far corner by the stumpy back leg that might be a shoe, but it turns out to be, god I hate to say this out loud, but, it's a gross dust cluster of cat hair all clung together with cobwebs, and when I give up looking under there and sit up, there's a coating of cat hair on the sleeve of my blue jacket, so I give up and try to get off the floor, y'know it's harder and harder these days to get my feet under me, I'm not so good at squats anymore, but I get my elbows on the sofa cushions and heave myself up and whammo, there it is, that amaryllis I left in the darkest corner of the living room—and I'm just, just, I'm just dumbstruck by that single green leaf, that two foot long graceful curving blade, (okay, okay I held my hand up and that leaf is three handspans tall give or take a few inches—and I know the spread of my thumb to pinky is about eight inches), and it's like life itself leaping up from that brown peat, brown even though it's covered in a layer of dust, I mean, you'd think after blooming how many times in the last few years there wouldn't be any more nutrients left in that peat, right?, and there's that dead-looking corm, all dried-out peeling and papery, poking up out of the dust, and then suddenly there's this pale green-white neck and the leaf above it gets greener and darker and more intense the wider it gets—yeah, well, I guess I won't make it to work today, I'm gonna pour myself a shot of rum and just sit down on this sofa and watch this crazy, out-of-season amaryllis grow.
Hi Claudia, I received a message from you that looked like it posted here to Substack but now I don't see it. If you wanted to post the first 600 words of your ghost story here, it's ok!
Erica
Thanks, Erica, I think I ended up just sending my note to your email address which is why it's not showing up here.
Ah ok! That makes sense.
Hi Claudia,
What your words did was "blow the top of my head off" like Emily Dickinson says of great poems!
I love how you use all the senses here to create what Mary Karr calls "sacred carnality." Great contrast between the "gross dust cluster of cat hair all clung together with cobwebs" and the amaryllis. Also, awesome sound in this line with the alliteration of all the C's, and the assonance of "dust" and "cluster."
I love the use of specific diction when you hone in on the amaryllis: "peat" and "corm" made me look at the flower in a new way. I also love all the colors you used -- it's painterly like Todd Dillard in "The Widower's Wife..."
The form is working. There's momentum here and a volta or turn at the end, as the speaker decides to enjoy the rebirth of this plant, which is also her rebirth. Your images create emotion without sentimentality.
I don't really have any suggestions except maybe to cut the question mark as it's the only one, and unnecessary.
I'll end by saying I love momentum but the uncanny often requires slowing down as does defamiliarization. But not always, as I feel like you do defamiliarize the amaryllis by looking so closely at it.
Strong voice here too: " I mean, you'd think after blooming how many times in the last few years there wouldn't be any more nutrients left in that peat, right" I can't help but think of how the speaker, and all of us humans, keep "blooming" even as we age, and are whacked by life again and again. We keep blooming.
"The body keep bodying" one of my students said as an echo of Shlvotsky's "make the stone stony." There's a wonderful erotic joy in the body in this poem!
Look forward to reading more of your work!
Warmly,
Erica
Thank you sooooo much!
Hi Claudia,
You're in the right place! I enjoyed reading your piece. I'm going to reflect for a few days before responding.
Good to "see" you here!
Erica