A selection of POEMS and writings by Jessica McArthur
Closing, Opening
The Butterfly Girl
That's How I Grew Old
Snow Flaws
In Memory of My Grandmother
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CLOSING, OPENING By Jessica McArthur
Fluffy pink animals
scream in the dark
When I crush their diligent selves
into my empty closet
and push the door closed
behind me.
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THE BUTTERFLY GIRL By Jessica McArthur
At one side of the concrete car-crazed river there wanders a detached, even lonely girl, lost in the enormity of a blaring world. She skips down the sidewalk like the woman-child she is. A creative, wanting soul, suffocated by computerized con-men who brush past her with disinterest. She skips again, using the thrust of her legs as a physical support for her falling spirits and turns toward a store window, empty with fashion and glamour. Empty with the plastic priorities of a self-conscious city. Seeing her reflection, she spreads her arms wide. Butterflies are free no matter what kind of trickery the conformists try to seduce her with. As she lifts her arms higher and higher, simulating the glory of a sunrise, she spins around in swirling, ecstatic delight. Then she stops dead and cold in the fire of her being. She sees a caterpillar line of glassy-eyed business people puttering their way down the sidewalk toward her. Aghast but undefeated, she squeezes herself against the window, her legs and arms spread wide.
They're travelling to their stifling cocoons: beige carpeted offices with fake wooden furniture. A whirl of vivid memories blacken before her eyes as she recalls her former life. She's been smothered in the gray sadness of a stuffy little world. As the world grows smaller, her wings grow larger and she has finally broken loose.
But now they're coming back for her to squeeze her into their line once again. She will not have it. So she spreads her wings even wider yet and disappears into the sky. The robots look up at her dissolving form, afraid of her power of flight. But like good little mechanisms they quickly replace their eyes in Standard Position and continue down the sidewalk.
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THAT'S HOW I GREW OLD By Jessica McArthur
Someone once told me
that ballerina pink was a
very
ugly
colour.
And that I'd look silly
in those dumb old sissy shoes.
I believed that someone
when he popped my pink balloon.
So I turned up my back to that
dance shop window
and tugged at another balloon.
Now I dream of Baryshnikov.
Someone once claimed
that men were all
tiresome
hurtful
people.
And that I'd get clamped down
in an isolated trap.
I was so easily spooked
when my balloon string was clipped.
So I tore up his picture,
gave back the ring
and tugged at another balloon.
Now I read Harlequin's.
Someone once uttered
that the world was a
scary
unsafe
place.
And that I'd get all jumbled
if I changed my daily routine.
I took their wise old advice
as they squeezed the helium from my balloon.
So I cancelled my flight to Europe,
went back to the home
and tugged at another balloon.
Now I collect brochures.
A child said today
that someday he'd fly a
great
big
jet.
And that soon he'd be in the sky
with Superman and the sea gulls.
I said I was sure he was right
as I tied a balloon string to his wrist.
So he trained to be a pilot,
bought himself a plane
and flew with my balloon.
Now he soars above me.
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SNOW FLAWS By Jessica McArthur
As the product
of a golden family
I always thought
that living was white as a snowdrift.
Thousands of snowflakes
all unique
all perfect
comprising glimmering colonies.
The milkman brought us milk
so diligently, precisely
The doctor fixed our pains
with thought, and care
White milk, white bandages
Not a fleck of deception
until the fog rolled in
and around the white
curled the gray.
The gray of a businessman's suit, who
after performing his respective act
rips at his costume
to expose
a morbid erection
so eager to plunge into my snow,
to make filthy slush
of my heaven-white
ideals.
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IN MEMORY OF MY GRANDMOTHER By Jessica McArthur
In memory of my Grandmother, Violet Ethel Williams Temple Heral who loved me and spoiled me, who fed me and washed me, who taught me how to write my name and to tie a shoelace, who never stopped telling anecdotes about me and went to all my neighbourhood variety shows, who cared for me when Mom was out late and came to me when I was sick, who felt my pain even when I was more than 2000 miles away and paid for numerous collect calls and who supported me as I, more frightened than a Charlie Brown christmas tree cowering under mesmerizing evergreens, extended my branches and became one with the forest.
Most of all, Grandma gave me a wonderful childhood and a glistening heart to save it in.
