Laura Puryear Finnell - Two Poems

Mail-Order Child
The Unintentional Witch
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Mail-Order Child

As I left the meeting, all of the adoptive parents,
their children from Russia, China, India,
zinging around wearing names
like Catherine, Jason, Julie;
the social workers handed me
a book with their logo on front,
saying I could choose her from there.

Catalogues come in the mail every day.
I comparison shop among the raincoats,
gourmet condiments and bras,
the petit fours, door mats,
puppy sweaters, "almost
perfects."

Looking through this one,
I don't find a way to compare
these values: sparkling smile,
somewhat shy, good teeth, or
"wears special shoes to train her
not to walk on her toes."

How could I change her name,
this little girl who stares from
the black and white photo? The name
Fang Fang, so un-English, below in bold black
with her birthdate, and who else
could I ask her to be?

Touching her hair in the picture,
thinking of school days and cream-of-wheat
breakfasts, what can I do for this child?
I could buy them for her,
from some mail order medical store -
those special shoes
my new daughter will need.

________________________________________



The Unintentional Witch

When she is vexed, vinegar enters milk glasses,
curdling what is pure and creamy.

In waving her arms above her head
she tangles the 747's as they heft through the sky.

She pardons the ocelot for killing the cottontail
when the cat-thing cries its remorse.

When she walks on trails, the pebbles grow feet and flee.

She keeps rats with long yellow teeth as familiars,
lets them sleep in her bed, drink evening green tea.

When she shops for groceries, a spell shimmers
from her shoulders, makes the steaks rise up and moo
and shrimp pipe watery songs through algae-flooded cases.
All of the other shoppers must swim out,
gush out through straining glass front doors.

The witch lies down with a sigh at night,
turning her electric blanket just a point higher,
for a witch's skin stays cold in winter.
Warm blooded people in homes
up and down the block
begin to burn.

She didn't mean to do it.












Rock Salt Plum Poetry Review                               Spring 2004         



Laura Puryear Finnell lives in Shelton WA with her husband and cats and pet rats. She works for South Puget Sound Commnunity College. She is a student in the MFA/Creative Writing Program at Antioch University, Los Angeles and has held chair as the editor of their literary journal, Crimson Crane. Her work has appeared in several journals, paper and on-line, including Banyan Review, Arnazella, Gumball Poetry and 4th Street. She is the recipient of the 2001 Susan Wallace Poetry Award from Pierce College (Lakewood,WA)for her group of poems in their journal, Slam.

Email: laurapfinnell@yahoo.com