You are in the diode archives v6n2



Dear Stories

My father kept going over the evacuation checklist.
We discovered someone stole my brother.

Someone should explain why there are all these naked women on the internet.

I started living with a crazy person.
She was the whole mental hospital—every floor, every ward, every diagnosis.

A plastic wrapped virgin stared at us as if she were under ice.

Birds snag their wings on the air.

I have learned to live my life but have forgotten these words: Secure your own mask before assisting others.

I put the man who told a different story on a shelf.  When I was sick of my story, I knocked on the cupboard door.

I wear the alphabet on my sweater one letter at a time.
It will be months before I make a coherent statement.


Dear God

It is difficult to take you seriously.

I am being summoned by the patron saint of bees;

I hear the sputter in the hives.

I’m rearranging the internal furniture in the

Muddiness—in the mind.

You are invited to secret entanglements—

A crumbling cosmic mystery.

As the naked woman dances, I wonder,

What does eternity weigh?

We are always waiting for the limousine doors to open.

I fear we are turning into plastic—one limb at a time.

We need to rescue the jewels out of the mangrove swamp—

Paint God’s nude portrait.  


Patrick Lawler is author of A Drowning Man Is Never Tall Enough  (University of Georgia Press, 1990), reading a burning book (Basfal Books, 1994), Feeding the Fear of the Earth (Many Mountains Moving Press, 2006), Underground: Notes Toward an Autobiography (2011), and Trade World Center (Ravenna Press, 2012). In addition, he has just published a novel, Rescuers of Skydivers Search Among the Clouds (winner of the Ronald Sukenick American Book Review Innovative Fiction Prize. Fiction Collective 2.  University of Alabama Press, 2012).  A short story collection, The Meaning of If, is scheduled to be published by Four Way Books in 2014.