Two Poems From “May Everything Be This Soft and Brief”

 
My Name is Hugh Grant

I was vacationing in Greece, sitting in outdoor seating
at a restaurant eating black olives soaked in vinegar
when the waitress approached me. I don’t mean she physically
approached me, though she did that too, I mean she hit on me.
“My name is Hugh Grant,” I said, “and I’m a fisherman.” I figured
she’d find this funny, as I am Hugh Grant, and so clearly
not a fisherman. “I am a famous actor. Romantic comedy.”
Her eyes showed no sign of recognition. “My name is Amy DiLorenzo,”
she said, and I realized right then that she was Italian and that thus
I was not getting the authentic Greek experience I was hoping for.
“Amy,” I said, “Do you know who I am?” “Hugh Grant,” she answered.
Each of her teeth seemed to be singing to me. Hugh! They shouted
as if they were trapped. “Do you know any movies
I’ve been in?” I asked. She smiled without confidence. “Nine months?” I posed.
I was becoming desperate. “My name is Hugh Grant.” “I will tell the chef,”
she said, “He specializes in preparing freshwater trout. I am sure he will be thrilled
to meet you.” Do they say thrilled in Greece? I was panicking.

#9 – Two Poems – Shira Erlichman

On February 6, DMC celebrates its TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY! 
Holy mackerel, time flies. It's been a great year. We've published 
hundreds of pieces this year that we feel proud and honored to 
share, and we also put out our first book! This week we will be 
counting down the Top Ten Most Read posts from our second year of 
existence, and will present #2 and #1 on Saturday, February 6. 
Thanks for being part of a wild and excellent two years.



Stillness in Four Movements

The hospital ceiling. Neon hallway lights. My parents 
buzzed in through metal doors. Catatonia. My father’s 
hand. Urine in the sheets. A moth clings to the mesh 
of the window. A game of backgammon. My father claims 
he lets me win. When I lose I blame the pills & he laughs. 
Corridors of blue-socked body-draggers. Foggy everything. 
Guards that force a screaming teenager to the ground. 
A stone the Art Therapist lodges in my hand & tells me to love. 

The hospital 			           ceiling. Neon 			        hallway 
lights. My parents 		   buzzed in through 		        metal doors. 
        Catatonia. 				                 My father’s hand. 
Urine		in the sheets. A moth 		clings to the 
        mesh 			           of the window. A game 
of backgammon. My father claims 		      he lets me    win. 
When	   I lose 			              I blame 		            the pills & he 
        laughs. Corridors 		              of blue-	           socked body-	 

Two Poems – Shira Erlichman

Stillness in Four Movements

The hospital ceiling. Neon hallway lights. My parents 
buzzed in through metal doors. Catatonia. My father’s 
hand. Urine in the sheets. A moth clings to the mesh 
of the window. A game of backgammon. My father claims 
he lets me win. When I lose I blame the pills & he laughs. 
Corridors of blue-socked body-draggers. Foggy everything. 
Guards that force a screaming teenager to the ground. 
A stone the Art Therapist lodges in my hand & tells me to love. 

The hospital 			           ceiling. Neon 			        hallway 
lights. My parents 		   buzzed in through 		        metal doors. 
        Catatonia. 				                 My father’s hand. 
Urine		in the sheets. A moth 		clings to the 
        mesh 			           of the window. A game 
of backgammon. My father claims 		      he lets me    win. 
When	   I lose 			              I blame 		            the pills & he 
        laughs. Corridors 		              of blue-	           socked body-