2003 Columbus--following the lead of Cincinnati (pigs), Lexington
(horses) and Chicago (cows)--sponsored 6-1/2-foot fiberglas ears
of corn to be decorated by local artists and later auctioned off
as a community fundraiser. Shown here is Clintonville artist Ann
Alaia Woods by her corn, chosen by the Columbus Dispatch. It stood
across from the Dispatch's downtown Columbus offices. Ann, a calligrapher,
hand lettered hers with the names of hundreds of remarkable people
either born in Ohio or who came to call Ohio their home--groups
and individuals in every field who contributed significantly to
state, national and, often, world history, from the native tribes
and leaders who first settled here to contemporary individuals.
Ann's website at: http://www.aimiaartworks.com
Mounds of the Midwest
Connecting links and
In stone and mud.
Tracing paths from
Stars to stones.
The meaning is lost
Within its riddle
(The riddle lost
Within its form).
Like a serpent
In the sun.
Sinuous and suggestive,
Resting before it strikes.
From the snake
As well as pain
(we are all united
In this single refrain).
The makers are gone
The meaning is gone
The culture is gone
(Unknown, quite dead).
Even the mounds
Are mostly gone
(Plowed and bled).
The warming earth
The snake remains.
The Non–Fiction Theater of the Truly Mundane
by Rick Brown
The driveway of a middle class urban neighborhood. A small community
center bus is parked directly in front of a sidewalk that leads
up to the front door of a small, immaculate, white two story frame
house. An old fashioned lamppost is situated next to the walkway.
Rick (the driver) is seen standing next to the open accordion
bus doors. He is helping a little old lady out of the bus. Sitting
inside are 5 other senior ladies.
Rick – Here we are! Do you need help getting out?
Little old lady – A little maybe. I’m going to be
99 on June 2nd you know.
Rick – Why yes. I heard you talking to the others about
that. I think that’s just wonderful!
Little old lady – Isn’t it though.
She begins her decent down the bus stairs.
Rick – Now you watch this last step. It’s a bit more
of a drop than the others. It’s a doozy really.
Little old lady – You know, this one time we all went to
lunch. And one lady got drunk. And when she got to this last step
she turned and looked at the rest of us. And do you know what
she said Rick?
Rick – I have no idea.
Little old lady – She said “This last goddamned step
is a BITCH!”
Rick – himself
Little old lady – her almost 99-year-old self
never been to jail
spent most of my life
in prison though
i've worn this pink
jumpsuit most of my
life. like i'd earned a life
sentence living gender.
I've been a waitress, a dishwasher
a sales clerk a social worker a mother
a wife a daughter a sister a poet
a lover, a quick fix, a heartbreak waiting
to happen, his confidante
and always wearing this pink jumpsuit always
give me the freedom of never
knowing the freedom of equality
the freedom to fail as myself
the freedom that even a man
behind bars gets when he
wears a blue prison suit at least
then you get a sentence for what
kind of work you did or didn't do
not what kind of human you aren't
what kind of space your ass takes up
what kind of attitude your mouth takes
on when pushed up against a pink wall
surrounded by a glass ceiling
whether or not you can balance on
a heel of a shoe designed to look
pretty and hurt like hell while you
smile, will there be anything else sir?
and have to go home and explain why there
isn't enough money for your son's new
sneakers. and answer to the media
about how all the single mothers are
bringing this country down
If taking it off means walking
down the street naked exposed
free of any identity at all well
leave it piled up there in the corner
along with all the other laundry
i've washed and cast off along the way