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sparkle + blink 74
2016 Quiet Lightning
artwork Katie Jenkins-Moses
David, the Cephalopod by Ploi Pirapokin
first appeared in East Bay Review
Up, Apart, Away by Susanna Kwan first appeared in Devils Lake
Alexs Parrot by Sara Brody first appeared in Monarch Review
The Reluctant Artist by Dorothy Rice is an excerpt from a book of
the same title (2015, Shanti Press)
book design by j. brandon loberg
set in Absara
Promotional rights only.
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without permission from individual authors.
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author(s) is illegal.
Your support is crucial and appreciated.
quietlightning.org
su bmit @ qui e tl i g h tn i n g . o r g
CONTENTS
curated by
Katie Jenkins-Moses
1
Stay 4
CHRISTINA TRAN Leave
TOMAS MONIZ
Broken Circles
7
10
19
E.C. MESSER
25
29
DOROTHY RICE
35
E.C. MESSER
Artists in Residence
43
47
E.C. MESSER
The Avenues
57
MELISSA R. SIPIN
Isnt It Right
59
EMILY KIERNAN
65
SARA BRODY
Alexs Parrot
69
TAMMY J. ALLEN
Soul Food
75
SUSANNA KWAN
83
89
ET
QU I
G IS SPONSOR
LIGHTNIN
ED B
Y
QUIET LIGHTNING
A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet
Lightning is to foster a community based on literary
expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL
produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on
the first Monday of every month, of which these books
(sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.
Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is
currently:
Evan Karp
executive director
Chris Cole
managing director
Josey Lee
public relations
Meghan Thornton treasurer
Kelsey Schimmelman
secretary
Sarah Ciston
director of books
Katie Wheeler-Dubin
director of films
Laura Cern Melo
art director
Christine No
producer/assistant managing director
If you live in the Bay Area and are interested in
helpingon any levelplease send us a line:
e v an @ qui et light nin g . o rg
- SET 1 -
CC
CCCCCCCCCCCC
LEAVE
1 Fly Stand-By
2 Flee By Boat
When you fly, fly stand-by
When you flee, flee by boat
fly during the off season
leave as soon as you can, and
eat a good meal the night before your flight
dress warmly, dress in layers.
Arrive early
Arrive before dawn breaks
wait patiently as you are bumped from list to list
let go of time, let go of expectations
be prepared to wait until the final flight of the day
be prepared to try again if your first boat sinks
be prepared to not get on
be prepared to not get very far at all.
Try to get onto a direct flight
Try to reach your destination in one go
every layover means the risk of missing a
connection
you might end up in a refugee camp
1
take-off.
together you will remember other aunt and
other uncle and their 6 kids
they will tell you to sit back, relax, and enjoy your
flight.
you will lament that none of them survived
you are on your way.
they didnt get very far at all
Listen as the flight attendant gives your aunt instructions for an emergency water landing
if you are pregnant, give birth after the boat
sinks.
pay close attention to the location of the lifevests
name your son Hoi San, name him Born at Sea.
in case of an emergency, leave your belongings
behind, but
keep an eye on your longings at all times.
in case of emergency, put your oxygen mask on
before assisting others
never leave your longings unattended.
lights will illuminate a path to your nearest exit
Ch ri st i na Tran
STAY
Wake up on a Saturday morning but
Dont get out of bed.
Dont get out of bed yet.
Lay facing the wall, shades drawn.
Listen to the sounds of
your mom making coffee in the kitchen.
the drawers open and shut, rattle thump
the water fills her mug, glug glug
the teaspoon clinks against the china, clink
clunk
(her white china cup with the violet rose and
green leaves and a delicate line of gold ringing the
rim, rimming the handle)
Dont get up yet.
Listen to the sound of
your dad riding his stationary bike, whirr whirr.
Whirr whirrrrr
(a futile attempt to rid himself of belly fat,
a fat you inherited)
Dont get up yet.
4
thump thump.
(incessant beating, impossibly still breathing,
a breath you inherited)
Dont get up.
Dont get up yet.
Feel the force of missing them unfurl inside your
chest,
gasp
hush
Dont you dare get up yet.
Stay.
Stay in bed.
Stay in bed
with the ache that means they once existed.
TTT
TTTTTTTT
e x c e r pt f r o m
T E N D R IL W IL D
banana
i envied my friends whose parents bought multiple
boxes of cereal / the choices we had when i spent the
night / at home i woke each morning to my mothers
absence & bananas purchased from the dollar bin /
one evening i complained that i hated them / black
spotted & smushy / my mom tried to convince me that
those were the tastiest spots / the flavor / but i knew
better / they were cheap / they were spoiled / rotten
/ the next morning i rose to find a bowl of bananas
cut up with the bruised areas removed / i threw them
away / desiring only captain crunch & a new mother
raspberries
when my mother splurged purchasing ripe raspberries
shed dole them out two at a time like rewards / like
payoffs / when she was gone id steal ten / lock the
bathroom door / slip one after the other on the tip
of each finger / like ceremony / like foreplay /
revel in the delicate balance between expansion
& destruction / between pushing too far or not
7
Tomas Moni z
excerpt from
BROKEN CIRCLES
i used to hate round things my dad telling me make
a fist circular & solid punching me to show how
hard a closed hand could be made us eggs sunday
mornings regardless of our chants for omelets or a
scramble he always served them fried & flat & round
he had circle tattoos on his hands that didnt connect
broken he called them told me they were a mistake
voice locked & tight
how to heal a broken man how to close the circle
how not to break
my lover laughed at my story said the opposite was
true the world works in broken & imperfect circles
like arms hugging a babys toothless smile the way
a dog spins around & around before sleeping the
word moon sung by nick drake the soft & rounded
edges of the adobe home
my grandmother was born in the fat & plump
sopaipillas my tia makes
one morning my son gathered blue eggs from our new
chickens we marvelled at their warmth feathers
10
Tomas Moni z
11
BBB
LILY O
BBBBBBBBBB
U TSID E T H E W I N D O W
soft
steady
hands we press
together
in the leaves
be lily
between
this whitened
sheet & mulch
of several roses
13
14
MAGGIE
1. Suppose poem a verb: like love: I poem you, X, I do.
I poem you more than X or Y or whathaveyou. And
like lovedelicate minutiae, time of attention
poeming, like loving, doesnt care to be found out.
Have to. To poem is to love the difficulty of it. The
satin strain. Blindfolded, feeling for silk. To find it.
Have you?
2. 85th & Broadway. Little brown stone Central Park.
A cut just below your lower lip. Probably the Pop
Rocks. The red ones, always. As if color could be
further revealed by slitting. The first taste of you was
a boiler room. Red is a boiler room. Taking the 1 or 2
into Chelsea for blood oranges.
3. Sherwin-Williams on Broadway, Oakland. You
choose Pompeii Blue. I, Meltwater. Most of the
kitchen is an afternoon. An after-the-fact. As if
pastels resolve rich with the sun. We resolve in
swatches of Bluejay. That tweedy bird.
4. This poem isnt about you.
5. Now, suppose poem as fuck. The act of. Holes.
Streams. Knee. Neck. Dimples of spine. Never does
Bra dle y P e nne r
15
16
17
PPP
PPPPPPPPPPP
DAVID,
THE CEPHALOPOD
1. At the California Academy of Arts and Sciences,
a sign above the octopus exhibition said: No flash
photography allowed at the octopus tank. I wouldnt
want to be on display for the world to see either it
would be too much like my high school in Hong
Kong, where word spread like rain clouds in the
sky and judgment came down like flashes of light.
Octopuses can change colors to blend into the background,
I read in the little information box on the side. I
thought of how cool it must be to blend into the
background at whim; the cells in my body expanding
to camouflage me, my cells responding quicker than
my heart would. At twenty-seven, I had slept with a
hundred men and I could sleep with a hundred more.
I guess my body did respond quicker than my heart.
2. The octopus is an amazing creature with three hearts,
two branchial ones that pump blood through each of its
two gills, while the third is a systemic one that pushes
blood through the body. When I was thirteen, my
French teacher David asked me if I would have
coffee with him after school. We met on a humid
September afternoon at Mido Caf where the
19
21
P loi P i ra poki n
23
EEEEEEEEEEE
IF Y O U S
EE SO MET HIN G
27
are working;
every one of my
disembodied companions
If you know something, tell me.
28
B
BB
BBBBBBBBBBBBB
STUDENTS
Van, Emma, Xue Xi, Liem, Karen.
They arrive early, time enough to snag a good seat, get
ready. Every day.
Hanna, Moon, Shu Fen, Thu, Javier.
Good morning, Ben.
Good morning. How are you?
I am fine. Not bad. Good. Nice to see you today.
At City College of San Francisco, students learn
English to talk to their children and grandchildren,
to communicate with co-workers, for personal
fulfillment, to enter a vocational program, to become
U.S. citizens, to get a better job, to enter a credit
program, to go to a university.
Warm up: Conversation.
Amy, how was your weekend?
So-so.
What did you do?
Saturday, I stayed home, cleaned my house. Sunday, I
went to Chinatown and bought some food.
What did you do this weekend, Dan?
I relaxed. My friends and I played soccer. It was a
nice weekend.
29
31
Be nja mi n F i nat e ri
33
DDD
DDDDDDDDD
36
Dorot h y Ri ce
37
39
40
Dorot h y Ri ce
41
EEEEEEEEEEE
A R TISTS I N R ESI D E N C E
Emerging from Broadway
that strip of strip joints
the man in the olive green trench,
its double breast unbuttoned
over pajama pants.
The strident walk, white hair.
He is on the way to cheap
Chinese food or coffee.
Caffe Trieste, grousing at a sidewalk table.
Hes a North Beach regular,
my husband tells me.
Ive been seeing him around here for years.
Kin to the naked man he knows
from the North Beach pool,
making his way
through the locker room in the buff
talking politics, movies
to anyone wholl listen.
Hes paid his five dollarssix, now
not to swim, but just to shower. And for palaver.
And kin to my Marcia,
43
44
- SET 2 -
DDD
DDDDDDDDD
G A R LI C
Part One (Prelude: To A City)
My recipe is this,
epic
And Americana, one thing leads
to another
Thats how past becomes
present
Its the skin of it
The taste of trial and error of it
Feel and simmer it
Bring it back
Got fascinating rhythm and blues
and it all came together but
not how we planned it
The plot twist
and shout
Shout RIOT!
What are they doin?
Doin in heaven today?
Drove cross the river like modern Gods,
which is the bridge
47
The bridge of
just my imagination running
away with me
This cannot be
Be happening
There is an epic part of town
Last person in line under the Woodward marquee
The last person dancing in the streets
They came cross the river divided
They came by car by foot
The huge dreamers
And in truth
And in hangin on
Just imagine it,
you wrote
And stop
And cut
And action
Live action news
of rhythm and blues riots
They drive cross bridges
They drive cross to ground
They drive Woodward
And action!
One two three go!
Riot in America on tv
What are they doin in 67?
What happens in heaven stays
in heaven.
Wet cats stray on the streets
down alleys
48
run
Theyre singing in the streets
Summers here, time is right
Now. One more time
Cut
Take two
The divide caught on tape
The bridge at 11
America, were done for the day
Signing out and good night
live from Detroit
Detroit, your body
like a river of sound and the sound is
a woman so fine so smooth
Summers here
Lipstick pocket in my imagination
Just my running
away
Come with me to places we dont
understand
Summer curves and the time is right
In cars. In backseats
Imagination
taking away with me
49
~
I smelled garlic that day in Oakland and running
away referred mybrain by nature naturally to associated senses of living in Detroit. Livingbreathing Detroit. Then to other things and situations
looking back living back those days. Thought of
a corner market.
Stood in line to pay for garlic
We all pay for something now or later or sometime
or other. Cash or credit. Paper or plastic. And so
on. And
so on
Soon well cross that bridge
Well get there Stevie says, history has tears but
it has joy too
Imagine it
The song in your car in rush hour slays you
running away with the lover you lost. You gotta
shout about it cry about it to somebody whos
knowin about it
Babylove,
where did our love go?
Your broken heart stops traffic and imagine that,
running away
My imagination with me in my kitchen in my city in
mybrain by nature naturally as love goes. Shout
about it. Dance about it
Shake it and boogie on. Are you coming back soon?
My hands become ribbons
Davi d We lpe r
51
53
54
55
A radio a boy
A boy hangin out the window
The window of tongues tasting it all in rhythm
Recall the garbage and graffiti on Woodward, the
abandoned vehicles on bridges. Ambassador of
joy
in measurements of decline but
still together
still they come cross
with half a mind to measure your soul, your rhythm
living in the city in your kitchen
where and when youre alone
Where and when the daily struggle is done. And you
find yourself
And you ask yourself
how do I say Detroit without saying Detroit?
just by feeling it deep within your heart
just by moving.
56
EEEEEEEEEEE
THE AVENUES
So much depends upon
the 31 Balboa line,
running hesitatingly inbound
from Ocean Beach
to the Ferry Building.
Behind me,
a middle-aged man is eating
imitation French pastry
from First Cake.
Wax-paper bags
of Russian strudel and piroshki
grease the seat next to him
Moscow & Tblisi Bakery Store,
the place with huge meringues
like pink coiled fists.
His fingers make the sound
of soft butter.
An old woman catches me
immersed in my iPhone,
asks to call her husband
to meet her at the bus stop.
57
58
MM
MMMMMMMMMMMMMM
I S N T IT R I G H T ?
1.
The hair is troubling the girl. The hair is frizzy, long,
with streaks of blonde and the girl does not like the
black stands or the gray ones and it is because of a
memory with her lola that the girl is always troubled
by the hair, the pale nails, the wrong colored lips. The
girl is short. The girl is not beautiful. The girl tries to
be beautiful. The girl likes painting black wings on
her eyes because it makes the shape seem almond. The
girl has a Spanish nose. A kind of winning prize for
the girls lola. The girls lola once said: anak, dont you
understand, a girl with your face ought to marry the
first man who gives you attention. A girl with your
face, di ba?
2.
The girl has a sister who does not have a Spanish nose,
but she is beautiful. Twin moons, twin mirrors. But
the day her sisters beauty emerges, when her belly
swells, when she is but sixteen and is placed in a
white dress to confess in front of the wholechurch,
her beautyher lola sayshas been tainted. Isnt it
59
right, lola says. The girls sister agrees. Years later, the
girls sister spirals, exchanges love for attention, and
when she is twenty, her belly swells again, but this
time the familia approves.
Dont you see, the lola says, your sister finally
is marrying at the right age, to a decent mana
white man, ay naku!to give me great-apo, greatgrandchildren. I am not here for much longer, the
girls grandma points at her head, there, there, theres
something here. The doctors say its a tumor in the
brain. The girls sister scoffs: shell be fine, hasnt
she always been? The sister laughs when the girl
mentions the war. But our grandfather, the girl says.
He was a war hero. A guerrilla fighter. And the tumor,
its from traumafrom lola being the wife of a war
hero, dont you know what a Comfort Woman is? Do
you know that lola was captured during the war? The
girls sister is always scoffing: dont you see, Dolores,
you think youre better than me. Having children
isnt anti-feminist, Dolores. I didnt have time to ask
questions we shouldnt ask or spend my days studying
wars already fought like you. Tell me, when are you
getting married? Dont you want the attention? With
the way you dress? With the kind of face you have?
3.
The girl hates any man who gives her attention. The
attention always begins: Wow, youre so cute I can
put you in my pocket. The girl will want to say
60
61
Me li ssa R. Si pi n
63
7.
It is night. It is day. It is a dark street in a faraway
city thats as hot and dry as the polluted skies of Los
Angeles. The girl sees her husbands ghost-like ship in
the distance. The girl kisses her husband good-bye for
yet another thousandth time. He waves from on top
of the hanger bay. He does a cartwheel. The boogie.
The hustle. He makes her laugh. He disappears into
the darkness, the mouth of the carrier, among the
faceless bodies of U.S. sailors covered in blue, the
rows of war jets, the silent machine guns, the silence.
She walks away. To another hotel and sleeps in
another bed and looks out the windowalone again,
always alone. She calls for her lola. Di ba, she says to
the night sky, to the heavens her lola believed in, di
ba, di ba, to you, I call, di ba, did you know, di ba, is
this right, di ba, Im finally married, do you hear me,
di ba, just like you wanted: a military guy who always
leaves me, the girl mouths, just like lolo who always
left you43 years, didnt you say this, lola, you were
married for 43 years and where did he die? Alone, in
the Philippines, alone, am I not alone, are you not
alone? The girl laughs. In her best singsong voice, a
voice that resembles her lolas, she hums: isnt it right,
di ba, isnt it, a girl with your face, who doesnt want
to be married, right? Di ba? Isnt it right?
64
EEE
EEEEEEEEEE
66
Emi ly Ki e rnan
67
68
SSSSSSSSSS
ALEXS PARROT
I am beginning to worry that my parrot is ill, but he
dodges interrogation. Ill say, How are you feeling
today? and hell say, How are you feeling today?
Ill say, Do you want a Ritz Bit? and hell quote
Nietzsche. He once belonged to my brother Alex,
who is dead. A lot of people I know are dead.
This happened when I was sixteen. That night I sat
up in Alexs room with the parrot, watching the lava
lamp. At around three in the morning I tucked the
cage under my arm and crept downstairs, intending
to take my mothers car and leave, but halfway down
the stairs the parrot started shrieking and woke
everyone up. My mother didnt ask what I was doing.
She stood at the top of the stairs in a floral-print
nightgown and said, Tim, youre so tired. Tim, go
back to bed. She was an ugly crier. Her face would
swell like a blowfish and she never bothered to
wipe away the snot from her upper lip. Under the
circumstances I endured it and slunk back upstairs.
My parrot has gray feathers and black eyes and
looks so proud when he puffs out his chest, the
little bastard. That year we ran away from home
69
Sa ra Brody
71
Claire
Im talking. Anyway, this one summerI was
fourteen, I thinkI met this boy. His name was Greg
and he was a little older, a grade between me and Alex.
Blonde, skinny. Jesus Christ. I wonder what happened
to him. He was the kind of kid that you could tell was
queer, but not for any particular reason. There was
just something about him. So I started hanging out
with him, and we started fooling around, andwell,
I was terrified, but at the same time I felt so relieved.
I thought, Okay, Im gay, this is what were dealing
with. This is whats wrong. Emma. Dont give me that
look. I know its not easy to be gayIm not saying
thatbut I knew what it was, you know? One day
Greg and I went in my familys cabin while everyone
else was on a hike. My mom was a slow hiker. She
took pictures of everything, and brought binoculars
to look at the birds, and little guidebooks that had the
names of trees. She had to know what the trees were
called. We figured, all right, its going to take them a
million years, well be fine. But Alexgoddamn Alex
he came back early. He hurt his knee or something
and walked right in on us. I was an altar boy, Emma.
I was. So Alex looks at me and I look at him, and
he just turns on his heels and leaves, without even
closing the door. I ran the hell out of there. I figured
Id climb a tree and stay there until I starved to death.
Night came. The stars were bright and so big; when
you grow up in Los Angeles, you really notice them. It
got cold and I got scared, and all of a sudden I heard
72
73
74
TTT
TTTTTTTTTTT
SO UL F O O D
Im hungry. Every fiber of what remains of my being
is hungry, and I can never stop that hunger. Even
when there were still humans, screaming and hot as I
tore their stringy red meat from their bones, I starved.
That moment of rolling relief as I swallowed their
flesh was followed by a yank of yearning for more.
This isnt all my fault. We all left too much behind to
rise up and eat. A bite or two of a thigh, a handful of
intestines, sometimes wed just slurp on some blood
and get bored with what we were eating and move on
to the new thing to eat. At least now, now I can focus
on one thing. I need to eat.
The skin on the back of my scalp finally tears and
folds back with a fwump. Gingerly I touch my skull
with my three remaining fingers on my left hand.
Can I eat my own brain? I probably could, but then I
would die. My arm drops and I continue my shuffle
through the meadow to find someone to eat.
I dont think there are any living humans anymore.
There arent many like me anymore either because
weve been eating each other. We are not as
75
77
79
80
Ta mmy J. Alle n
81
SSS
SSSSSSSSS
85
87
88
MMM
MMMMMMMMM
DAWN
Babys breath in the air
and tattooed marks
left from days of anxious teething.
We awoke early we
the crepuscular
and we felt the sun for the first time
against the curve of our cheeks
and the shield of our brow-bones.
It burned and we smiled
stupefied
because suddenly life
was worth losing.
It hurt to keep our eyes open
it hurt even more to blink
and miss a thing.
The world swallowed us whole
threw us down
its rolling hills and dewy fields.
We sprouted fangs
we sprouted claws.
We took shape.
We bruised and cried
we made each other bleed.
89
The awe
was everything wed hoped itd be.
We held the knives like children,
pressing them against
the cool of our forearms,
and traced the winding vines
of indents on our ankles
left from rusted iron links.
It is not that we seek to break
the fleeting, feathered things:
we only want to hold them
in the cradle of our jaws.
Ugly as you I flail
my heavy flightless limbs.
Beautiful as you
I trace and memorize the ripple
of your crooked spine.
What are we
curling against our knees
mesh of flesh and extinguished stars
torn to pieces
by the sight of falling leaves?
We are webs of spider silk
so vulnerable
to human touch.
We build each other
and dismantle one another
when terrorized by
the unmet promise of a home.
90
91
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- may 2, 2016 -