Tag Archives: Terry Ann Wright

IN THE HOUSE OF WOMEN by Terry Ann Wright

Living in the house of women one begins to see
how artfully time is wasted and what little tricks
a woman of a certain age will use to treat
the passing of the hours. Upon a table candlesticks
must move, be moved, and moved again.
Consideration must be paid and proper rank its due.
A fat one is traded out for a thin one and then
traded out once more. A complicated waltz ensues
to measure the fresh effect from every other side.
Why hours can be passed spent in serious contemplation
of whether the vase on the left must now reside
one inch to the right to complete the transformation.
The setting sun sends its rays across the wooden floor.
The lady bustles briskly by to move the vase once more.

A Pushcart Prize nominee in 2009, TERRY ANN WRIGHT has published most recently in amphibius, Redheaded Stepchild, and DIAGRAM. She is currently dedicated to ridding the world of comma splices, one college freshman at a time.

THE HEMINGWAY EFFECT by Terry Ann Wright

Everyone mourns the teen suicide
O, adolescent angst!
Why couldn’t she just wait?

Or the death of the twentysomething.
It’s a hard time. It’s the death of some dreams—
but not really.

But suicide at forty? That’s just sad.
As in, that’s just a cliché.
As in, that’s just a bore.

J— writes of his attempt and I
envy his male ability to toss off
such a line and be sighed over, lovingly.

I think back to my own scratched wrist here,
bottle of pills there. Would I generate
such writerly admiration? No.

I could eat myself to death
but no one cares
about a fat woman’s death.

I imagine my sister calling my old friends from
the past and make my own eyes water
with the drama.

A Pushcart Prize nominee in 2009, TERRY ANN WRIGHT has published most recently in amphibius, Redheaded Stepchild, and DIAGRAM. She is currently dedicated to ridding the world of comma splices, one college freshman at a time.

WHO CAN SAY? by Terry Ann Wright

At first, I thought I was the catalyst for change:  made you
dye your hair, borrow my blazer and take
the office job in Cambridge.

Thus taking secret credit for your success.

This time you’re doing it all on your own and not only
without me, you’re doing it to spite me.
No, in spite of me.

That’s one truth.

I was a duty you couldn’t quite shrug off.
I exasperated you.
Cast off, an appendage, a prosthesis you no longer needed.

Still, I keep track.

Who can say what I would do,
what would I have done, if I didn’t have you as a wall
to break myself against?

I’m impatient when there’s no news.

Oh, it’s radical to tell the story of peace, all right.
But what do you know about that?
Your last letter, Germanic, full of convoluted nouns.

Taut enough to break diamonds.

A story set in the locker bays. What a laugh.
As if we were two cheerleaders arm wrestling over a boy.
A knife blade in the back?

No nun loves her wounds more than you.

A Pushcart Prize nominee in 2009, TERRY ANN WRIGHT has published most recently in vis a tergo, Redheaded Stepchild, and DIAGRAM. She is currently dedicated to ridding the world of comma splices, one college freshman at a time.

THIEF by Terry Ann Wright

I stole your manuscript
just because I could.
How unethical I am! No surprise, to you
I read it in the Laundromat
looking for references to me.
A plastic owl flexed its talon
and I winked in recognition.
And you called me your old romantic rival.

Do I sit in your lap at breakfast?
I wonder which house you stayed in
and already prepare my lie.
Do we share the same towels?
Surreptitiously I sniff them, looking
for that underbaked sugar cookie
smell that always meant you.
You were here first. You were here better.
Your poems were marbles clacking together.


TERRY ANN WRIGHT
has been published most recently in Redheaded Stepchild, DIAGRAM, and Into the Teeth of the Wind. A native of Pennsylvania, she resides in Southern California and puts her film degree to excellent use by hosting “Pajamarama!” Storytime at her local bookstore.