Thalia Chaltas's Blog

Dumbledore's Army - by Tim


What kind of sillyass
juxtapositional oxymoron
declaration
is that on Tony's car?

Armies aren't peace.

This whole HP thing
is pretty damn violent,
if you ask me.

Even with elves and wands
and horcruxes
instead of fighter jets.

Even with British accents -
well, look at James Bond.

Violent.

Even with kickass wizardgirls
with freaky first names.

Okay, Granger was pretty cool.
And Hagrid was a humongous
soft-o-hearted godfather.
And Harry,
he actually pulled it together
at the end.

An army.

Violent,
because armies are,
I guess.

Fight for peace?
Sounds backwards.

What was the alternative?

I'm in.

What Boys Don't Know - by Terese


One helluvan old bathroom
this place has.

Dea says,
Ever seen one of these?

Standing next to it,
I google the name
on the metal machine
and it's ancient.
Modess isn't even a company
I can find.

Modess?
Like "modest?"
Right here in the public restroom?

Dea digs in her purse
and puts a dime in.
Nada.

Pads. Ugh.
Who uses them?

Oh.
Dea.

I never knew that!

We're laughing,
elbowing each other,
and in walks
this tall pinch-nosed witchwoman in black heels.
We tumble out the swinging door,
snorting.

What boys don't know.

Boys get to pee on the toilet seat.

Girls have to deal with
pads and cramps
and moods.

What boys don't know
is how embarrassing it is
to even have
feminine products
for sale
in the restroom.

And if we'd really needed one,
we would have
lost our money
and been running home
to change jeans.

InsideLaughingOut - by Li

Standing outside the shop,
reality and reflection fuse.

If I stare long enough
I don't know
which is inside,
which is out.


The lady is like me.

I am not a reflection
but acting
in a glass box,
the world pasting itself on me.


And do I keep on laughing?

I do.

The Huddle - by Janet

Here it is, folks,
the Big Game!

Fans huddled in their TV room
chowing tacos
watching
players huddled in their shoulder pads
who are doing all the
exercise.

And look out the window!
We've got
Southern California, here!

Sunny
breezy
seventy-five degreezy
and
no referee!

Enjoy your from-the-can queso dip.

I've touched down
on the beach.

Buddha and Mary - by Josefine


How far I have come,
thinks Buddha,
from
one without excess
to
this bulging largess,
a slick trinket sold for paperfied gold.

How far I have come,
thinks Mary,
from
one humble virgin
to
this other version,
promoting my grace with a furry blue face.


There they are.

Standing together.

Glistening belly
and
solemn soft fuzz.

Neither quite ready
for the is
from the was.

Celebrat'n da New Year - by Daco

Dat's what ahm talkin bout.

Red slop
cat-sup
dat Toe-maaay-toe jazz.

All shiny
in a bitty paper cuppa thing,
ready for it
ready for it
but naw
you gotta waaaaait
cause da burger ain't up yet.

And da burger's job,
see,
is to
transport
d'important
stuff.

Red slop.

Sometimes at home,
right outta bottle,
open wide.

Where's dat burger?

Slop me.

GHOULS - by Kevin

Jenner's house.

Pretty impressive,
tp'ing a tree that size.

Thing is,
Jenner's sister Lacey
said she saw
me and Copeland
do it
and told her parents.

But it isn't true.

Or,
I didn't do it,
but Copeland was bragging
all over school
that he did.

My name got
added in to the story somehow
but I don't know why

and I can't prove I wasn't
where I really was
at midnight last night

which was
in my room
reading an old MT Anderson novel
by my camping headlamp.

Now I have to apologize
to Jenner's family
and help Copeland
take all that shit down from that huge pine.

I don't even know
if Copeland really did it,
or
the ghouls are out early
this year.

But I'm pissed at all of them.
The ghouls,
Copeland,
and
especially Lacey,
who I thought
liked me.
She even gave me a high-five
after football practice
Tuesday.

But now she got me
grounded.
And I'm not allowed
to play football for
two days.

Maybe girls are ghouls.

The Fog of Farronbrook - by Lena


With fall comes fog,
this morning faster than before,
that wet monstrous maw of Farronbrook
sucking in and out
in great greedy breaths,
dippling all in its path,
dead grass,
old garden kale,
my lashes,
as I stand in my pajamas
cursing the sop and rot
of this place that is not
Wildlight Island,
the delicate song of summer.

Summah - by Lassi

It's here!
Finals done,
graduation for Ari and Tina,
can't find a job yet -
-oh well-
lolling by the pool by myself
in last year's bikini,
sweet tea,
freshcrunching corn
raw on the cob,
warding off sunsparkles
with a draping hand,
a good book,
a second good book
standing by,
free to gently blend
into the gathering haze
of chlorine.

Tooth of Lion - by Ella

Nosy bee-ahtch neighbor
and her nasty comments.

She left a note on my car -
- my car!
to say we should be ashamed
of our yard,
the worst on the block,
"at least mow the weeds!"

Well now,
look at this beautiful
gossamer silk puff,
this wistful
delicata
life-package.

Who wouldn't keep such
a gorgeous
thing?

And get rid of the neighbor?