Cathryn Cofell

I’m a middle-aged, middle-class, middle-state white woman working 8-6 in a skirt and heels desk job. One peek of my tattoo or liberal views would be considered a violation, if I wasn’t so invisible. Is it any wonder?

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Bad Stamp

I stuck the Statue of Liberty upside down.
At first I didn’t see the mistake—
like that block of wood that says gibberish
until you cross your eyes and slowly Jesus
appears and then all you see is Jesus Jesus
Jesus—and now it’s too late to pull back.  
Why didn’t the stamp makers give her
direction?  No numbers, no This End Up,
just the copper-blue broad on a wavy red bed.  
Envelope after envelope I stuck it to her,
and now that I finally see what I’ve done
I can’t stop staring her down—
that one-armed handstand, that dress
so close to collapsing over her head, that old
flame so close to catching the starched cloth,
starting her whole works on fire.

She could have been a choirgirl, an astronaut,
an artery of the heart; it’s unpatriotic,
how we let ourselves be this distracted,
how we let our free will run free.  Even now
I can’t stop messing with her.  I tip her
on her side and here she is anew,
more mermaid than symbol of democracy—  
yes, a mermaid in a sea of starfish,  
dozens of white starfish feeding in rows,
she side-stroking gracefully toward them,
to join them for a picnic on a billowing
checkered cloth.  But no,
not join them, not Lady Liberty.  She
gathers them in, kisses their small cheeks,
tongues them like white-chocolate truffles.
Gobbles each lulled star. And after?  
She swims on.  She remains first class,  
her lips glossed with blood,
her body lit with flame, Jesus Jesus
Jesus, what have we done?

 

 

On Telling You I Punched My Husband in the Mouth

Forgive me for the moment
the urge to release
came from nowhere
and wondering
what would happen
if I let loose the bullet
chambered so long
in my chest
just one from the gut
and it was over
like a bolt
of heat lightning
on a miserably pent
August night.

Forgive me for the moment after
when we embraced
our faces bruised
from such a crush
of despair  
and our lips brushing
so barely and so final
even though
we lay crumpled
together
through the night
like puppets in a box
the moment before
the lid was shut.

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Cathryn Cofell is the author of Sister Satellite (Cowfeather Press) and six chapbooks, and performs her poems to the music of Obvious Dog both live and on their CD Lip. Cofell is a fierce advocate for the arts, helping to launch the WI Poet Laureate Commission, Verse Wisconsin, the WI Fellowship of Poets' Chapbook Prize, and the Poetry Rocks Series. www.cathryncofell.com