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sparkle + blink 59
2014 Quiet Lightning
artwork Laura Ceron Melo
behance.net/lauraceronm
Magic by Alexandra Peterson first appeared online at The Rumpus
Poems by Jesse Nathan: On Love, On Representing it appeared in
Vertebrae; In McPherson County appeared in jubilat; and January
appeared in The Broome Street Review
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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su bmit @ qui e tl i g h tn i n g . o r g
CONTENTS
curated by
SIMON CRAFTS
Exit Manifesto
1
3
On Love, On Representing it 7
In McPherson County
9
January
11
Outside the War
13
JESSE NATHAN
Mattress Man
15
BROSKY
31
GINGER BUSWELL
33
CHRISTINE NO
JAYNA SWARTZMAN-
37
Yellow Leaves and Mattresses 39
JESSICA HAHN
41
53
54
CAROLINE OCONNOR
THOMAS
ET
QU I
G IS SPONSOR
LIGHTNIN
ED B
Y
lagunitas.com
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
founder + president
Chris Cole
managing director
Josey Lee
public relations
Meghan Thornton treasurer
Kristen Kramer
chair
Kelsey Schimmelman
Sarah Ciston
Katie Wheeler-Dubin
secretary
director of books
director of films
- SET 1 -
SSS
SSSSSSSSS
E X IT M A N IF E ST O
we want to keep one eye on the exit at all times / we want to
take off our sneakers and pitch them into the horizon / we want
to censor and code the horizon by definition / we want to
make / sure our labor is pointless / we want to lick cold sweet
creams in the summer / we want to drink warm red bloods in
the winter / we want to obfuscate the horizon so gently / you
would never know we want our letters to be intercepted /
appraised and approved before arriving / at the destination we
want to anticipate the horizon / we want to read / sonnets off
of a red LED news ticker / in the airport we want to know why
we especially feel / we are always being watched / these days /
we want to turn the speaker phone on and fuck to the hold
music / until the horizon arrives / we want to feed the
horizon /we want to feed the obvious / we want the questions
to reveal the interviewers process / we want no closure / to be
achieved we want the horizon to be dispersed by intention /at
customs we want to bomb / the interview we want to read and
write without purpose / or function we want to finish / we want
to give up halfway through / we want to live a life on the
tarmac / we want to speak like a car commercial / we want to
stop repeating ourselves / we want to be facing the horizon
when it washes over us / we want the collision of sea and land
and air to be deafening / we want to need nothing we want /
simple things to say to this authority and mean we want to
comfort / our perpetual crisis / with so small acts we want to
feed / the horizon a silent meal of possible nouns and go back
to sleep / we want to slouch towards the horizon / we want to
recline into the horizon / we want to keep one eye on the exit
1
A
AA
AAAA
AAAAAA
A
AA
MA GIC
A le xande r P e t e rson
JJJJ
JJJJJJJJ
ON
V E,
ON REPRELSO
E N TI N G IT
We are so alive!
Planes and stars hang among stars
which I saw from the roof of the ineffable.
I distilled almost to a vapor.
Meanwhile, the violation
of social distance defines
the panic element
of sex, the marvelous panic, the hoarders
closeness of gorging the flesh, but none of this
is love, only a coarse moon, orbiting but cold,
producer of tides and fickle odes,
but itself an emblem of the impassive
and worse, unable to sustain life.
Your purple earrings
sit on the edge of an earthly sink and I inhale
your age of sage and pine, I inhale
a particularity that could eat
everything for a thousand years
like a collapsing star, some angel
of nervous light, our shape
in a mirror, a forest, a garden
but nothing will stand in, nothing will complete,
like how we took the coast road
7
IN MCPHERSON COUNTY
Plunge into the revocations of the wind,
says the wind
into my face as my lover
coughs and wakes a thousand roosters on the edge of
a cemetery
where my family meets inside the earth
nourishing incredible Polands and humble Germanys.
Nourishing incredible Polands and humble Germanys,
when the wind stops blowing
(my pockets have filled with wind)
my lover slaps me
with a picture of my mothers glasses
and we laugh into the stillness
as she handles me
as she chews my neck
wearing the mask of some kind of cat
and the rain hisses
and the mud road gashed
by skidding trucks gains ruts
all the way to red clay
whose edges will harden to blades
and I beg a skunk
to invest in the smell of roses
Je sse Nat h an
JANUARY
What began as an itch in the throat
By the morning has me
On the floor writhing
Writing letters to the ceiling
Moaning and cursing
Reeling from the eyes
From the nose
From the rear and the mouth
Unable to eat or drink
The body radical in its fragility
Open to poison
Like a mountain stream
I have always been full of plans
My father says his mother
Used to say a Talmudic thing
Man plans God laughs
On TV the presidents eyes
Are always tired
I dont know what to feel
Is a feeling
Everything wrecking
In slow boring motion
I heave and spin
I dont want to be sad
Je sse Nat h an
11
12
13
14
CCC
CCCCCCCCC
MATTRESS MAN
1.
Mom hadnt been in town six months when her
sister, Auntie, traded her for three mid-line queen
mattresses.
Auntie never let anyone inside. Auntie never came
to visit. But when Auntie called, Mom took the train
up from New Jersey where her room smelled like
old water. The smell reminded her that Sundays were
laundry day.
Train to Lower Manhattan, red train up to 125th, the
smell of mold on floor one, fish on three, garlic on six,
dog piss and newspaper on seven and Auntie, with
her three heads on eight.
Mom brought a red handbag from the factory where
she stuffed purses with brown paper. Shed stuffed it
that morning and paid full price for her sister.
Auntie eyed the purse sideways and put it in the
closet.
15
2.
Mattress Man wasnt Chinese, but he liked the food.
He and Auntie played tug-o-war over the check, rising
out of their seats, their hands grabbing at the bill,
forming an Eiffel Tower in the middle of the China
Garden. Auntie always lost.
Mom didnt like the grey food but ate.
Mattress Man had a car. He insisted on driving Mom
home even though it was out of his way. The car
rides were long, silent at first. But they were a relief
16
17
3.
By winter, even Auntie was tired of the grey food.
By then the dirty kids had burrowed forts between
the mattresses their first bedrooms, covered in plastic.
One night, Aunties kids screamed so loud for Pizza,
the group filed out of the China Garden in shame.
Mom had never had pizza. Auntie had no words.
Mattress Man hated eating with his hands.
There was no Eiffel Tower. Mattress Man lent Auntie
the money and refused a slice. The adults watched the
dirty kids devour
After pizza Auntie shoved Mom into the car and
bowed deeply, repeatedly, until she grew small then
disappeared from sight.
Mom closed her eyes. She hid inside her coat, and
counted.
18
4.
Once upon a time, Mattress Man caught a toad.
The toad was an old ghost, returning life by life. Next
time he would be a wolf, a butterfly, a human.
The toad begged for his life, as he had just emerged
from the muck; had just discovered ground.
But Mattress Man hung the animal by one kicking,
broken leg and turned him over a spit. When the toad
could stand no more, he wept:
Do not eat me, please let me die and begin again.
When I am a wolf, I will spare you.
Ch ri st i ne No
19
5.
When Mom was twenty-seven, her sister gave her
away to a mattress salesman.
Mom had never been inside a motel room.
The carpet was once beige, now dappled with weary
stains and tread.
The curtains were closed. The light from the parking
20
6.
When Mom was seventeen, Grandmother tied Auntie
Ch ri st i ne No
21
22
7.
The hospital was for sinners, not the sick.
Moms room had a window where she escaped and
slept and slept and cried: a deluge, six months worth.
She spent her time wandering the halls avoiding the
women who screamed, the dulled eyes and noise, no
words she could make out. She grew frustrated of
trying, so did they; then they parted ways. When she
came across the women whose eyes were clear and
sharp, she turned away.
She avoided the nurses who pulled her hair.
Occasionally shed spy one of them wearing a familiar
blouse, a favorite hairpin.
When she was tired, she taught herself to sleep
without dreams, to eat and swallow quickly how
not to make a sound. How to go unnoticed.
Ch ri st i ne No
23
8.
The cops showed up sometime after two thirty.
Mattress Man was gone Moms clothes disappeared
with him. They found her under the motel bed,
naked: clawing at her body, banging her head, the
bruise the blood and the animal noises. Management
couldnt find her money. They couldnt drag her outside. No one could make meaning; so they let her go.
She stumbled alone up the West Side Highway, the
Hudson River in her left hand.
Ch ri st i ne No
25
9.
Train from Lower Manhattan, red train up to 125th,
mold on floor one, fish on three, garlic on six, wet
newspaper on seven and Auntie, her three heads on
eight.
Mom knocked on the door.
She looked like the lost and found.
She wanted some water.
Auntie threw the red purse down the stairs. Said He
was coming for the mattresses, She was a liar, and
slammed the door.
Mom knocked again
10.
She would set them all on fire.
She would shut the dirty kids in the bathroom. She
would push each mattress down the stairs; fling them
out the window plastic aflame. Let them call the
police. Let the neighbors stare.
26
27
nothing to explain
When the time came, Mom would teach her children
how to disappear completely.
She would teach them necessity.
When the time came,
She would teach them to forget and run.
28
- SET 2 -
J
JJ
J
JJJ
JJJJJJJJJ
JJ
T H E D ISA P P E A R I N G
MIRR OR
JJ
32
GGG
GGGGGGGGGG
CONH O W T O P R O C E E D I N T H E UM
TE M P ORARY ARTS M USE
1. Find a green colored pencil in the lobby.
2. Find Rothkos White Center.
3. Sit on the white bench in front of Rothkos White
Center and think about red coral really.
4. Note that its really more of a coral pink than a
red in green pencil on white lined paper on the
white bench in front of Rothkos White Center,
which is beginning to look more like red, red
lips against white teeth. The upper lip really is
red, more red every time you look at it, when
you look up from the white paper with green
notes, and you realize that first impressions dont
liealthough maybe its a macaron, with a white
center, instead of red, red lips. The bottom half
really is more raspberry than red, as it turns out,
resembling the consistency of meringue.
5. Imagine a raspberry macaron disappearing behind
red, red lips.
6. Imagine disappearing.
7. Consider that white is the absence of color, or
rather the reflection of all colors in the visible
spectrumwhereas black is the absorption
of colorwhich means that nothing could
33
Gi nge r Bu swe ll
35
M
MM
MMMMMMMMMMMM
MM
K ITE S
38
-To Dona
39
JJJJ
JJJJJJJJ
43
45
*
Then, bang! Someones gone. A vacuum of momentary
silence fills our house with the collective intake of
a breath. Is the nightmare over? Heres where my
memory begins to fall.
*
Im in warm Hawaiian water again, but instead of
being at the South Point boat ramp, its Honomalino
Bay, its arcing quarter-mile crescent of a beach
composed of tiny black and white grains. Sentinellike palm trees fringe the beach, and they rustle, a
beautiful sound, papery and comforting. Im floating
in bath-temperature saltwater. On the beach are a
couple of kids, their parents, and my mom. Further
behind are our tents. The only missing figure is
Tanya. After the chaos of her childhood, shes gone
off to college. Unlike other high school graduates,
she wanted to get the furthest away from her family
that she could. She flew across country and landed
in Boston, about as far from San Francisco as she
could get. Would you like to go to Hawaii with us for
Christmas? Hell no, she would not.
I slip like a porpoise onto my stomach, mouth
submerged, only my nostrils above the surface. Salt
stings my eyes. Im floating in a stew of aloneness,
just watching. One kid stalks crabs at the lava rock
tide pools. Two of the other kids dads are popping
Je ssi ca Hah n
47
Je ssi ca Hah n
49
Je ssi ca Hah n
51
CC
C
CCC
CC C C C C C C C CC
CC
THE DREAM OF
E VENTUAL W RE C K
bathed in exhalation of
maybe, or finally
53
the
54
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