Mary Leary


Artist Statement
Under Construction




Contact Mary Leary at:Leary@cts.com
VANNA'S SIDE I turn the letters, Es and Ts worth hundreds and thousands of dollars. But prizes and words aren't all I see as I whirl in my high heels. Galaxies unfold in deep blue satin the color of the wheel. I see gates of stars burst into color, silken nebulas, whiskers of dawn. I don't just hear his round-faced voice as it drones like a parakeet on. I feel sprinkle of fairy dust, thunder of Zeus - don't call me a "dumb blonde". * * * * * * * 3 A.M. (For Chris Canestero & the Deal Sisters) Black and white mist rises from old TV showing a glitter-green swing band. We drink beer after beer, shots of cognac, flames floating downward in one last deep death dive. Hungrily we inhale brown Bombay cigarettes, our mouths wetting their roped wrappers, eager eyes aflame as we launch into the hundredth paragraph about Billie Holiday, waxing emotional over the right to sing the blues, arcane occult systems, stove-piped rockers and the sound of dada as it drops down. My heart could stand a dip in water, bubbles rising blue as the Caribbean, but my brain's awash in tides of memory, sounds and fragments, heart still trying to nestle into feathered rose core, to dream a sleep beyond despair and wonder. & & & & & & & HAPPINESS, LIKE WATER (For Carl Sandburg, Lao Tzu, and Gertrude, Gertrude, Gertrude) Happiness passes from one person to another, weaves like a sudden glow over faces, across waves of blue water. Some people keep it longer than others. Happiness passes loud and fast as high school, a cruel parade, then is shared in infectious waves. Never any reason to be sad, someone always happy. Will pass from me to you, from wood to fire to water. It will return to wrap around us like a warm wet blanket. We can only keep it by shedding the blanket. The clouds can only shadow our faces for so long. I can only feel sad for so long, can only say the word only. Only. Only. For so long. The brisk teacup keeps disappearing among the waves, white teacup swallowing salty water that's known fin of dolphin. Spray of whale. Water that's known the tender hands of love, soft unscarred little feet of rain.
{All poems copyright 1997 by Mary Leary; curator and organizer of Starve Theater. "3 A.M." was previously published in Jazz Step.}


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