MK Chavez

Little girls and christ.

click here for girls
http://www.2river.org/2RView/9_3/poems/chavez02.html

click here for christ
http://www.2river.org/2RView/9_3/poems/chavez01.html

Congratulations to playwright & director, Michelle Keil and co-director Sherry Okamura whose play,” Pure Gold Baby” opened to a sold out audience on Thursday, August 25, 2005 in Portland, Oregon.

GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS!!! Onstage. Backstage. On the pole. In your lap.

After a hugely successful debut in the fall of 2004, local playwright Michelle Keil has streamlined and electrified her homegrown Portland-inspired play. Pure Gold Baby 2005 is an exploitation of the stripping industry and an exploration of the women who chose this emotionally charged and physically demanding vocation.

It’s worth the trip to Portland!

Read more about Pure Gold Baby

http://seersnetwork.com/pgbhome.php
http://www.nwdrizzle.com/drizzle/0411/amy.html
http://www.thecyberwolfe.com/blog/?p=176

Saturday, August 27, 2005–
Rhythm & Muse
features poet/prose writer
Jan Steckel

Open mic sign-up 6:30 p.m.
reading 7 p.m. Piano & 2 mics
available. Berkeley Art Center
1275 Walnut St.
between Eunice & Rose sts

****Here’s a little taste of this great writer****

Dios le bendiga

Dios le bendiga, Doctora,
God bless you, Doctor,
for curing my baby of syphilis.
Can you cure me, too?
I am broken and need to be fixed.
When I was twelve I pretended to be sick
and stayed home from church.
In my vanity I plaited my hair like shiny black snakes
and put on my sister’s hibiscus-flowered dress.
My uncle came by drunk from a lost cock fight.
He raped me in the kitchen where I had made
cactus candy with my mother and sisters.
Blood ran down my leg like prickly pear juice.
Because of that, I do not enjoy the act of sex.
I lie like a stone beneath my husband,
so that he had to go to prostitutes,
which is how my baby got this disease from me.
So you see that it is all my fault.
I want to be cured of my coldness,
to be a good wife to my husband,
and not cause all this misery.
Thank you for the telephone number, Doctora.
Dios le bendiga.

First appeared in Ink Pot, No. 4, June 2004

click

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.

then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

Charles Bukowski