Adaptable

Maybe you could be Jack and I could be Margot. Example.

Dear Jack,
The weather was unusually warm and humid today.  When I was little I thought those giant round oil tanks were filled with ice cream.  I also thought I could control whether I had nightmares or not by facing a certain way when falling asleep.  Most kids believe they have special powers.
Sincerely,
Margot

Maybe if I knew another language or landscape.

Dear Jack,
It reminded me of Jett in Giant when, um, the oil shot out all over him, all over you and your father laughed.  Like Leslie, she learned about ranch life.  And I arrived in a small town staking tomatoes.  In another film, a man painted birds, two birds on a heart.  Pasted a picture of too many teeth in this household then ripped it off.  The leftover glue appeared to be clouds the birds passed through.  He kept it warm with absurdities from the local newspaper and a birthday sweater.  He sold head and taillights.
Sincerely,
Margot.

Stranger in Vacationland

The new town was placed in the film before we arrived in the actual new town. The similarities astounded. A chance for happiness. With arriving the director opened up a notebook from years earlier. I write from notes she said I do everything from notes. Then she realized how large. A field and yes there were still stars up there. Enough shots of the actress arriving and leaving as singular. For the first time the director saw arriving as two. The camera work had become overwhelming. As seen from a car. Blue and green. Blue and green. Two eagles a good sign. But what of all this rain. Too many props and no baby in this scene. The actor said lightening will usually do you in. The cast looked for clues in their stomachs and in junkyards. The director’s films had connecting themes. Could we have built from there? An unfortunate deer twitched on the highway. And we never order any mannequins for this film. I ordered them three years ago. I say get Blondie on the phone. Tell him I still feel lucky and meet me at the diner. He knows which one. I have heard new ideas on building.

Interior: A room at the front of the house with a large picture window, the sound of clocks and summer are playing in the background

7:20 PM: it is four years later. She puts on turquoise cowboy boots and says I want to climb.  Can we cut to a rock face or an attic window? Something you learn young from someone in your family or a close family friend—have they finished retiling the roof?

8:27 PM: she is movable landscape. On her back is a cornfield, her hands a steel mill. She laughs coastlines. With a childlike enthusiasm she plays with time. She is seven or thirty kicking around in a fountain. Can I have this sand timer? You like all things old says the grandmother.  It is true. Weathered with a sense of time and place. Many and contained. It still works. And things from or things that remind her of childhood. In this way she also likes others.

3:23 AM: she places her purse in the vase instead of the flower. Looks back, a short laugh closer to a breath. Says out loud Ms. M take care you don’t become peculiar. Suddenly the room turns sibling, objects fight for attention and memories. One dramatic, one makes a joke and one wants to be left alone. Still on the look who has my nose?

3:51 AM: she wakes from a dream; she loses her keys. One tooth upper left and possibly one of her breasts. She turns on the television. Townspeople take things apart, mechanical and such, the next day they put them back together to take them apart the next day. They wear white jumpsuits.

On perspective

The film is called Raise Plow. The double-life of Indiana, her face all gunpowder. What happened? Back then, let’s say birthday jelly or puppy strings. Something stolen, no not stolen, lost. Something lost in the film or near it. They say maybe they walked too close to witness. Or they were themselves, made from. Years later, looking through a train window, she now sees how. Her great-grandmother looks, can you tilt your head a little to the left, when she says I always spend a lot of time alone or maybe try the oranges.

She wants to tell the mechanic, have I told you this somewhere before, the vehicle appears as fortune teller. I have the character stop at every garage Downeast, retrace Route 1, buy a lamp and oranges. She researches the population of every place they lived. Looking closely at things has to be learned, big picture comes after. When it happens it sounds like English. After it looks like Greek and when I write it down it comes out in certain colors which contain many languages.


marthakisStefania Irene Marthakis lives in Maine. Her poems have appeared in Columbia Poetry Review, New American Writing, Bombay Gin, The Recluse, Lungfull! and are forthcoming in The Brooklyn Rail. simarthakis.tumblr.com