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- the labcat is the online life of labrys, smith college's art/literary magazine. we collect poems, prose, flash-fiction, letters, diary entries, essays, doodles, paintings, oils, sketches, photography, animation, videos, graphics, chicken-scratches, stippling, charcoal rubbing, pastels, collages, observations, music and whatever else inspires you. send it in bulky bundles to labrys@smith.edu.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Seventh Sister by Alix Bregman '10
First Semester
John Smith told me
i was worthless
i believed him and opened
my pink umbrella
under a sunny glass ceiling
then i burned the apple betty
in my easy-bake oven poor child
while the shatter of a glory stein
squealed in my ears
the shots ring out
spilling on the table
the illusory fable splashes
into the toilet.
i wish i was who
i meant to be here
strong sister strong
like you but who
are we trying to be?
Second Semester
when i grow up i want to be a Goldsmith
when i grow up i want to be a Silversmith
i'm grown up make me a Blacksmith
i'll be a locksmith.
see my bruises doubt you
do but they’re there
there there they say they
don’t know what they’re
talking about
i don’t want to be here
i don’t want to hear bees
i’m a wanton won ton who cannot have two Bs
stop talking to me. but they don’t.
Stop drinking
Alcohol it’s bad for you stop
Drinking coca cola it’s bad
For the starving children and the poor who
Find their way to college with frowns affirmed in action.
Spring
they stick nametags down their throats on fingers
they stick nametags up their girlfriends
i’m bulimic i’m gay i’m tortured i wear black
but don’t tell me how to run my life
i run on my own.
dear sister
help me
Help Me.
John Smith told me
i was worthless
i believed him and opened
my pink umbrella
under a sunny glass ceiling
then i burned the apple betty
in my easy-bake oven poor child
while the shatter of a glory stein
squealed in my ears
the shots ring out
spilling on the table
the illusory fable splashes
into the toilet.
i wish i was who
i meant to be here
strong sister strong
like you but who
are we trying to be?
Second Semester
when i grow up i want to be a Goldsmith
when i grow up i want to be a Silversmith
i'm grown up make me a Blacksmith
i'll be a locksmith.
see my bruises doubt you
do but they’re there
there there they say they
don’t know what they’re
talking about
i don’t want to be here
i don’t want to hear bees
i’m a wanton won ton who cannot have two Bs
stop talking to me. but they don’t.
Stop drinking
Alcohol it’s bad for you stop
Drinking coca cola it’s bad
For the starving children and the poor who
Find their way to college with frowns affirmed in action.
Spring
they stick nametags down their throats on fingers
they stick nametags up their girlfriends
i’m bulimic i’m gay i’m tortured i wear black
but don’t tell me how to run my life
i run on my own.
dear sister
help me
Help Me.
Break by Janice Estrada '11
I find it hard to concentrate
Excitement? Perhaps.
Excitement to hold the golden answers you have held already
Nerves?
Nerves that call to me and reaffirm the fear that I might have missed out on something
That little thing that makes you gasp and squirm
When asked to reveal an assumed hard night’s work
Planned out with time
Exhaustion?
Derived from a sleepless night
No I have no chosen to sleep this night.
Why might you ask?
Because I am behind
Because I have chosen to sleep through those fall mornings while you minds were molded
Because I have failed at choice between academia and health
Because I have ravished my blankets to their fabricated lengths
Because I have chosen to delay
Because I have chosen to diverge in midnight conversations in hopes to catch some glimmer of a future that holds happiness
Because I have slacked
I have…
You fill in the blank
And yet I feel alive
Having fought with my mind against time
To the sights of a book well used
To the taste of a Coke gone flat
To the smell of a refreshing smoke
And to the sounds that anger me through jealousy
I stay awake
To hear the slight pressure of your wooden floors as you awake from your slumber
Hear the yawning of a well rested night
Hear the aching of the body to move
Hear the sighs of contempt for a new day
Hear the groans of your first meal you find unsatisfactory
Hear the mind’s traveling through your agenda
Hear your first morning thoughts
To see the dawn’s first spectrum
Between night and what you call day
And what I have called bedtime
To see the first dawn’s greeting
This is what I find that truly makes me feel alive.
To look out one side window and see the night
And to step onto a porch embracing a new day
This alone makes me feel unconquerable
As I face the eastern sky
And hold fast to the hopes
That today will be the day
Where I conquer a sleepless night
And stand in the glory of academia
Today will be the day
That I will truly live in this college
As a student
As a mold to what is expected
As a citizen in a mediocre world
Today will be the day
That I will live a life preordained
Today will be the day
Excitement? Perhaps.
Excitement to hold the golden answers you have held already
Nerves?
Nerves that call to me and reaffirm the fear that I might have missed out on something
That little thing that makes you gasp and squirm
When asked to reveal an assumed hard night’s work
Planned out with time
Exhaustion?
Derived from a sleepless night
No I have no chosen to sleep this night.
Why might you ask?
Because I am behind
Because I have chosen to sleep through those fall mornings while you minds were molded
Because I have failed at choice between academia and health
Because I have ravished my blankets to their fabricated lengths
Because I have chosen to delay
Because I have chosen to diverge in midnight conversations in hopes to catch some glimmer of a future that holds happiness
Because I have slacked
I have…
You fill in the blank
And yet I feel alive
Having fought with my mind against time
To the sights of a book well used
To the taste of a Coke gone flat
To the smell of a refreshing smoke
And to the sounds that anger me through jealousy
I stay awake
To hear the slight pressure of your wooden floors as you awake from your slumber
Hear the yawning of a well rested night
Hear the aching of the body to move
Hear the sighs of contempt for a new day
Hear the groans of your first meal you find unsatisfactory
Hear the mind’s traveling through your agenda
Hear your first morning thoughts
To see the dawn’s first spectrum
Between night and what you call day
And what I have called bedtime
To see the first dawn’s greeting
This is what I find that truly makes me feel alive.
To look out one side window and see the night
And to step onto a porch embracing a new day
This alone makes me feel unconquerable
As I face the eastern sky
And hold fast to the hopes
That today will be the day
Where I conquer a sleepless night
And stand in the glory of academia
Today will be the day
That I will truly live in this college
As a student
As a mold to what is expected
As a citizen in a mediocre world
Today will be the day
That I will live a life preordained
Today will be the day
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Things I Want by Amy Sefton '10
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Captain's Quarters, Late at Night by Laura Markis '09J
Waiting for ships to pass in the night
That just never came.
Now I’m counting down the hours ‘til dawn,
But the sky just gets more grey.
Feeling my way by constellations
Is a painful circumnavigation –
And I have to do it alone;
No one else knows the way.
The scattered stars burn like scars:
Winking, knowing, laughing, growing.
They mock me when I am lost.
They say to lose oneself is to be set free,
But I have never felt more trapped.
At least I have the comfort of the sea,
Its constant, lulling melancholy.
What more could one ask?
As the aching wanes and I can breathe again,
I realize how rough the waters have been.
How long have I been in my quarters?
Perhaps I should send a distress signal?
No. I’ll just sit at my desk and pretend to rest;
Get as close as I can to forgiveness,
And wait for the dawn.
Tomorrow is another day.
That just never came.
Now I’m counting down the hours ‘til dawn,
But the sky just gets more grey.
Feeling my way by constellations
Is a painful circumnavigation –
And I have to do it alone;
No one else knows the way.
The scattered stars burn like scars:
Winking, knowing, laughing, growing.
They mock me when I am lost.
They say to lose oneself is to be set free,
But I have never felt more trapped.
At least I have the comfort of the sea,
Its constant, lulling melancholy.
What more could one ask?
As the aching wanes and I can breathe again,
I realize how rough the waters have been.
How long have I been in my quarters?
Perhaps I should send a distress signal?
No. I’ll just sit at my desk and pretend to rest;
Get as close as I can to forgiveness,
And wait for the dawn.
Tomorrow is another day.
Subway Man by Wiley Reading '10
On a dismal train
traveling noisily
from Hoyt-Schermerhorn to Lafayette,
a man with piss on his clothes and beer on his breath
lurches charmingly toward me
the skinny and smiling and paper-brown man
sits down with his thigh
pressed against mine and studies me
with rheumy eyes
life is getting me down
he says and I nodded, knowing
I’ve needed others,
always,
to give me some relief
and now I smelled it coming:
anonymous release
Life is hard he said
you bust your ass at work and then you
get home to some ball bustin’
from the woman-you-love
I nod as middle-aged merchant’s wives
sidle slowly away from the pair of us
and our troubled talk
You’re too pretty to have a hard life
he says
That's how it is I say
and he doesn't tell me
I'm too young to know
he would be wrong
and then
he holds out a skeleton arm
wrapped in sinew and street dust
and I shake his hand and leave
the holy place
traveling noisily
from Hoyt-Schermerhorn to Lafayette,
a man with piss on his clothes and beer on his breath
lurches charmingly toward me
the skinny and smiling and paper-brown man
sits down with his thigh
pressed against mine and studies me
with rheumy eyes
life is getting me down
he says and I nodded, knowing
I’ve needed others,
always,
to give me some relief
and now I smelled it coming:
anonymous release
Life is hard he said
you bust your ass at work and then you
get home to some ball bustin’
from the woman-you-love
I nod as middle-aged merchant’s wives
sidle slowly away from the pair of us
and our troubled talk
You’re too pretty to have a hard life
he says
That's how it is I say
and he doesn't tell me
I'm too young to know
he would be wrong
and then
he holds out a skeleton arm
wrapped in sinew and street dust
and I shake his hand and leave
the holy place
Ancestor by Gwen Gethner '11
Powdery stone dust
Chipped delicately away,
Paintbrush and dental tool
Slowly reveal
The line of my jawbone,
Smooth and fossilized,
The ridges of my teeth,
Tiny legacy
Of my disintegrating body.
Later, buried
In the orange-brown motley
Of anonymous stone,
My straight miracle
Of a knee-joint
Is uncovered,
Two worn ends
Of bone hinging the door
To future centuries
Of bipedalism.
Fragments of my body’s frame
Cradled in a scientist’s hand
That reminds me
Of my own.
Slender, dexterous,
With the elegant offshoot
Of an opposable thumb.
Chipped delicately away,
Paintbrush and dental tool
Slowly reveal
The line of my jawbone,
Smooth and fossilized,
The ridges of my teeth,
Tiny legacy
Of my disintegrating body.
Later, buried
In the orange-brown motley
Of anonymous stone,
My straight miracle
Of a knee-joint
Is uncovered,
Two worn ends
Of bone hinging the door
To future centuries
Of bipedalism.
Fragments of my body’s frame
Cradled in a scientist’s hand
That reminds me
Of my own.
Slender, dexterous,
With the elegant offshoot
Of an opposable thumb.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Receipts, a found poem by Anonymous '10
Do there really need to be scholarly articles on
Effects of income on drug choice in humans?
I mean, isn’t it kind of obvious?
As Whitney Houston once said:
“Crack is cheap. I make too much money to ever smoke crack…
Where are all the receipts from the drug dealer?
I want to see the receipts.”
Effects of income on drug choice in humans?
I mean, isn’t it kind of obvious?
As Whitney Houston once said:
“Crack is cheap. I make too much money to ever smoke crack…
Where are all the receipts from the drug dealer?
I want to see the receipts.”
Study Abroad by Alexandra Bregman '10
The European Union stars blind in Eiffel Tower photos
While French kids at McDonalds sneer at Americans between cigarettes
Musicians sing in Spanish on the metro passing by yet another
Couple’s fleeting, slimy embrace
On my way I eat
Crepes made by Musulmen and pizza made by Frenchmen
Brushing the Iraqi beggars knelt on the Champs Elysees
Between Asians in berets
Smiling at the obese homeless man outside the boulangerie with his “hungry” sign
Nightfall leads me to lonely rockers lingering
In an empty concert hall looking for their scene
I get a few more onceovers in the dark crowd before
I avoid the coffin elevator
And sleep in the Haussmann across from a new apartment
building.
Bonjour.
While French kids at McDonalds sneer at Americans between cigarettes
Musicians sing in Spanish on the metro passing by yet another
Couple’s fleeting, slimy embrace
On my way I eat
Crepes made by Musulmen and pizza made by Frenchmen
Brushing the Iraqi beggars knelt on the Champs Elysees
Between Asians in berets
Smiling at the obese homeless man outside the boulangerie with his “hungry” sign
Nightfall leads me to lonely rockers lingering
In an empty concert hall looking for their scene
I get a few more onceovers in the dark crowd before
I avoid the coffin elevator
And sleep in the Haussmann across from a new apartment
building.
Bonjour.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
last night i dreamt my father drowned the cat by Amy Sefton '10
last night i dreamt my father drowned the cat
it was almost worse that he hadn’t meant to
he’d intended to give him a swimming lesson
outfit him with cat goggles
flippers
a cat sized swimming cap to protect his pink and sensitive ears
he submerged him in the fishtank
with the sunfish who snapped at his tail
weaved in between his whiskers
swam fast and dodged his batting paws
and i forget what happens next but soon my father is holding our cats body
and it is limp
and dripping
and pathetic
and he looks so genuinely crestfallen that
in my dream
i am more worried for my father than for my cat
and my heart breaks for my father and not for my cat who is dead
because my father was careless and stupid
and forgot to buy a cat ladder
a cat snorkel
a cat sized life preserver
and i want to protect my father
from the rest of the family
and the other cat
who won’t be as understanding as i am
and don’t understand what it is to have a plan that falls apart at the end
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