Issue 12
Only
Audrey Friedman
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Museum of the Talking Boards
Scrabble with an attitude, someone
dubbed the Ouija with its sun and moon,
digits and definitive answers. It could
simplify problems more daunting
than relativity or the quantum theories
that dizzied old Albert. As a child, I pushed
the hard plastic hand to one side
or the other when I needed a neat
equation. Does Alan G. love me? Will I pass
Algebra? The source of control was in my fingers
then. I reached for the Ouija when I couldn't force
the right answer from the murky core
of the Magic 8 Ball. I hear there are stories
housed in the Museum of the Talking Boards,
tales that defy the lies my fingers told.
Ouija spoke the last book of Oz,
with Baum already a year under dirt that thickly
crusted over his bones. Sax Rohmer asked
the Ouija how he'd make his fortune,
and penned Fu Manchu when the ivory palm
answered C-H-I-N-A-M-A-N. Ouija,
with your chipped corners and faded black
scrawls, now you sleep undisturbed
near a cracked and dusty 8 Ball
and a letterless Scrabble set on the bottom
shelf of the Salvation Army Thrift Shop. I never
did master the balancing and solving
of those quadratic equations.
~Audrey Friedman
Audrey Friedman lives in Rhode Island. She is pursuing an M.F.A. in poetry at Vermont College. Her work appears in numerous journals, including California Quarterly and The Newport Review. Her chapbook, Gallery of the Surreal, has been recently published. Email.
© 2003 by Audrey Friedman. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2003 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.