Pamela R. Anderson
My daughter is painting ghastly scarlet and white figures of circus performers and bright-shaded mimes carrying tambourines. I ask, “What is it?” She pauses glances up brush in one hand palette in the other untidy hair falling into her eyes. “Denn die toten reiten schnell. The Dead Travel Fast. Bram Stoker knock-off.”
With her studio now empty devoid of everything save this half-finished piece I cling to memory her words delivered as casually as if she were reciting multiplication tables. I want to reclaim that moment elicit her familiar quizzical look by responding “Silencio! Es el amor que pasa? Silence! Is it love passing by? Bequer. Poem ten.”
*The invisible atoms of the air
Pam (the original) Anderson has never owned a red bathing suit and is unlikely to invest in adjustments that create any alternate physical facts related to her personal appearance. Her work has appeared in Whurk, JennyMag, Mason’s Road, and elsewhere. When she is not writing poems about the Holocaust, she practices and writes about yoga. Find Pam on Facebook at Pamela R. Anderson—Poet.