Still Crazy exists in cyberspace, but its editor lives in Ohio. Barbara Kussow writes poetry, short stories, and non-fiction. She has poetry published in Kaleidoscope, Red Owl, ByLine, Main Channel Voices, Dos Passos Review, Hospital Drive,and Danse Macabre. Her short stories have appeared in The Storyteller. An entry in the 79th Annual Writer’s Digest contest placed 27th in the top 100 in the Genre Short Story category. Her education includes a B.S. and an M.Ed. from the University of Missouri, Columbia, and an M.L.S. from Kent State University. Personal blog: Short Takes at www.bkussow.blogspot.com. Below are two poems written by Ms. Kussow:
PUBLIC DREAMING
by Barbara Kussow
(published in ByLine Magazine, February 2007)
scrunched down in a chair not meant for sleeping
I awaken with a prolonged sweetness like savoring
the last pages of a novel I don’t want to end
a sometime insomniac in my own bed I have become
a public napper in the afternoon hush of the public library
fiction section unfolding my curved spine among readers
too preoccupied or polite to notice near the “B” section
where the brothers have been shifted again twins
one better known than the other I knew in another library
long ago we were discontented clerks insufferable I’m sure
handing other people’s novels across the counter even then
his ambition an intriguing book jacket he was certain to fill
he had the slouch the beret worn atilt over thin red hair
pale blue go-to-hell eyes behind round wire-rimmed glasses
a brash manner with feigned contrition if anyone took offense
I keep meaning to take one of his books to the circulation
desk and slide it across the counter but I’ve gotten no further
than the photograph showing his fuller visage and somewhat
satisfied smile his plots less compelling than his persona—
a developing character in the novel I’m still planning to write
OUR GOOD WOODEN FENCE
by Barbara Kussow
“Good fences make good neighbors.” – The Mending Wall, by Robert Frost
The cottonwood tree
that towers taller than our house
conspires with the wind
to scatter its autumn leaves
beyond our backyard fence
to our neighbor’s well-kept lawn.
I wonder if they grumble
over their evening meal, saying
“We should ask them to rake our yard!”
Our good wooden fence does not suffice.
The knotted rope that holds the gate,
my autistic son cleverly unties
lacking that, there is the door
he slyly unbolts
to visit another deck
where he is not welcome
It reminds him of another
where he sat for hours
transfixed by the dance of leaves
and limbs against the sky
that has no property lines.
Our good wooden fence does not suffice.
previously published in Kaleidoscope