Deirdre Maultsaid is a writer based in Vancouver, Canada. Her writing is rich, and provocative.
Essay, “Death Before Dishonour”, was published at 3elementsreview. The three elements I had to use where “Glaze, Thread, and Murmur”.
“Does any parent want to be in a hospital hallway, after a long afternoon of decisions, staring…”
Read essay on page 64 here: http://3elementsreview.com/current-journal
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By Deirdre Maultsaid
//Things I love:
Bacardi drunk young men
still boasting, lips sloppy
pickups that roll out,
up, over, before, still, after, then.
Black ice car fresheners swaying and clacking.
Sulphur, tang, copper, damp.
The lonely sight
of cedar bough underbellies.
Things I dreamed:
Primal brutal damp,
a sick tick tock,
the shock that time was black. Continue reading
//Ruthless, the sun shone:
ironing, scorching root and stem.
Its muscles flared, a genderblind juggernaut.
Suburban, possessed, the lilacs whisper.
In the shadowless nought—
on the soulless gravel—
I could see
the rocket hulk of the red Camaro.
Listen to man’s lament
//I never loved you.
Your epaulettes flapped, your wig and peerage slipped;
your jealousy was black oil in your bilge.
You had (who was that figure at the prow, that noseless rosewood lady?)
See, I forgot what the medals meant,
You promised: you and your Viking sister in your Black Beauty Daytons
would kick the lip gloss right off my enemies.
But my spine was candy; me you ate;
by Deirdre Maultsaid
From This crisis, these blessings: essays by Deirdre Maultsaid (Trafford Publishing)
First appeared in Canadian Woman Studies, Vol. 22, Summer, 2003
I am a washerwoman standing on unstable ground.
I see all in its proper place: aquifer, granite, dust,
sideyard, water pump,
a basin full, my own brawny arms,
my washboard-abraded hands still wringing.
Work is its own reward.
Be careful: contemplation could bring grief.
The world is.
The world does not know me.
Ada Williams says of her work, “The summer I was 15, I went up to Halifax and earned a few dollars. I found a job doing housework, where I had to wash a huge pile of clothes every day while the mistress sat and watched me. I stood it for one week, and left. She refused to pay me anything and was very angry. I went down to the waterfront and got on Cat Weston’s vessel and started for home… Continue reading
//Angel, darling, you have such wakefulness, pacing with your burnt tallow, passing another anniversary watching the clock hands stroke away meaning. I know: all shall perish. Look. There is the shadow of God, the disenchantment of the world, the sharp tools of those who wish to be amputated, to exalt their fake sick and sick love, to tell the stories that Continue reading
//“All I have is sniper thinking;
I am calling out from between the rocks…”
Read poem here