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| Kirsten Thrope at the Kelly Writers House |
Kirsten Thorpe reads "In the Red," "Definitions," "The Morning," and "Reciting Lines" on "Live at the Writers House" aired on WXPN-FM 88.5 on October 13, 1998.
Click here for a RealAudio recording of the reading.
in the red i am the smeared white light reflecting off cars panting in the street i am in and out not moving bruised asking more tea? with my eyes and lips closed am I singing the blues? wasting my time dime wine the camera's on the porch waiting for a story to roll by but it ain't rollin' the heat is sudden then stopped thick, tick tick everyone is shining, wiping their necks do they suspect an ulcer growing in my heart things are spilling into my stomach seeping down to my toes where the asphault gets sticky from sun iced-tea boils we are laying in the orange and red something like sunset or a house burning and we are missing someone it is too hot to think definitions old men on tricycles touring the city business district skyscrapers back alleys through a jazz caf� in one door, out the other little bars big lights broad street pot holes singing r&b they are pedaling as fast as they can what is hip? seven hundred blue balloons popping silently simultaneously in a room that sounds like a bathtub drip drip drip and the sigh of a sultry naked woman what is cool? reflections of the green light on wet black road at night grooves and glitters with the rain brighter than the light itself hanging on its wire shelf what is slick? snip the pen cuts through the page cuts through the table strikes the ground and shakes the moon down from a tree what is fresh? i am waiting for the water to boil for cherry jell-o it will make tomorrow's breakfast good for nails and hair i think what is real? (reciting lines) i went outside and it was hot and cold and the green leaves were stuck to the pavement steaming it was a poem and i was walking and reciting lines outloud to myself and people were watching my lips move and thinking i was crazy it was a poem there was a woman in a business suit smoking a cigarette at the busstop and a cop on the corner with his hands behind his back it was a poem the cars were lined up single file so nicely waiting for the lights to change it was a poem my legs squealed and ached as i walked up the apartment stairs i sighed it was a poem at his door he was ready to go so we left soon after and, it was a poem. the morning we stepped out into hot fog and thick rain stepped out into awake 6:17 you were a white robed angel last night you turned a page you pricked my eyes open wide and wet taking steps in those new shoes tall white shoes your snapshots will soon be in perfect order-scrapbooked you will take flight sweat, dream, drink your life we talk so seriously sometimes we love so big did you have fun? let's stay a little hungry a little hungry after all the night i'm watching you from a height only a little higher m my eyes are bright wide and wet because you are coming fast into the morning stepping into awake but, still yawning