In Conclusion

This concludes the CREATIVE WRITING / POETRY from Fall 1984 with instructor Alexander Taylor, at Eastern Connecticut State University in Willimantic, Connecticut! I hope you all enjoyed this step back through the time machine to ah, De-nise, ah, Debbie's college days.

OUTSIDE AT NIGHT

OUTSIDE AT NIGHT                                  IMAGE / SOCIAL PROTEST

by Denise Hickey                                          Winter 85


I remember walking through
the quiet wilderness
when it was my new home.

A fruit-filled scent
wafted to our noses
before we could see where we were.
I could vaguely detect
apple boughs
dozens of them
interlacing in the quiet darkness.

Who was to know
we walked here now?
Who would know
long after the scent of apple air
disappeared?

"good"

FROST

FROST                  a sound poem by DH                     Winter 84-5

Eighteen cold degrees.
Stark landscape against bare trees.

Five miles go between us now --
Five miles filled
with anger and misunderstanding.
Why is it
that you would rather be reading
than rather be reading with me?

Your friends and I
did not say much
joking at the campus newspaper that night

Just enough, I guess
to get back to you.

INTERROGATION

INTERROGATION                          DH                   Winter 85

He's not my type.
Bashfully, I admit to you.
What is your type?
Bluntly, you ask.

Oh, I don't know.
I gaze evasively,
at the ceiling, at nothing.

I don't tell you
what it is that I want:
Someone to walk with me on a snowy day --
we can break icicles off
the neighbor's front porch
and point to the pond
just down the road
winter-frozen.

We can use them as cold pens
for writing in the snow.
I would outline your rosy red cheeks
with my cold pen
I would write our names in the snow.

"good"

YOU

Out of your high
attic apartment I stepped
I should not have come back
after I had left
For good.

I stood watching
you through the doorway as
you and your roomie sat
eating peanut butter for lunch
(which I had not yet had).
He, like a boy with a baseball,
clutched a tempting orange.

You were hiding behind a smirk
your inconsiderate remarks.

Why is it that I
crave your rudeness
yearn to yell back
and always come back
for more?

Yesterday I lightly stepped
out of your high
attic apartment
not saying goodbye.

ANGER

Funny, I
didn't even see it coming.
There you were, sitting over morning cereal
at the head of the table.
Your place.

Lecturing me, you
Scolded about the importance of motor oil.
Check it.
Keep charts.
Keep track of the dates
when you put it in.

Yeah, yeah, Dad,
I KNOW, I insisted,
searching papers for a phone number.

Rage bolted across the kitchen
in a second. Lightening-quick.
I reached the living room, trying to hide.

Your wounding insults,
seething with offended pride
hurt me inside.

I hid.

MY APARTMENT

MY APARTMENT                             DENISE HICKEY                       84


My apartment
on a sunny day
I spend time gazing
through huge windows
at the rural picture below.

my apartment
the stereo singing out
a beautiful John Lennon song
as I whiz through each room

my apartment
at night
empty
alone.