It’s only fair
By Katrina Lising

Five for Five
By Katrina Lising
  Judas   Cornbread (a word or two from the town Jezebel)
By Sarah Torribio
  
 
 
The devil. Judas. A suicide bomber. A prostitute. Vices like chocolate and cigarettes. These are bad people and bad things.
But if a writer is to say anything new, he or she must be able to view the world from different perspectives—try on personas and viewpoints like costumes. This semester, the Litrus staff decided to step into the prop room and try on the shape of the evil, the unhealthy, the despised. In some cases, these shapes fit a bit too well.
Do you have baddie you’d like to channel for a moment? From Hitler to a seething dragon, there are plenty of villains left. Send your efforts to citruslit@yahoo.com.
And remember, the views of The Sea Witch do not necessarily reflect those of the Litus crew.
 

That little mermaid
She’s so insecure
Bending over backwards
For some man she hardly knows

That little mermaid
She has daddy issues
In the mix with seven sisters
I doubt anyone will miss her

Little mermaid, princess of the sea
Crying and whining
Begging for feet

I gave her what she wanted
A chance to be free
Of her dictator father
A shot at her dream

I have it on paper
What can I say
A contract is binding
It’s only fair

-SEA WITCH
 
 

I’m your ticket
Take a ride
Five for twenty
Each worth five

Minutes
Tasty suckle sticks
Slaves of instant happiness
Five for twenty
Each worth five

Minutes
Legal, lethal influence
See that man leaning left to right?
I paid for his confetti, man
Vacations, Third World bank accounts
And you wave homemade posters

Stand in line
To shake the hands
Of all these purchased working men
But if you’ve got five
You get twenty
Each worth five

Minutes
Of salvaged patriotism
Inhaled optimism
The man behind the door
Hand-delivers happy singing telegrams
Nope.
Five for twenty
Each worth five

Minutes
Of puff puff poof—
Love songs and airplane rides
Dried rotten petals stamped
By pure white borrowed heels

All this for five
Five for twenty

Each worth five

I sent a man home to his father’s throne
His son cried on my shoulder
His granddaughter watched her father die

But it’s cool
Cause she’s got five
So she gets twenty
Each worth five
 
Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone has moments where they are selfish and act on behalf of their own desires. Everyone gets a second chance. Everyone, except me.
I committed THE unforgivable sin. We were all his friends, his followers, and called his disciples. He warned me. He told me what I would do. Still, I ignored his warning. I traded in my friend and savior for pieces of silver. With that, I sealed the fate of the world. I messed up, and acted selfish. I wanted to take it back, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry, but none of that matters. I have gone down in the history of man as an infamous traitor. Everyone makes mistakes, but their mistakes will be forgotten and forgiven over time. Everyone’s except mine. My sin was forgiven, but it will never be forgotten, for it triggered the sequence of events that would lead to his death.
 
 
My daddy always said, “You do what puts the cornbread on your plate.”
Well, I got cornbread aplenty, molasses, too.
And meat most days a week, ham slices thicker than a man’s wrist.
Yeah, I eat real good.

See, I was born knowin’ how to put cornbread on a plate, purt near.
I see men turnin’ their heads, right in church sometimes,
startin’ when I was twelve, and I knowed I wasn’t gonna spend my life
rubbin’ clothes on a washboard ‘til my knuckles bleed
Like my momma done, like she still doin’ every time
I close my eyes real tight, tryin’ to remember what she looked like

She was pretty, my momma, in a tired sorta way.
I always got told she was real fine when she was a girl,
but maybe not so fine as me.
See, I been told I got looks like a movie queen and,
sure enough, it’s hard to believe how many boys
asked me to be their gal before I graduated eighth grade.

I guess it’s the curls in my hair, which is real dark.
Momma said she thought daddy had some Indian
in him somewhere, though I knowed he didn’t like
to talk about it much.
Or maybe it’s the snap in my eyes (I got me a temper)
or the way I’m built real healthy.
Yeah, I was wearing my big sister Annie’s sweaters


 
 
by the time I was about twelve.

So I got married long about thirteen.
Fool, me, I thought I was in love
with a no’count man liked to use his
fists on me.
He run off with some other gal and
I don’t feel nothing but sorry for her.

Me, I like havin’ room to stretch out.
I don’t have to scrunch over all scared
on one side of the bed, ‘cept when I have company.
And that’s the business makes everyone turn up
their noses at me, so proper, so damn mean.

But I know all the ladies too good to so much as
say a word to me would throw their wedding rings
in the river if they could trade in their washboards
and their men’s hands turned to fists
for a chance at just a week of life
done my way.

See, I can lie abed ‘til noon if the sun ain’t too ornery.
And I got me nightgowns so soft they snag if a man’s hands
are too rough from outdoors works.
Yeah, I order them special in all kinds of colors,
flowers, too, and matchin’ robes.
                 
                 
                   

 

with
Evil

with

 

                        
                         
                           
           
 
I get up and make myself biscuits and gravy
so rich I like to die over it.
Yeah, I learned a few things from my momma,
from helping her raise the kids that came every year ‘til
she near moved into the barn, just to get a break
from making more kids.

And the men, they ain’t so bad, once I get ‘em
to the washtub and make it real clear they
mind their manners around me.
‘Cause I’m my own kind of lady, no matter
what they say up in church (I heard the preacher
set a whole sermon against me. But don’t you bet
I see him walk real slow past my place sometimes,
like he’s makin’ his mind up whether to come see me.
I asked him if he wanted to take a picture one time,
he stared at me drinking coffee on the porch so long,
and I like to pee myself I laughed so hard when he
run like I was the devil hisself.)

Some of the men cry and make a fuss, sayin’
they think they love me, tellin’ me how their
wives ain’t nothing but mad and tired all the time.
I tell them just to shush, thinkin’ ‘bout my poor momma,
get them to straighten up and go on home.
‘cause their four, five kids didn’t just spring up
on they’re own, and they got a responsibility.
Plus I don’t like no man lingering around too much—
gets me to feelin’ all hot and itchy.
 
So my daddy don’t want much to do with me,
His new wife either. She calls me a Jezebel,
like all the other good ladies of the town.
But don’t you know, when I send off
an envelope full of money for bottles and shoes

and pretty clothes so maybe my sisters can land
a husband a whole lot nicer than mine was,
and maybe even richer than mine was,
(He was a specimen, alright. I don’t
even so much as say his name no more).
then I see my stepmomma lookin’
a whole lot fancier next time around,
walking to the store, hair all tinted
and curled up and maybe even wearin’
a nice, new pair of stockings.

So, yeah, I put cornbread on the table,
and in lots of folks mouths.
Your man’s head might turn when
he passes me and, like as not, you’ll
be cursin’ my name.
But I ain’t no devil, just a healthy gal
who don’t want no trouble and don’t
want no fists on her, and I don’t
wontrol where your man head turns
no more’n you do.

So come on over some time,
You look real hungry.
I got ham slices the size of
a man’s wrist, and cornbread with jam, too,
real good with coffee, and stories like you ain’t
never heard in your sewing circle.


 
Ain’t you tired of judging?
Aint’ you tired of your knuckles bleeding?
Aint’ you tired of those fists?
Come set awhile and let’s make friends.