Poem for Tuesday

Bedtime Story
By Wanda Coleman

bed calls. i sit in the dark in the living room
trying to ignore them

in the morning, especially Sunday mornings
it will not let me up. you must sleep
longer, it says

facing south
the bed makes me lay heavenward on my back
while i prefer a westerly fetal position
facing the wall

the bed sucks me sideways into it when i
sit down on it to put on my shoes. this
persistence on its part forces me to dress in
the bathroom where things are less subversive

the bed lumps up in anger springs popping out to
scratch my dusky thighs

my little office sits in the alcove adjacent to
the bed. it makes strange little sighs
which distract me from my work
sadistically i pull back the covers
put my typewriter on the sheet and turn it on

the bed complains that i'm difficult duty
its slats are collapsing. it bitches when i
blanket it with books and papers. it tells me
it's made for blood and bone

lately spiders ants and roaches
have invaded it searching for food

--------

Monday the kids went over to a friend's house at 10 a.m. to play video games and ended up going with the friend to the pool for five hours after lunch, so I had a lovely summer afternoon to myself. came over and we went out for California Tortilla and watched the director's cut of King Arthur, a movie which grows on me more each time I see it because I compare it less to any expectation or wishes I had for it and just watch Clive, Keira, Ioan, Joel, Hugh, Stellan, the Rays and the rest do a creditable job with the screenplay they got, plus the lovely scenery.

In the evening I wrote three Trek articles, read some Harry Potter to my family and folded laundry while watching the Dawson's Creek third season endgame -- I rarely talk about this here because I know I will be laughed at if not outright unfriended for my utter lack of sophistication but I've been working my way back through DC since it came out on DVD, and rewatching what is arguably the high or low point of the series depending on one's perspective, when the love triangle fell out for the first time the way it worked best all along, is just an enormous pleasure. This is a show that hasn't dated because it felt dated in the first place -- it's not a series about teenagers and how they talk, it's a series about how adults wish they had talked as teenagers while experiencing exactly the same angst. It's also a series where girls make dumb decisions but are never treated as if THEY are dumb and are not judged for them; after the latest Harry Potter it is really so refreshing.

Important life lesson: never buy solid deodorant and then leave it in the car for several hours in nearly 90 degree heat, at least not unless you are planning to make deodorant soup. Also: never stop writing Snupin to go deal with your kids unless you want a huffy angry Snape hanging around in your brain for the rest of the evening. And don't reread your own M&C fic that you wrote before reading the novels unless you want to die of embarrassment for what you did to characters you didn't really know all that well. On which subject: tonight, photos of miniature ships; tomorrow, the Maryland state house.


The Gallery of Ships in the Naval Academy Museum more than 100 models of sailing ships from ~1650 to ~1850. Most are rigged. There are bone models carved by prisoners, but many of the wooden models were built by the same shipwrights who constructed the ships themselves. Next to the sign is a bone carving of Victory.


The USS Constitution, carved in bone. (Sorry about the flash glare; the bone models are in a darkened corridor with spotlights in dark cases to highlight the artistry.)


Unknown bone ship carving with incredibly intricate rigging.


A wooden model of HMS Prince William.


Overview of the room where the wooden ship models are displayed.


In the upper level galleries of the museum, Columbus' Santa Maria. Not being British, this one is not included in the Rogers Ship Model Collection.


Seen through glass, the back room where models are repaired and restored.