Alice-Anne Harwood Sherrill:
A poet, singer/songwriter and playwright, Alice-Anne is half of the fabulous new acoustic duo The Woulds, which features harmonies that "fit like your favorite pajamas, intelligent song writing and a heavy dose of mischief." Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous journals and collections including: Boston Literary Magazine, Bent Pin Quarterly, Caduceus, The Underwood Review, Pen Works, and various collections by Shijin. Alice-Anne is a member of the Marathon poetry group active throughout the state of Connecticut, she is co-host of the Word of Mouth Series at New Haven’s historic Institute Library, and former co-host of the Wednesday Night Poetry Series which ran from 1994 to fall of 2012.
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House Guest*
If it weren't for the chicken, Fannie Weaver
and Grandma would still be friends.
Grandpa watched it wander
from coop to yard,
yard to footpath,
footpath to outhouse,
pecking at grasshoppers and wooly bears.
He respected its sense of adventure
its independence, until it disappeared
into the small opening that led
to the dugout beneath the latrine.
Grandpa stormed up the footpath,
stomped outside the opening, rattled
the outhouse walls and shouted as if
his son had just sassed Mother.
He heard a cluck and a shuffle,
the outhouse door flew open,
expelled Fannie Weaver, skivvies twisting
around calves, skirt hoisted to thighs
and terror in her curly red hair.
From "We Shijin Book I" 2004, from Hanover Press
======================================
House Guest*
If it weren't for the chicken, Fannie Weaver
and Grandma would still be friends.
Grandpa watched it wander
from coop to yard,
yard to footpath,
footpath to outhouse,
pecking at grasshoppers and wooly bears.
He respected its sense of adventure
its independence, until it disappeared
into the small opening that led
to the dugout beneath the latrine.
Grandpa stormed up the footpath,
stomped outside the opening, rattled
the outhouse walls and shouted as if
his son had just sassed Mother.
He heard a cluck and a shuffle,
the outhouse door flew open,
expelled Fannie Weaver, skivvies twisting
around calves, skirt hoisted to thighs
and terror in her curly red hair.
* previously published in Caduceus
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From "We Shijin Book I" 2004, from Hanover Press