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Geraldine
Today is not a day to be pregnant. The environs are such that anything could result in an anti-pregnancy. The air pressure makes a fetus impossible. On airplanes especially. Once, I was driving, trying not to get pregnant in Missouri and the billboard this one billboard in northern Missouri almost Iowa said if you think you’re fat now, wait until you’re pregnant. For the most part the roads there are for truckers who all go home and tell their wives and girlfriends and daughters. I went home I am not a trucker and I laughed at Missouri and Iowa for where they are. A face and its belly a big belly in the middle of the country. Missouri is always pregnant. * Spanish soap and Dial soap were walking through a forest when the spirit jumped out from the bushes. Where are you going? Aruba they say. For what? We bought a timeshare they say. Take me with you. How much do you weigh—there’s a weight limit. I don’t eat much. Okay. Let’s see. Come into my purse. There. Perfect. The spirit fits into the side compartment and weighs almost nothing. Dial soap and Spanish soap and the secret spirit all go to Aruba for two weeks in February. The end. * Virág Like a name like flower. Like a country like the sound of a state. Once we drove in a small car through a field of tulips so red so red the sky had to leave. The sky was not itself and all that was left was gray so gray that red could seem more red than anything. That day so many cars stopped, people ran into the field and made intonations to the tulips. It was February. A good month for tulips. In a small country with a view of the ocean. ** Amanda Nadelberg's first book, Isa the Truck Named Isadore, won the 2005 Slope Editions Book Prize and will be available
Spring 2006. Other poems have appeared or will soon appear in Tarpaulin Sky, Octopus, jubilat and Conduit. She grew up in Boston and
currently lives in Minneapolis
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