Episode 101: The Anti-Efficiency Episode
b'Slushies, what are some ways a writer may gain your trust? Kathy lifts a brow at poems\\xa0including questions. Marion looks side ways at pop-cultural references. (Check out this favorite\\xa0of ours from issues past.) But these poems may make them think otherwise. In \\u201cDiving For\\xa0Pearls\\u201d the imagery pulls us into the world of Bedouin and sea-faring cultural economy. Or how\\xa0\\u201cTidying up with Marie Kondo\\u201d may trivialize the idea of the context of curiosity.\\nSpeaking of sparking your joy\\u2014 or not\\u2014 what was an item that you loved but had to get rid of?\\nThis episode is brought to you by one of our sponsors, Wilbur Records, who kindly introduced\\xa0us to the artist is A.M.Mills whose song \\u201cSpaghetti with Loretta\\u201d now opens our show.\\nRasha Alduwaisan is an oral historian from Kuwait. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Cincinnati\\xa0Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Willow Springs and The Common. She earned an MA in Middle Eastern Studies\\xa0from Harvard University.\\n\\xa0\\n\\n\\xa0\\nDiving for Pearls\\nMy body is a sack of bones,feet bound, heavy with stone,I plunge and sand shatterswithout a sound, tongue-tied, this sea is breathless,rope & leather & lead,I grasp what I can see,rough shells, round shells,hollow shells,I mouth your nameand something stirs \\u2013I pry myself open to find it.\\n\\xa0\\nTidying Up with Marie Kondo\\nMarie, I drove to the landfill yesterday \\xa0 \\xa0to find my wedding dress \\xa0 \\xa0the one \\xa0 \\xa0I\\xa0couldn\\u2019t bear to give to anyone else \\xa0 \\xa0I know I shouldn\\u2019t have \\xa0 \\xa0but I followed the\\xa0truck down the beach road and into the desert \\xa0 \\xa0tried to plead at the gatesyou\\xa0know \\xa0 \\xa0the way they do in the movies \\xa0 \\xa0but security was so tight, Marie \\xa0 \\xa0so I\\xa0watched from the car \\xa0and it looked like a mound of bodies \\xa0lace wrappedaround denim around plastic around mulch \\xa0 \\xa0and there were so many toys, Marie\\xa0dolls without stuffing \\xa0 \\xa0bikes without wheels \\xa0 \\xa0so many fridges \\xa0 \\xa0torn at the hinge \\xa0 \\xa0and the truck I followed could have been any truck \\xa0 \\xa0my dress any dress \\xa0 \\xa0so I left \\xa0 \\xa0drove deeper into the desert \\xa0 \\xa0until all I could see\\xa0were seagulls \\xa0 \\xa0dipping in and out of the heap \\xa0 \\xa0nothing on their backs\\xa0but feathers \\xa0 \\xa0and they looked so happy, Marie \\xa0 \\xa0they really did\\n\\xa0\\nAgarwood\\nI dab oud on my wrists, my neck,the gap between my breasts,\\nthe way the Agar pours sap into itswounds, the tender scent filling the room.\\nIn Cambodia, they strip down treesto find it, the infected bark, the salve.\\nMy throat is dry from shouting, this timeabout you smoking inside the house,\\nthe stove I left on all night,the text we cannot translate.\\nI want you to kiss me, but all I can dois tell you I would be better off without you.\\nTell me, how long does a bruised tonguetake to heal? How sweet does it taste?'