Category Archives: Catherine Davis

Picture point A. Hesitant, curious, shy. (A is a Modigliani in a Van Gogh starry night.) Point B emerges on the horizon; now A is aquiver with visions of a dance. (B is handsome Hiawatha lately of the forest.) And … Continue reading →

Pas de cinq mille, in B minor. (The stage will be crowded.) Instruments: violin, cello, blue guitar, tambourine. ~ ~ ~ I Scene: MIDNIGHT all day. Bleak December. A chiaroscuro, snowing blackbirds. II Swirling FLIGHT. [Andantino > vivace > agito … Continue reading →

Three stories spinning at once, not to mention watching out for cars. It’ll be a wonder if your Asparagus Syndrome client doesn’t end up on Poet’s Walk picking her way through masses of grackles and starlings. Lock this bike to … Continue reading →

“Step on up! Get your CO-incidence Plan, OR: your FOR-tay’un MYS-ter-ies! A ONCE in a lifetime OP-portunity!” Miranda’s friends had taken off: no bialys or bracelets here. But the silver-haired man, his musical voice, his conjuring hands – this electric … Continue reading →

52|250 would like to thank Catherine Davis for this week’s picture, Houston Street, 6PM. Here is her succinct summation. “Just so; whatever was I thinking? August 2000.”

Beneath your frozen boots a butt in every seam of the sidewalk, so quit counting. Quit veering towards the curb where cab after cab sprays the pooling slush, while honking at god knows what. Think back to the warehouse, those … Continue reading →

Underneath, distance is the thing, not time. Time, only insofar as how long it sustains. On one breath. Kid can swim. Two minutes seventeen, second turn. Length of limbs: mechanical advantage. Slenderness of frame: reduced drag. Accidents of birth, not … Continue reading →

Last we spoke, we dashed our cells onto highways, into the paths of semis. This wasn’t going to be like that. Fanning the pages of the album backwards, thumbing our noses at what hadn’t played out, so long ago. Here … Continue reading →

52|250 thanks Catherine Davis for her photograph, Luck, this week. We asked Catherine what circumstances led to her picture Luck: Life on the Petal River near Hattiesburg, Mississippi, was replete with lizards and tree frogs. The lizards most often caught … Continue reading →

This snit – furious with even the cats. Silkily they glide beside, round ankles, cross keyboard – trailing me. N-n-never screamscold a cat. I need to run. Rampant, amok, wild on the savannah. 

 Ding-a-ling, La Friendessa, getting back. “WHAT!” … Continue reading →

“I have a fear of becoming a bag lady,” I confess to my therapist. Embarrassed by the sound of my words in this walnut paneled library, two French doors to a balcony, I am thinking of throwing the paisley over … Continue reading →

She looks for the obit, can’t find. Over and over, looks. Nothing. Nothing except something touching her shoulder. Follow me. Corridors, doors, along and along, no time to notice that this last is the stage door – she was so … Continue reading →

We are all multiple simultaneous. We could have, should have, seen it coming, but who would have believed? Only doctors of decadence – say Orwell, Burgess, Burroughs, Wells – name your own fave flavor. Lick twice. Nice. Merrily we roll … Continue reading →

A cow wanders onto a roof and falls through the skylight. It is a calamity, but such an innocent mistake. Mightn’’t you wander onto a roof once upon a full winter snow in Vermont? A cow climbs a gravel mound … Continue reading →