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Deborah Fruchey's Writings

Poem
Feb.17.2014
Second Prize, Benicia Love Poetry Contest, 2014
Recipe for Marital Peace She picks up the sweaterfrom the bedroom flooras if the breach between themcould be closed by tidying things. It is a token of her faith.Good housewifery will lead tomarital fusion. Keep the lawn trimmed,the house painted, and the marriage,like the clapboard, should weather well. In the kitchen, she kneads doughuntil her thoughts pound...
Poem
Feb.17.2014
Honorable Mention, Benicia Love Poetry Contest, 2014
Ode to Familiarity I am like the death row inmatesickened by too many reprieves.Let’s come to an end, let’sget the formalities over with.I have been stripped to bonesby passionand I am hungry for anythingother than fancy fireworks.I long for your splendid linesto slur and fade;your slanted, mysterious eyelidsto crinkle and droopand open on vistas so familiarwe...
Poem
Sep.30.2013
Third Prize, Ina Coolbrith Annual Poetry Contest 2011
Lost Someone always is.It doesn’t matter how.The state is complete in itselflike a mushroom or a grave. Someone is lost,and the place they’re infits nowhere on their agenda,won’t show on mapsor satellite photographs. Someone is lost.Whether adult or child,they are afraid,haunted by disappearing earth.A world that once contained hairdryers, fences, crowdsnow is...
Poem
Jan.22.2013
Advice from Eden Most of our loversare wearing too much,even if all they have on is their skin. Love means being naked with somebody,whether or not you ever get undressed Second Prize, 2013 Benicia Love Poetry Contest
Poem
Sep.20.2012
Honorable Mention, Benicia Love Poetry Contest, 2012
The problem is, her breasts are better than mine!the problem is, I’m much too old for her.the problem isI don’t believe she means it. The problem is, what would I say at breakfast?The problem is, what if I couldn’t come?The problem isI’m clumsy and embarrassed. The problem is, what happens to the friendship?The problem is, what would her boyfriend think?The...
Poem
Sep.20.2012
Third Prize, Bay Area Annual Poet’s Contest, 2012
Single at seventy,sanguine, but so alone -or so we think. She disagrees and says,use your eyes, friends, use your ears The grit that sits in parking lots,the fungus slowly seeping into speed bumps,they witness me. The coke-can sculpturesin low vacant lots,the weeds with crinkled headsfiltering the sunset;the slanted afternoons hung downunraveling on the plaster,...
Poem
Sep.20.2012
Second Prize, Bay Area Poets Annual Contest 2012
In a year, there is silence at Ground Zero.All the body partshave been mailed back -but not enough for everyone.Someone is just a stain,a gout of corruption on a tire treaddriven ankle deep in ash that dayover lumps that were the dead..“He knows where the bodies are buried”is forevermore an obscene joke; and ifBin Laden doesn’t know the punchline,how can we?...
Poem
Sep.20.2012
Third Prize, Ina Coolbrith Annual Poetry Contest 2011, Category: Journeys
Someone always is.It doesn’t matter how.The state is complete in itselflike a mushroom or a grave. Someone is lost,and the place they’re infits nowhere on their agenda,won’t show on mapsor satellite photographs. Someone is lost.Whether adult or child,they are afraid,haunted by disappearing earth.A world that once contained hairdryers, fences, crowdsnow is only a...
Poem
Sep.20.2012
Honorable Mention, Ina Coolbrith Annual Poetry Contest 2011, Category: Love
I lost a good friend oncethe selfsame way I lost my wedding ringThose final months I teased iton and off my fingersuch an irritation on the skinbut an anxiety when out of sightknowing within a day or two when it had disappeared,but not quite how The frantic curve of search that fades at last to shrug But ‘lost’ is not the same as ‘gone’or so I like to tell...
Poem
Sep.20.2012
2nd Honorable Mention, Ina Coolbrith Annual Poetry Contest, 2010, Category: Nature
Nubbins and twigs andless hygienic things are poking through my socks as I walk back through the woodsfrom peeing on hot and cold running pine needles. Wobbly with winey air,I flip off the flashlightand the felty black comes flailing down,crash-landing in slow motionon my  inner city-state.The silence is crustedand  broken, like snow.The starsare savage...