Melinda Cochrane
#5 Vol 2 5 poems "Bugs on T.V." |  |
Melinda Cochrane was born and raised in Newfoundland. She graduated from Memorial University in 1994 receiving a Bachelor of arts and a Bachelor of education. She is currently an English teacher in Montreal.
She is a novice to the publishing world, with her first publication by an on-line magazine, "Ditch, poetry that matters". Her latest writing project was a self published book of writings by her English students. She is the
mother of a beautiful daughter, Dorothea, a wife and sister. Her life and friends from Newfoundland inspire
her to write the truth about poverty, boredom and isolation. Melinda thanks her mother for her inner strength
and determination that has inspired much of her writing.
Bugs on T.V.
My mother’s crazy
she twitches her face and shakes her legs
grandfather prostituted her to his drinking buddy
my mother’s crazy
he said my mother was crazy
she stood tall on her toes as he pinned her against the wall
she’s nuts she’s stupid she’s crazy
the daughter that was given to the strangers down the street
she didn’t know that she was crazy
she begged for food at the grocery store the man said she and it was crazy
we laughed with short cake on the floor and she wasn’t crazy
she punched me in the face
slammed the door
kicked me in the back
turned up the television
saw spiders on her legs
she wasn’t crazy
Melinda Cochrane Previously published by Ditch (an on-line zine)
No King
You hit me hard: fell to the floor.
The pillow over my face made me gag on more.
Prozac used on mothers to make them high.
Stood up, beat you down with my eyes.
Pulled hair across garden flowers.
Runaways,
needles, LSD and boys who devil talked,
chicken bones on floors, soup in bowls.
Church burning at night,
natives kicked with swollen eyes.
Hallways with doors ajar and army boots on blue floors
near sleeping heads while vaginas wept silently
at night.
There was no philosopher king for a girl in hallways.
Mops held to fight you back and fuck you to take a bite.
A finger lifted to a face urging,
children crying and sobbing for no reason as boys with names like
James are
told mom
is not caring.
Wards full with women staring into mirrors,
changing clothes and moaning.
A sister seeing shadows on walls telling her to die as the men who jumped
her ten by ten didn’t stop to listen to her cry.
Women with husbands
afraid to let them think.
A drunk father in a room where a little girl hides,
a girl in her forties
wanting to jump out of the magicians’ hat.
Stop saying sorry as knives are held to necks
and little girls on telephones
are numb.
Let the skin stay on the rabbit,
the fur is warm.
Melinda Cochrane Previously published by Ditch (an on-line zine)
Am I Out the Window
Hands not Melinda Cochrane | Take your house over water, Melinda Cochrane |
