after James Thurber, et al.
Miss Gertrude Stein liked to write while looking at rocks and cows. Alice would drive her to the countryside, where Miss Stein would sit on a campstool with her notebook in her lap, scribbling for ten-fifteen minutes while Alice would go into the field, harassing a cow into Miss Stein’s line of vision. If the view were deemed unsuitable, Alice would drive Miss Stein elsewhere, to different rocks or a more perspicacious cow. How do we know these things? Such information Miss Stein apprised those who held a professional interest. Such were not tidbits included in her public lectures. Except. Except by “cows,” of course, she meant orgasms. Except on all but the odd Sunday, it was Stein who would drive and Alice who would have a cow. Except, sometimes on those odd Sundays, Alice would lean over the back seat and honk. A bibulous—a circumfluent dawn cresting over the hillsides of Aix. And, in this way, Miss Stein would write autobiographies of other people.
Will Cordeiro has recent work appearing or forthcoming in Best New Poets 2016, Boiler Journal, DIAGRAM, Painted Bride Quarterly, [PANK], Poetry Northwest, Whiskey Island, and elsewhere. He lives in Flagstaff, where he teaches in the Honors College at Northern Arizona University.