Welcome

Sisters of the Page has been on the web since 2007. We have featured the works of Misti Rainwater-Lites, MK Chavez, Judy Brekke and Craig Sernotti.

SOTP is a place where we promote female writers, artists, and photographers. This is our goal and our emphasis however, from time to time, we will open the page to our male counterparts in order to showcase some of their works.

Please feel free to click on our archive for past works. It is located at the bottom of each page. If you have comments, please post them under the artist's work, General comments may be directed to the editor at midulcevida66@gmail.com.

Abusive and deragatory comments will not be tolerated and will be immediately removed.

We hope you enjoy your visit. Thanks for stopping bye.

Juliana Vargas
Editor-Sisters of the Page



Monday, December 17, 2007

Observations in New Orleans

M.K. Chavez

A man we pass on Royal Street salutes me
with a beer. A Tennessee William's quote
decorates a wall, "Hell is yourself...”

I wander through the day, weaving through
the cites of the dead, and drink.

On Bourbon Street a dark-haired girl,
in an off white dress
rolls a crystal ball and twirls
it on the tips of her fingers. She's magic,
and the sea of tourist is swallowing
drinks, and beads are flying and men
are barking.

I watch the constant hustle
of brown-eyed and docile mules
pulling buggies on the street.

A man playing guitar smiles
at me through black teeth
and a fortune teller tells
me what I already know
but I pay him anyway. I drink
and laugh, and drink, and drink


M.K. Chavez is a regular contributor. You can see more of her work at

www.littlebrownsparrow.com

kaleidoscope eyes

M.K. Chavez

his mind peddles as fast as it can
life is an ocean of gray
sex is bright red
he wants new love
all the time, hates the sensation
of emptiness
and tucked in shirts
yearns to be firmly anchored
can't sit still, talks with his hands
"marry me!" he shouts.
i watch him drift
he's tied down, he's dogged
a creature of habit
and repetition
familiarity returns to him
faithfully, to goad him
his large hands can't help
but to break things
he lives inside of a shell
a bandit
a collector of fortunes
he is lightening
he begs me to stay
and then runs
naked and breathless.

Van Kleef’s One Night Stand

M.K. Chavez

It was night when we blindfolded
each other and had sex
on the rooftop.

We didn’t know each other
and that was good. The gravel
stuck to our skin as we fucked.
Afterward, we weren’t so beautiful
anymore.

We lit cigarettes
and the burning cherries
is all that we could see
under the black sky.

We left a bitter
taste in each others mouths.

Plain As Day

Gloriane Conover

my emotions circulate like a cyclone
i trample on many and apologize out loud profusely in private
i am a hermit in hibernation that wants to burst at the hem
i could fill a million Mason jars with tears and give out as gifts but the greedy may not see the
relevance
i try very hard to herd in the positive side of this harsh shell that coats like scabies
but the suffering that soaks inside secludes me socially
each day I feel different but don't feel like I am progressing
just aging
trying to make new memories
but lacking aspiration

More of Gloriane's work can be located at
www.myspace.com/88917299

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Coming Down With You

Zoe Alexander



And I thought about you


I just made cookies
Chocolate chip
With apple sauce
And fake butter, I did


I thought about you
And the cookies got burnt
And I thought about you


Thought about the way
I left you
The window open
Just a crack
And I was wearing
my brown boots
(the ones that smell)
And I was wearing stockings
And they made my ass look tight
They were tight
And you couldn't see an inch of cellulite
I swear


I was wearing a blue dress
And I brushed my hair so it looked real nice
But you weren't home to see it
So none of this matters


It smelled like Christmas outside
The last night in our apartment
I stuck my fingers down my panties
In the new bed that we bought
That we never once fucked in
And I rubbed my own clit
Furiously
And I thought of you
You wouldn't believe me if I told you
I was leaving you
And I was touching myself thinking about you


Zoe is an accomplished model and writer.
Keep your eye on her developing talents here
www.myspace.com/zoe_tang

Shiner

Zoe Alexander

Overnight,
I slept off the
Feeling of you


I tucked it between
My pillow and my sheet
Like a tooth


Tried to remember
A time when you
Never existed


A time when you had
Never been inside me


Tried to take a bath
Tried to meditate
To a transcendental place


If I never had you
I'd never want you


Just like cigarettes
and 99 Bananas


But you are with me forever
Whether I like it
Or not


A week old bruise
I cannot stop touching.

Small Pox

Gail Kelley


I am thankful for
this canvas on which
I can lay out the specifics
of my insanity in
colors made from the boiled remains of
robins eggs and
canary feathers and
bone

I am thankful for
this death flowing
through my veins which
allows me to bleed out
this immortality in
precise darkness and
sharp curves and
polymeric shades

I am thankful for
these lightening bolts which
I use to burn through
the beauty of peacock plumes and
the glittering of mother of pearl and
the click-clack of stilettos

I am thankful for
this untouched clay which
can be mold into
murder and suicide and
life and
birth

G.D.K can be found along with more of his work at
www.myspace.com/chirorhino

holiday

Judy L. Brekke

holiday ˈhäliˌdā
noun
a day of festivity or recreation when no work is done : December 25 is an official public holiday.
• [as adj. ] characteristic of a holiday; festive : a holiday atmosphere.
• chiefly Brit. (often holidays) a vacation : I spent my summer holidays on a farm Fred was on holiday in Spain.


verb [ intrans. ] chiefly Brit.
spend a holiday in a specified place : he is holidaying in Italy.
ORIGIN Old English hāligdæg [holy day.]


a day without worry
knowing we have a home
family's health care needs paid
money for medication, to eat


the knife has been placed
in my flesh between
brittle bones of rib cage
it is turned and blood drips


the letter arrives in our mailbox
your health insurance is canceled
because he who lives with cancer
has been terminated from employment


the back of my skull throbs, beats
a thin skinned drum, drum
drummer boy strikes my brain
quickens the scarlet blood drip


blood rests in IV tubing
ceasing the flow to begin
healing cells, gaining strength
a day of festivity


have a relaxing holiday
tinsel twinkles like stars
on live green pine tree
decorated with red blood balls


You can find Judy and more of her work at the following:

http://www.myspace.com/placesthatlinger
http://blog.myspace.com/placesthatlinger
http://www.juice-press.com/poetry

Are You

Juliana Vargas


Are you dreaming of the things that could have been?

Perhaps they already were and you let them slip away.
Unnoticed they went,
those moments that made a difference
in someone’s world.

Like when helping the elderly neighbor mow her lawn
or the child with his kite.
Standing back, you handed him the string and watched it take flight.
You thought you only loosed the knot, but he never forgot.

Measurements of a mile begin in miniscule increments, fragments of an inch.
There is no could have been in life, only “is”

Could have been is a wish, unrealized, non-existent.
Figment of imagination.
Dreams of bigger things.
Hopes for another day.

Yesterday you were.
Today you are.
Tomorrow you will be.

More of Juliana can be found at
www.myspace.com/inkstaynedangel