top of page

"jumping spiders", "full malibu", "road trip" & "b movie" by Elle Cantwell



jumping spiders


how to begin the story of that house, that house of never too much heady wine and hard cheese, house that thumped earth, wind & fire on repeat, its dappled chamois walls eternally itching to be disco lit, lava lamps swerving in purple counterpoint, house of sweat soaked bitter enders and stragglers, stray cats and terriers, house that saw more than its share of annual italian family melodrama at the holidays, its door slams as expected as nonna’s gnocchi or ma’s pizzaiola, house of the falling porch and squirrels in the crawlspace, always something lurking in the crevices, always something on the edge of broken, that house of love and lies, oh, how i loved and hated that house, that house of living breathing ghosts that knew a secret history, that house of no apologies, that house full of quiet dread and creeping, i kept a jelly jar by the bedroom window to catch and release all the frequent fliers and crawlers, those six-and eight-leggers who traveled through the cracks to set up shop in that house, how they filled the emptiness, those ladybugs by the dozens sunning on the sill all summer long, the bark beetles taking a break from devouring the giant beech tree, the occasional bumblebee losing its way from the daisies in the garden, once that house hosted a family of jumping spiders emerging behind the turbo toilet whose flush could wake our city block, it’s said that jumping spiders can see the moon, i scooped them up with the lid and set them free out back, thinking all they wanted was in and all i wanted was out of there.



full malibu


in my dreamhouse playtime with barbies

always started with swimsuits & splits

they pressed pink lips against lips against necks

then full malibu striptease their hands stirred

every part of their bodies fingers brushed

wisps of blond hair pressed blonde hips

legs interlaced rubbing tribbing

breasts to breasts crotch to crotch lite

brite threw primary colors on curves

ken watched from the teal fashion closet

on occasion barbie let g.i. joe

take her from behind while her friends took turns

pleasing her from the front then forgot about

joe when it was naked girl time on pillows



road trip


ma & i are on the road

to virginia beach got up at 5 a.m.

to beat the traffic out of chicago packed

the cooler with ice & tab & grabbed

our bags with bikinis & cutoffs

slipped into flipflops left a note

for dad & marco & packed the corolla

we take this trip every summer just us

girls when we hit the skyway i load my

yellow cassette deck cue freebird our

theme song roll down the windows thick

industrial air blows in our hair

& ma smiling i see her soften flying far

from our quiet home purple beech

tree mourning doves sing perch-coo.



b movie


foreshadows crawl on anemone. grey

nimbostratus shroud. the strong female lead

lets her imagination run rampant in the blue

hour. wears her cat eye thick & expertly winged. smokes

only for glamour & atmosphere. excessive wardrobe changes

dripping in zirconia & chameleon. the moon in a star turn

all simmer & slink. gratuitous dark alley liaison

a jump cut away. plot convoluted variation on a theme—

girl sees impending doom but the patriarchy wears

the white lab coats. she removes all sharp objects

from the house in an overabundance of dream

wringing. there will be a crime. the ocean

will take the fall. it’s déjà vu all over again—

the moon is the obvious suspect & no one ever sees it coming.




Elle Cantwell is a graduate of the MFA in Writing program at the University of San Francisco. Her poems have appeared in Ponder Review, December, Welter, HAD, and Barrelhouse, among other publications. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and is a winner of the Jeff Marks Memorial Poetry Prize. A freelance theatre director and educator, she lives in Santa Monica, California.

Comments


bottom of page