Out of the Cupboard #1

Presenting: Misti Rainwater-Lites

Bitch Dragon

the bitch dragon is breathin’ fire
down my neck
the scales are shinin’
the claws are scratchin’
the tail is lashin’
this is how it goes
as I drive down the freeways
of Texas
with gurglin’ stomach
& the stain of 35 years of shame
all over my steerin’ wheel clutchin’
snow white hands

he can smell me comin’
from a mile away
god knows he knows
his girl
so lovely & useless & dancin’ stoic
through this brave
new dystopia

I would fuck you tomorrow
& leave black rose petals
in my wake
but I basically have no
sense of direction
or anything
to recommend
I’m not the lost princess
you dreamed of
while jackin’ off to that
Cindy Crawford poster
Paula Abdul on the radio
Cindy Crawford is a pretty Fish
quite the catch
that rumor you heard is true
Pisces chicks are the most
dewy violet eyed & nubile of all the signs
claspin’ their hands to their hearts
as they pace the tower with the lone window
waitin’ on the horse
that is bringin’ them
(shit, just look at Elizabeth Taylor!)
Paula Abdul is every American boy’s dream
an exotic yet strangely accessible
lunatic head cheerleader next door
an all over the map Gemini angel
wingin’ it all the way
to vanilla milkshake frothy hearts

honestly, yes
I am a princess
(just look at my Very Cherry toenails!)
and decidedly lost
yet somehow
despite my snow white hands
wild raven hair
fuck me blue-green eyes
and fine china ass
no…I am not
the lost princess
you dreamed of

I’m too much in love
with the bitch dragon
breathin’ that pretty blue fire
all down my sweaty neck
you don’t need to go scalin’
any fortress walls for me
thanks, Sweet Santa Claus Prince
I’ve got
all the toys
I need
these eyelashes of mine bat
for any pretty pitcher
you are not the first
to mutate into a frog
burnin’ in the strange green light
that is my Virgo moon scrutiny
my Aquarius sun will blister
your butt but good
you will wake up
in a burn unit
screamin’ for death
to hurry the hell up
meanwhile I’ll be playin’ a pachinko machine
madly in lust with
all those spinnin’ stars
and silver balls



Visiting Family

god! where are the
where’s the
gimme a gun

this dusty tackiness
is seeping
into my
sapping my will
to live
making me reach
for the Benadryls
and The Idiot’s Guide To Self-Immolation

the silent sitcom watching
and slobbering dogs
are startling
my bowels

all I need
is a clean potty
and plenty
of semi-abrasive paper
(the soft stuff makes my ass itch)

I’m a spoiled bitch
I simply cannot survive
without bottles of water
and scent free air
the dolls stare at me
with their evil eyes
reminding me of the Little Bo Peep Jesus
I learned in Sunday school
and the strange shit on the beige carpet
is burning
my feet

this is why I first left home
at four
taking nothing but a Tiger Beat
and my red



I Keep Marrying Jack Torrance

this is not the place to complain about my husband
this is not to say my husband is an alcoholic
with rage issues
this morning I fed my five month old baby boy
his bottle
in bed
my husband snored
beside me
my son yelled in his baby language
I think he was trying to tell me
the formula was flowing too fast
and the birds outside the window
were pissing him off
my husband yelled “HEY!”
I said,”Don’t yell at him”
in my terse desperate housewife protective mommy voice
he said,”I can yell if I want”
and told me he was having a dream
about being yelled at by a Pakistani store clerk
he told the clerk he couldn’t understand
what he was saying
my husband put in the yellow earplugs
and told me he thought maybe
he had married
the wrong woman
I told him I was pretty sure
that he did

I had no reason to fear my first husband
I have no reason to fear husband number two
but for some reason they both
at different times
made me jump out
of my skin
and think of Jack Nicholson as Jack Torrance
grinning and limping
and wielding an axe



For Jackson, Who Turned 5 Months Old Yesterday

baby boy someday you will know
more about your mommy
than you want to know
it’s all in the poems
my rosy guts strewn from here
to eternity
all the muck
and murk
laid out like seaweed strangling the beach
spelling out
yesterday marked your fifth month
on this planet
and your mommy had one of her
minor meltdowns
all because of $50
and furniture
and too many
phone calls
but you were beautiful
like you have always been
in your blue eye crinkle
and perfect love covers a multitude of sins
and cast out all demons smile
you are more heaven
than your mommy deserves
I didn’t know it at seventeen
but you were the vision I cried for
when I scribbled names in notebooks
dreaming of some kind of return
to all the bread cast out
on brackish waters
listening to John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy”
sorry for John and Sean and Yoko
and all the truly lovely people
who leave
too soon
someday you will hate me, I know
for loving you too much
or not nearly enough
for showing pictures of you in bunny ears
and a diaper
to whoever makes your tummy flop
for not being the one who can save you
from anonymous motel room
empty vodka bottle agony
my womb could only hold you
for nine months
and that is
never enough
but today you love me
because I am the first face
you see
when you cry for comfort
and I am the bearer of bottles
and teething tablets
and toys that make funny noises
today our love is perfect
in its fullness
and I hope someday the old man you
will somehow remember the baby you
wrapped up in an imperfect woman’s



Latest Soft Porn

soft like string cheese
soft like my man’s penis
when I read him my poems
I like it when the man with the scary face
smiles a terrifying smile of death
as he approaches the beach ball tit
butterfly tattoo bleach hair choir girl
she be so horniness inducing
in her Malibu innocence
little do she know
what to cum
scary man slipped something sinister
in her Sex on the Beach
he will be tapping that Barbie Doll Gone Wild ass
in no time flat
I see a tub with bubbles and champagne
and dark chocolate yummm
in their immediate future
I hear “Aaaah! Aaaah! Oooooh!”
I hear donkey bray
I hear cheetah growl
I hear hyena laugh
there he goes with his White Boy Don’t Play
thrust thrust thrust
“Oh you like it hard and fast and deep, dontcha???”
all of this
leaves me lazy
and wishing
I was twelve again
thinking,”Someday a boy will like me so much he will
take my clothes off and insert his penis into my vagina
and then I’ll have no reason to boo hoo to God”.



Blind Deaf Dumb Date

don’t describe me, darlin’…you can’t.
he will show up five minutes early
expectin’ Madonna/Jackie Collins/Carrie Fisher/Cher

you might as well tell him with a weird chuckle:
“um…she’s really…interesting”
that’s pretty accurate

I will surprise him by bein’ bland.
I can do bland.
I can rock the fuck outta a pair of plaid capris
and a white polo shirt.
He’ll think,”A Texas chick with New England style. Quaint.”

of course
I ain’t bland
I’m the can of paint
that never sells
the weird ass reddish purplish color
some wackadoodle dipshit named
Love’s Wilting Rose

I collect dust in the darkest corner.
This is how I like it.
Most people I meet
sure as shit
ain’t worth
the spill.



Questions and Answers

Q) I take one look at your Ebullience Press site and what immediately springs to mind is how prolific you are as a writer. Do you believe it to be a necessity in the accelerated age to keep things moving at a pace?
MRL) I don’t think in terms of pace, really. I’ve got an F5 tornado inside my head. Shit is always swirling around. I try to put as much of it as I can down in the form of poetry. Sometimes it’s just a mess. Sometimes it’s Kansas…black and white and blah all over. Sometimes it’s Oz.

Q) What got you interested in poetry?
MRL) Well, to go back to the absolute genesis I’d have to say the nursery rhymes and fairy tales my mom and maternal grandmother read to me, along with the Jesus songs they sang to me. The first poems I remember reading on my own were Shel Silverstein’s. The first poem I remember loving the fuck out of was Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe. The first poem I remember thinking,”Goddamn. I wish I had written that!” was Daddy by Sylvia Plath.

Q) Once you were hooked what made you decide to write?
MRL) It wasn’t really a decision I made. It just happened. I’ve seen therapists off and on since I was nine. Therapy has never done anything for me. Poetry is my therapy, my religion and my one true love. I write things down that I could never express to someone’s face, at least not with any amount of eloquence.

Q) Your poetry is raw, open and honest. Would you consider yourself a confessional poet?
MRL) No. That label is too limiting, and it implies that I am wringing my hands with guilt hoping some benevolent father figure will forgive me. I’m not wringing my hands and I’m not hoping for forgiveness. I consider myself an aspiring pinball wizard giddy hostess ass poet. I’d like to be a weird mixture of Catullus, Mayakovsky, Lewis Carroll and Anne Sexton. I don’t ever want to be stuck in a rut of churning out the same poem with a few minor variations over and over again ad nauseam. I want to zoom all over the page.

Q) In terms of subject matter, is there anything that you would not write about?
MRL) I will not write about cats, birds, trees, mesas, gnarled hands, vampires, self-mutilation, anal sex or Pedro’s broken heart.

Q) How significant is gender in poetry? I ask this and I may be wrong but it appears that female writers are under represented in the small press. Do you agree and if so then why do you think this is?
MRL) I don’t think gender has any significance in poetry. I’ve only been contributing to the small press since 2005. I’m not bragging, just stating the facts here…I’ve never felt like I was rejected on the basis of my gender. To date I’ve had five chapbooks published (one online, four print) with one more due this year and another due next year. It does seem like there are more men than women in the small press. All I can figure is that men submit more. I don’t think there is any sexism going on.

Q) Are there any particular writers that excite you at this moment in time?
MRL) Walter Burns. Thamyris Jones. Tim Murray. Zoe Alexandra. Jude Lynn. Zachary C. Bush.

Q) Lastly, what can we look forward to from Misti Rainwater-Lites in the near future?
MRL) I have a full-length poetry collection coming out on Tainted Coffee Press later this year entitled Cuntasaurus Rex. I have a full-length poetry collection coming out on Magnuna Press later this year entitled Slobber. I’m one of five women featured in Sirens: Five Femme Fatale Poets out on Sisyphus Press. I’ll also be featured in three other poetry anthologies this year.

Where to go next

One thought on “Out of the Cupboard #1

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: