in my final year at hunter college, which was partially remote-learning, i was so fortunate to have taken a poetry workshop course taught by donna masini. masini is a new york poet, a woman about town, a prolific name in the new york literature circle, and as it turns out, a phenomenal teacher. in my semester under her tutelage, i learned a tremendous amount about writing and writers, and left with a revived adoration of the poetry and prose art forms. perhaps someday a poem of mine will make it to this newsletter, but for now i want to introduce you all to my personal favorite poem of masini’s, from her 1994 collection titled That Kind of Danger -
My Mother Makes Me a Geisha Girl
It is Halloween. 1962. Brooklyn.
It is late October. Afternoon light
seeps through venetian blinds.
I am eight years old. My mother is making me
a geisha girl, rubbing white paint
across my face, my ears, down my throat.
Under her hands, my head
tilts. She works me over, licks
the tip of the Maybelline liner, marks
a black arch across my brow, adding
the years, filling in what she knows
should be there, the exotic
curve of the eye, hooking
toward the hairline. mole dot below
the lower lip. With a slim brush
she traces red into my lips, experience
paints in the sex. Blue shadows. Green shadows.
One hand twisting the hair from the nape
of my neck, she grips the bobby pins
in her mouth, talks through the narrow slit
in her teeth. Hold still, she says,
and blot and blink.
She lightens, darkens, leaves
a pile of my mouths on crumpled Kleenex.
She is back
in 1947. Coney Island. A ride
called the Caterpillar, strapped by her date
in her seat. The lights go down, the puckered
larva begins to close, the boy
wraps his arm around her; she has waited
for this moment all her life: lipstick fresh,
stocking seams straight, her stomach flutters, she
stiffens, feels the vomit rising, she smiles
sinking, thinking this is not right, the Caterpillar
crawls through the tunnel, worms in the dark,
vomit rising, she backing away. This she tells me
as if to say the body knows. My body
does not know how to move in this pink
satin kimono she wraps around me. I choke
in the sweet cloud of her
Evening in Paris she sprays through my hair,
daubs at my throat. The body knows.
What my mother knows works on her, working on me.
Mincing steps, intricate hipwork. I can’t
roll like the curve of my mother. she belts
me in, making a waist where no waist is.
My mother shows me how to be sexy. Shows
me my face in the oval mirror. I look
like a doll, all powder and posing,
wanting my own eyes back. How many faces I am.
I hunker down into a small knot,
a dark place where faces float
belly up like bloated fish. The girl
in the mirror is crying, her mother yelling
white paint smearing steamy shadows rolling
down mixing red blue black green.
coney island is a monument of new york city, of brooklyn. there’s nothing quite as special as the dirty, crowded beach with a sloppy hot dog and a roller coaster on a melting summer day. as we skeeter into fall and winter, the boardwalk is not as popular but the craving for a decadent hot dog may be.
a coney dog is a very specific thing - a hot dog with meat sauce, onions, mustard, and sometimes cheese - so spoiler alert, this is not a recipe for a typical coney dog. this is my version, the kind of gluttonous and excessive snack that i would want to enjoy on a stroll down the brighton beach boardwalk on a sweltering, summer day, or inside on a wicked cold day pretending i am at the beach. less meat-y and more pickle-y, but just as indulgent - especially if you have two.
my coney dog spread
3 servings
ingredients:
6 all-beef hot dogs (1 pack)
6 martin’s potato hot dog buns
2 bottles of beer - anything light and tasty
1 tbsp neutral oil, such as canola or grapeseed oil
4 tbsp ketchup
2 tbsp hot sauce, preferably cholula original
4 tbsp dijon mustard and/or whole grain mustard
1 ½ tsp colman's mustard powder
1 large pickle or 6-7 cornichons
2 tsp brine of the pickles/cornichons
½ chopped sweet onion
½ cup chopped kimchi
lay’s original potato chips, fried red onions, sesame seeds
recipe:
pull the hot dogs from the fridge and let sit for at least 30 minutes at room temperature. while this is happening, prepare the sauces and toppings. mix together the ketchup, hot sauce, and 1 tsp of pickle brine in a small bowl and set aside. in a second bowl, mix together the mustard, mustard powder, and remaining 1 tsp of pickle brine. these are your two sauces. dice the yellow onion and dice the pickles (depending on the time of year, i will substitute these with any pickled bits in my fridge - ramps, mustard seeds, cucumbers, and more). set everything aside - this is your mise-en-place for making the dogs.
if you are grilling the dogs, which is the best way to do this but not the easiest for those living in a shoebox brooklyn apartment. if the latter applies to you, continue reading.
pour the beer in a pot and heat over medium heat. add the hot dogs (if the beer does not cover the dogs completely, add water until it does) and heat slowly until a simmer. while this is happening, heat a cast iron or nonstick pan on low heat with neutral oil, and toast the buns lightly let warm. Once the hotdogs have simmered, place the hot dogs in the pan and let them heat gently (if the heat is too high and they are sizzling, turn it down - the idea is to cook them through without the skin bursting). keep turning the hot dogs until lightly charred and hot to the touch. place directly in buns and drizzle liberally with both sauces and toppings. enjoy right away!
original recipe. original photographs. all rights reserved by author.
this author pays respects to all exterior works and authors presented.
a downloadable pdf copy of the recipe can be found here.
Was at Coney Island with your dad and a friend back in the day. Decided to join them, against all my good instincts, prompted only by a dare, to go on the Cycloner. Remember the sound of the wood slats and creaks mixed with my own terror. Never been on a roller coaster since.... But still love Coney Island. Especially the Mermaid Parade.