Harper Lewis
Bio
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
MA English literature, College of Charleston
Achievements (7)
Stories (127)
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Football Friday Night. Content Warning.
It was one of those magical southern nights in October, and all of the teenagers in town were drunk on autumn and youth. There would be a party after the football game, and youthful concupiscence would be satisfied before the moon set in the morning sky. In anticipation of this, the boys were dousing themselves in Polo and Drakkar Noir while the girls teased their bangs into ski slopes and lacquered them above their heavily mascaraed eyes lined with kohl and painted hot pink stripes on their cheekbones. Def Leppard and Whitesnake blasted from boomboxes perched on dressers and lingerie chests. Pliers were used to zip jeans, and Marlboro Lights were smuggled out of sock drawers and into handbags while condoms pressed their circular imprint into dollar bills in wallets in back pockets.
By Harper Lewis3 months ago in Chapters
Laundry
The sun was about halfway down the afternoon sky, and the late-summer mugginess was nearly visible. The vague hum of suburban noise lingered here and there on this hazy late July day. Susan pointed the nozzle of the hose at a withering hydrangea, fuming, absolutely certain that something was going on with Sam and Lila. She nearly tripped over the cedar stump when she put the hose back. She and Sam had the tree cut when they bought the house; it had been almost completely choked with wisteria and was a threat to the house. Susan had been more upset about losing the wisteria than the tree. The purple blossoms looked like grapes to her, so pretty in the spring sky.
By Harper Lewis3 months ago in Fiction
William Faulkner
The speech is below, in case his accent is too thick for you to understand, like the attendees at the Nobel Banquet in 1950. Faulkner finished his short, brilliant speech and was met with devastating silence, his Mississippi drawl rendering his speech unintelligible to most of those international ears.
By Harper Lewis3 months ago in Writers
Recitation
I love reciting this poem. For me, there’s a glimmer of sadness embedded in the sardonic wit, and there’s also a small epiphany within it for me, in the line “thewoman wasnot/quite Fourteen till she smiled/then/Centuries.” There’s an acknowledgment of feminine wisdom and knowledge that’s generally lacking in masculine poetry, and there’s something in her value being double that of the room. I, of course, know she’s worth much more than that. There’s also something else in that six for me outside of dollars, an echo of Persephone’s pomegranate seeds perhaps, or maybe some other allusion I can’t articulate, but this poem does what poetry should do—it makes me look at things differently
By Harper Lewis3 months ago in Writers
