Subversion of a Crossword Puzzle

I found this creative non-fiction piece while packing up my bookshelf for the big move. The year was 2006; I was not sleeping and thinking in riddles. Naturally, enjoy.
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Prompt: Subversion of a Text
Result: Subversion of a Crossword Puzzle

Haiku, e.g. I know what you’re asking and there are better examples. Karate: I took lessons until I was eight because I wanted to be a ninja (turtle). Sushi: I’m not good with chopsticks. Hello Kitty: Like on Danielle’s lunchbox. Hiroshima: I’m sorry. Origami: I can still make a crane and a drinking cup and I’m not someone who cuts the paper to bypass folding. JAPANESETHINGS. Doesn’t fit. Idiot. Acrostic, ballad, clerihew…

Fifty percent. Is HALF.

Anonymous writer, perhaps. Sweet Valley High, tell-all biography. Front yard pages of the magazine. Who’s kissing who, who’s backstage, who’s dining where—always uncredited. Instruction manuals, ingredient labels, billboards, graffiti, overwhelming sadness. I was once an anonymous writer, perhaps. Slipped sexually suggestive material through a SLIT (17 Across, Narrow opening) in my crush’s locker. He didn’t make a move. Mine was not a case of overwhelming sadness. SE R TAD I R R.

Genetic attribute. (TRAIT.) Belongs to Mom: Taste buds, breasts, hips, neck, chin (multiple), some freckles, cheekbones, internal suffering, tolerance to hard liquor, antibody resistance, duration of menstrual cycle, small nose, well-formed eyebrows (before she singed hers off with a Bunsen burner), acne during puberty, size of hands, back fat, size of pores, cinderblock thighs, ability to cook meals, color of irises (hers a little darker), ability to clean rooms, obsessive compulsiveness, dyed hair (affinity for), piercings, responsibility at a young age, popularity, lingering exoticism. Belongs to Dad: forehead/hairline, spatial (any type of) reasoning, jaundiced skin color, eye shape, straight hair, emotional repression, sports (affinity for), neck, chins (multiple), fingernails (bitten), feet (ugly), blood pressure, cheeks on top of cheekbones, extreme passivity, sweat glands, bone structure, crooked teeth, cynicism (not political beliefs), other freckles, more acne, calves (lean), lint-trapping innie, test scores, work ethic, no trace of exoticism. Belongs to me: scar on my nose (too late for stitches; no ball in the house), height (the average of them).

African country. This anonymous writer, perhaps, exploits the us versus them. They are savage, far away, with plenty of demarcation. Our (lack of) answer hinges on us not knowing (caring). A bushman thinks fifty states is just as absurd. Hawaii is more complicated than Madagascar. We both have territories that fit. Idaho, Texas, Maine. Niger, Egypt, Libya, Ghana, Gabon, Congo, Sudan, Benin, Kenya, it’s KENYA, it’s KENYA. Look, the map shows mountains and deserts and waterfalls and it seems to be an interesting place. I dog-ear the page, well-knowing I will never return.

Resound. Sound again. I picture myself in a tunnel, bathing in decibels. Holding a conch to my ear. HELLO, HELLO, HELLO. I am queasy. How did you fit a reverberating memory in such a tiny space? There are better clues. Greek nymph. Soviet submarine. Unix command. Internet protocol. Framework for Java programming. Marvel superhero. Between delta and foxtrot. and the Bunnymen.

New York city. Not City. You are asking to be less impressive. Focus my attention upstate, on topography, natural resources. I ache to make a borough fit. Bronx has five letters but I know it’s not what you mean. Real cities make people fit. BRONX. The joke is on you, starting a five-letter word with X. (Xerox, xenon.) Fine, hand me that eraser. If we played by your rules no one would visit cities. In five letters you must hold mass transit systems, museums, shopping districts, hot dog vendors, high rises, children playing, pollution, homelessness, apathy. Forty-four unprovoked gunshots to the body. Two very big buildings, crumbling, coming down. You skirt City to avoid sadness and now I understand. I put UTICA in its place.

Greek letters. Delta is one, but not the one between delta and foxtrot. I know Greek letters. I see them right before I blackout. In the bushes or some sophomore’s bed. (If there are no sheets on the bed.) I remember you between bouts of chastity. It took forever for me to learn your house’s name. A sign with ivy creeping: a circle with vertical line, an L turned on its head, a triangle. I know delta. I know turned on its head. I came back to learn your friends’ names. Phi, then gamma, then delta. This alphabet is only useful when you want (someone) to get to know your body. Gamma and delta don’t align. I will come back to you.

Sibilant “Yo!” Easy. PSSST.

Like liters and grams. You measure red wine in liters and pot in grams. I know(;) I squandered youth. Whites are measured in liters, too. People who do the measuring call it litres. It is: half the capacity of the soda bottles my mother buys for parties. It is: the weight of a paperclip. We learned in third grade. Somewhere around sixteen, weight became mass. We were older and they told us it wasn’t weight unless it had direction. I know no direction from too much measuring. If I had a vector to guide (pull) me, I wouldn’t be filling white boxes with black next to black boxes. It is a factory for packaging ennui. Arrow says, this side up.

Utah ski resort. My ex-boyfriend never took me. I’ve never been skiing (or ice skating) so I asked and he agreed because he has money. Not Utah; too far. I only know of their Mormons and saltiness. We decided Wisconsin, fake hills, imported snow. Something not too intimidating for a beginner. He went to Europe for Thanksgiving, skied in the Alps. I just wanted him to repeat something he had already done, this time with me. Be indulged. We didn’t end up going. We had a snowball fight instead. We’re not together anymore, but that’s not why. I just remembered (noticed) that ski is in my (Polish) last name. I will come back to you.

Piece of cake. Easy. EASY.

Wash. neighbor. Could b Ore. or Ida. or B.C. (as in not b4 christ.) Also a neighbor 2 P.O. (as in not post office), V.I. (as in not very important), P.S. (as in not post script), Mt. St. Hlns (she’s inside, actually), strts, islnds, fjrds! It must b pretty in Wash. Words muted so easily by the magnitude (as in not alt. in ft.) of nature. It is brevity. Fleeting panoramas. B sure 2 c it b4 u die.

People with a gender bias. Are men and women. Children, some. Republicans, published sociologists, transsexuals. Prostitutes, protesters, pediatricians. Feminists, for sure. Exploiters of the colors pink and blue. Designers of public restrooms. Underwear manufacturers. Advertisers of two dollar drink specials (Ladies Night). Policymakers, editors of newspapers and magazines, the inventor of the tampon. (The condom, for that matter.) East Coast companies that monogram your towels (his or hers). The writers of the Bible. Gym teachers, dock workers, etiquette coaches, rappers, pornographers. There will be bias whenever you choose. It is everyone shoved into seven little boxes, but I will make it fit.