semantikon feature literature
June 2009:
Emily Habermehl
1. Fire
2. Banners
3. My Head
4. Mexican Cemetaries
5. Toads
6. A Soldier and an Unmade Bed
7. The Cigarette girl, the Sow and the Mermaid
8. Is This Thing On?
9. Raisins and Prunes (Reduced for Quick Sale)
Emily Jean Habermehl was born in Philadelphia and has called Austin home since 2001.  She has been writing poetry since she was 12 years old and currently works as a licensed social worker for a large non-profit agency.  She received her Master’s degree in Social Work from the University of Texas at Austin in 2007.  You can read more of her work at:
emily habermehl broadside poster
Download June 2009
Broadside Poster
About Artist:

emily habermehl, poet, essayist, pushcart prize, friscoshoes, brambles, austin, texas, pennsylvania,

Raisins and Prunes (reduced for quick sale)
Editor's Note: This Work Originally Appeared in Empowerment4Women in 2008

When asked
She had hopped on
That motorcycle (told hesitation to take a backseat)

Wrapped her arms around his
Leather jacket
Elation had come through her
Easy as the wind in her hair
The engine growled as they whisked
Down streets paved just for them

(The glint of an exacto knife can be so subtle dear…)

Her fingers had glided gently against
The nape of his neck
(but here’s the trick…
He had taken her there in the first place)

(Weren’t you told to look both ways before crossing the street?)

A ghost had stood before her but it looked like a man


Later in the kitchen
Pouring pancake batter
Onto the hot popping Teflon
She didn’t notice
At first
But the plastic spatula left her hand
Flipped through the air (it had will)
Landed on top of the microwave

(Why did you go where you don’t belong?)


It was then it became evident
Her bra was full of raisins
Only prunes between her legs
Cement crusted in her hair
And now


I’ve been reduced for quick sale

(He decided he’d rather not have what sagged in her what was left from who she was before no he didn’t want her bright eyes because he wouldn’t hold the raisins and prunes in his brutal hands)

Still she’s sad 'cause she can’t hate him

(Sometimes we would rather be hit than not touched at all)