photoart: ralph murre
SCISSOR HAPPY
by Bonnie T. Summers
If I were a pair of scissors, I would do
whatever I wanted, even what I was not supposed to. I would not do it to be
mean, only to test my strength and agility against substantive matters. Just cut loose, for the sheer joy of it!
I would start with wires—the ones that promise
instant, static-free and worldwide connection, illumination, or perfect
toast—and show them who’s really in charge.
I would carve mazes through graph paper grids,
score “Fold Here” lines across Rolodex cards, and shape colored file folders
into Matisse-like organic forms. I would pretend to be pinking shears,
zigzagging the rows of Avery labels, then snap crayons in two with my
might.
I would give cloth
napkins interesting edges. I’d see what I could do with Tupperware, baskets
woven of natural material, frozen waffles, a ripe kiwi, a raw egg. I would cut
into empty plastic milk bottles for practice, then open the refrigerator and
jab low into a full one, watching to see white pools form and cascade over the
glass shelves beneath.
Next I would find the
needlepoint-covered piano bench and painstakingly separate foreground from
background. I’d slide my blade along candle edges and scrape the wax shavings
into a Ziploc bag. I’d cut through several pairs of pantyhose at once, thereby
amputating the legs. I would snip squares from the seats of underpants and
stars out of bra cups. I would fringe the shower curtain, skewer bars of soap
and carve a Q-tip lengthwise. I’d form small spirals in bath towels so that
fingers could point through. I would trim eyelashes very carefully.
I would cut the edges of hardbound books along
the center spine because they’re beautiful, and the narrow space between the
binding and glued pages fits me perfectly.
I’d make anatomically correct paper dolls from brown grocery bags,
crosshatch the palms of mittens, and give scalloped haircuts to anyone who
wants a new look. I’d double the number of family photographs by slicing them
in two. I would shorten the chains that hang from the ceiling’s bare light bulb
fixtures and snip bits of carpet to collect in a small glass bowl. I would
divide the retractable metal tape measure at regular intervals. I’d make a
diagonal incision in the toothpaste tube, rinse myself off and look around for
something more.
I would go outside to
carve rosebuds horizontally and spiral-cut a watermelon still on the vine. I
would engrave infinity signs into aluminum siding, crew cut the paintbrushes
and bisect bicycle spokes. I would slit the inside roof of the car to see
what’s between fabric and steel and, of course, explore the upholstery. As to
the cables under the hood, I would use my discretion. I would open up the
garden hose lengthwise, then go down the street.
I would encourage the
cracks in sidewalks to continue on their way, help the elderly mow their lawns
and de-foam cappuccino. I’d poke peek-a-boo holes in newspapers for rush hour,
then carve X’s and O’s into the headstones of dead relatives.
I’d shred the paper
covers on the doctor’s examining table into confetti while waiting, and make
sieves out of those little plastic specimen cups. I would slice condoms
(unoccupied ones) at ¼” intervals, making handy rubber bands. I would cut
quarters into quarters.
I would gently coax the hands away from
clocks, so we can see their faces better. I’d make Disney-like topiaries
throughout city parks, filigree snowballs, wreak havoc with cans of paint and
remove the bottoms from Nordstrom Anniversary Sale shopping bags. I would make
vestments holey and legal briefs brief. I would trim the sails, making tall
ships short. I would deckle the edges of tax returns, split a bottle of Merlot
and emancipate violin strings. I would decide when the theatre curtain comes
down.
I would trim cumulus
clouds away from blue sky to be repositioned at will, like Colorforms. I’d
shred ribbons of highways along their dotted yellow lines. I would shape
sedimentary rock into giant chess pieces. I would make the Arctic Circle oval,
and create a trapezoid from a Greyhound bus windshield. I would turn sunsets
into 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, then perforate the night sky so stars and
planets could connect dot-to-dot.
I would cut through red
tape. I would cut class, corners, the
lights and the mustard. I would cut and not paste. I would snip the thin
elastic strings that hold masks in place, penetrate hard hearts, deflate egos,
and eliminate class, race and gender barriers once and for all. I would cut the
umbilical cord and apron strings. I
would sever ties. And then? Well,
Venetian blinds have a certain appeal—maybe next I’ll clip the cords between
the slats, bottom to top, right side first . . . just to see what would happen.
~ first published in Peninsula Pulse
