Selected prose and poetry of

Laura S. Moore

100 pages, $14 cover price

ISBN: 1-59948-469-2

Released: March, 2014

Edited by Anthony S. Abbott and Lisa Zerkle

(From the “Prologue” by Anthony S. Abbott)

“The very last words of John Irving’s beautiful novel, A Prayer for Owen Meany, are a prayer of the narrator, John Wheelwright, for his beloved friend, Owen Meany. “O God—please give him back. I shall keep asking You.” And surely all of us—family, friends, colleagues—ask God to give us back Laura Suzanne Moore. That she should have been taken from us so quickly, so unexpectedly, so tragically just as she was entering the fullness of her being, the fullness of her talent seems so terribly unjust that we cannot fathom it. Our own lives are smaller for her absence, and the places where we saw her, heard her, laughed with her, cried with her cannot be filled by anyone or anything else….”

Laura Suzanne Moore passed away May 30, 2013. She was born in Charlotte on February 27, 1962. Laura graduated from Wando High School in Mt. Pleasant, SC and The University of South Carolina School of Journalism. She worked in Sales and Marketing at Moore Electric Supply and in Customer Service at the Dowd YMCA.

Laura loved writing and performing. Some of her pieces began at the Moore family farm in Harmony, NC. An award-winning humorist, Laura’s honors included Outstanding Lead Actor and Outstanding Original Short Work from the Metrolina Theatre Association. She was a member of Toastmasters, a founding member of the Perpendicular Poets, and a regular contributor to Just Do It. At the time of her death, Laura was working on a one-woman show based on her grandma stories, to be performed at Theatre Charlotte.

Editors’ Note

The pieces that appear in this book are those that Laura had previously published, performed, or somehow indicated as “finished.” We have included poems, blog posts, Just Do It scripts, and other Laura originals that defy classification. We chose work that shows the wide range of her writing abilities in all of its heart and humor. We hope you enjoy reading them as much as we enjoyed selecting them.
The title of this book comes from the LocationLaura blog post, “It’s a Mad, Mad World.” You can read the full text on page 73. This last paragraph sums up Laura’s attitude towards people and towards life:

“But most of all, please understand that you matter. That every single thing you do matters. The enthusiasm with which you brush your teeth, your passion for Elvis, the number of car lengths in front of you. Every. Thing. Any motion you make is a rock skipping out to the world. Dear Reader, make it count.”

Anthony S. Abbott
Lisa Zerkle

Dysfunctional Relationship

Dear Past:

I’m done with you. I’ve studied your history and discovered you are as you must be. And not so special as I’d thought.

Don’t get me wrong—I thank you for the material. You threw me parents perfectly flawed to skew me in just this way. And you gave me Mrs. Edwards who made me write stories when standing me in the corner didn’t work.

And the boys were worth it. The one who built the cabin log by log, and the beautiful one with the surfboard. I had my doubts about the drug dealer, but, looking back, I’m proud to have dabbled in a little skirting of the law. It built stamina. Even the matrimony that ended in testimony was worth it.

I might’ve made a good mother, but you gave me dogs instead, and I see now that pets are better than jail time.

And smoking! God, how I loved the smoking! The lingering, the malingering, the relief of the release of that sigh of smoke. How I miss it!

But I’m done examining the ash of my days. I’m breaking up with you. We’re through.

Sayonara,
Laura

P.S. I’ll probably call you before the weekend, take you back, pretend like nothing happened.

Outskirts

He loves her
rurally—
the middle of nowhere,
the outskirts of town.

They pass city limits
in the burst
of a limo
but always after,
must take the bus home

To the inner city
where the bustle of everyday
makes her sane again—
whacks her
back into the Now.

She tries to be
a good city dweller,
urbanize her insides
against
the next time
he makes her heart wet
and her body rural.

The Sixes

I despair,
doubt
I’ll ever wear
the sixes
in my closet.

Had I known
their days were numbered
I’d have taken them in
lowered their necklines
raised their hems.

I’d have kicked up stilettos
flounced my flirt
twirled my skirt,
placed more hands on hips,
maybe had poutier lips.
I’d have surely
batted more eyes
if I had known.

I’d have “do-declared”
I’d have taken those dares.
I’d have danced and pranced
fluttered
sashayed and soireed
if I had known.

I despair,
doubt
I’ll ever wear
the eights
in my closet.