Adam Fieled (editor, Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania): "Glass-Bottomed Boat"
What was declasse in the world pissed Mary off
to no end. What was frumpy, almost as much.
Drunken or stoned Mary, just-got-laid Mary,
in a snit Mary, and even violently mood-swung
Mary were all still trooper-level determined to
maintain and consolidate style-levels. So, for Mary
to manifest at the Highwire— and she only made
one major appearance there— sunken into the depths
of pony-tailed, sweat-shirted, no jade pendant-ed
frumpiness, something would have to have been
drastically off. Simple: it was Laurie, grinning impishly
next to her, looking razor-sharp; a dream, in fact, of
elegant semi-business (light business) attire. Laurie was
also, then, often dressed tie-dyed, like a crunchy granola
hippie— was, herself, a crunchy granola hippie— but also
about business, and a pronounced, vested, holistic interest
in her father’s portfolio. That night, Laurie settled herself
and sat around different places in the Highwire, like she
was riding (as I had) a glass-bottomed boat in Nassau. She
found ways of admiring the purple-striped fish (like Mary
and I), the sky-blue fish, the ratty-tailed fishes, especially
the lugubriously huge ones, but they were all beneath her,
and securely so. In the war the two sisters were fighting,
Laurie was momentarily winning, and saw expansive
years coming, as a bridge to an easy victory. With
me forgotten, Mary would occupy space in the world
as Crazy Aunt Mary, semi-bag lady, living on other’s charity,
probably hers. And that would be fine. Mary disagreed.
© Adam Fieled 2026
to no end. What was frumpy, almost as much.
Drunken or stoned Mary, just-got-laid Mary,
in a snit Mary, and even violently mood-swung
Mary were all still trooper-level determined to
maintain and consolidate style-levels. So, for Mary
to manifest at the Highwire— and she only made
one major appearance there— sunken into the depths
of pony-tailed, sweat-shirted, no jade pendant-ed
frumpiness, something would have to have been
drastically off. Simple: it was Laurie, grinning impishly
next to her, looking razor-sharp; a dream, in fact, of
elegant semi-business (light business) attire. Laurie was
also, then, often dressed tie-dyed, like a crunchy granola
hippie— was, herself, a crunchy granola hippie— but also
about business, and a pronounced, vested, holistic interest
in her father’s portfolio. That night, Laurie settled herself
and sat around different places in the Highwire, like she
was riding (as I had) a glass-bottomed boat in Nassau. She
found ways of admiring the purple-striped fish (like Mary
and I), the sky-blue fish, the ratty-tailed fishes, especially
the lugubriously huge ones, but they were all beneath her,
and securely so. In the war the two sisters were fighting,
Laurie was momentarily winning, and saw expansive
years coming, as a bridge to an easy victory. With
me forgotten, Mary would occupy space in the world
as Crazy Aunt Mary, semi-bag lady, living on other’s charity,
probably hers. And that would be fine. Mary disagreed.
© Adam Fieled 2026
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