Important Announcement

The Depot Gallery and office will be closed until at least the end of May, 2020. We will reassess at that time. Phone messages will be checked regularly and calls returned. We do this out of an abundance of caution and concern for the health of our community.
Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Maria VeresWriter and poet Maria Veres will be featured at the January 8 Second Sunday Poetry Reading in the Norman Depot, 200 S. Jones. Light refreshments will be served at the 2:00 pm reading. There is no admission charge.

Maria Veres' poetry and prose have appeared in over fifty literary and mainstream magazines, including The Lyric, Mid America Poetry Review, Bridal Guide, and Country Woman. Her chapbook Waiting for Miracles was published by Village Books Press in fall 2007. She is working on a second chapbook. A frequent reader at area poetry events, she is one of the hosts of the Last Sunday Poetry Reading in Oklahoma City. This is Veres’ third reading at the Performing Arts Studio.

Veres teaches adult-education creative writing classes at Francis Tuttle Technology Center in Oklahoma City and is first vice president of Oklahoma Writers Federation, Inc. She holds an M.A. in English from Texas State University. Veres lives in Edmond with her husband and daughter.

Enjoy the paintings of Carolyn Faseler in the Depot Gallery while attending the poetry reading.  Performing Arts Studio office and gallery hours in the Depot are 8:00 am to 2:00 pm Monday through Friday.  Phone 405-307-9320 for further information on PAS programs.

Gallery exhibitions and other PAS programs are made possible in part by grants from the Oklahoma Arts Council and the National Endowment for the Arts.

Surprise Ending

I expect a tiara.
I get a one-eighth-carat diamond bought on sale,
a growly Prince Not-So-Charming who tracks mud
all over my rugs. Too late I discover why
those smiley-baby magazine pictures
are deliberately left unscented.
No one tells me how much kids' bikes and broken legs cost
how much everything costs, especially sleep
how many tear-sogged tissues I'll leave behind
on the path to womanly fulfillment
how I might run away forever
if not for that one crystal morning,
all of us outside sucking perfect icicles
if not for wild blackberries behind the shed
so many our bucket overflows
if not for the scent of pumpkin bread
arms circling my too-thick waist for no reason
promising I haven't failed Happy Family, after all.