Edition #68: Some Poems I Wrote
Edition #68: Some Poems I Wrote
Plus, horny groceries, a stunning photo series, and Oscar-nominated shorts
A Note From the Editor
Some weeks I enter this space knowing exactly what I what to write about, feeling certain of what I have to say. It might be a thought spurred by something I recently read, a moment I witnessed between strangers that sparked a fuse of an idea in my imagination, or a long-held belief that I attempt to articulate in a semblance of cohesion. Whatever it is, it is almost always personal and timely in the scope of my life. Without particular intention this space has become intimate; a dinner party filled with intriguing friends and strangers and lovers, one where I’ve sipped just enough wine to be loose-lipped and cracked open.
At the end of March, coming off the low of my first bout of writer’s block and the high of having my first short story published, I spent some time reflecting on how I should approach writing in the coming months. Something was eroding inside of me and I feared I was wading into dangerous waters, wanting to create for the wrong reasons. Art, at its truest core, should be an expression of self; an exploration and an unearthing that requires time and space to step back, to pause. I pondered this truth, posed a thought to myself and sat with it, resulting in the decision to move with the tides of creativity whenever they took me, from whatever source they flowed, in whatever format felt natural. As such, I began scrawling words and phrases in my notebook as they erratically sprung to mind, and the result was something like poetry.
The series of three poems below came from this uncharted creative territory and this is the first I’ve tried typing them up. The first poem, A Lover’s Dance, is a series of three short poems in one. The latter two are individual poems, though I think all three work best when read in sequential order.
A Lover’s Dance
One step forward
We open the door
ajar, burst through it with
torches and
lacerated hearts
Parading around our scars like
wounded soldiers back from battle
The opposite of
normal, the opposite of
normative.
You, confess with a certain
haste,
a Sacrament of Penance
I, struggle to swallow
grapple with the person I
thought I was,
or claim to be
Two steps back
The first day of
the Puritan week
After chores, after lists, after filled grocery
carts and false promises to self
might act brand new
The phone will not ring
you will be checking
(in my imagination)
Space is created with the aid of
silence. Cool, not cold
a betrayal too soft to be named
I drink up the familiar elixir of
power in
fabricated distance
Once again I am
The Man
holding a baby bird in my
cupped palms,
feeling its delicate bones
A set of fine china
cloaked in feathers
knowing
what my fingers are capable ofAn inch forward
my heart racing after
just one cycle of the sun
New rules I’ve constructed
prickle on my tounge
The referee, seeking
order. Keeping
score
But the game is
unfamiliar, the game is but
a dance and we are
clinging to eachother,
learning the choreography as
we go, stepping
on toes with crushing
weight as the melody
loops and loopsFalse God / A Lover’s Edge
The Earth is bleeding and we have been taught
a new set of commandments:
WORSHIP the greens, lightly dressed
WORSHIP the tags, itchy, mass-produced
WORSHIP the clout, an emptied cereal bowl. HollowI, foolishly, choose
a different diety
bursting with the
juices of promise, veiled in
compliments. Stormy black
beneath the veneer
of shine
Clotted blood crusted over wounds
still oozing, still unhealed,
but beckoning
A mermaids siren song, singing
Come, dear, you could be
loved
Come, dear, you will be
held
Come, dear, you may be
demolishedI step forward
Pretty Thing
The space we are to occupy is
shaped like a slender heel. Needle thin,
suffocating
Blistered boils sprouting on tender flesh,
extracting all comfort, pus seeping
from cracked skin
— but prettyPain is baked in to our
anatomy, the mark of our kind
First, an offering
jellied blood and rounded hips
Then, a vessel,
tearing skin suckled raw
After, irrelevant. They say,
you did what you were sent here to do
but they do not say
thank youWhy, then, the surprise? When
we are told we must contort
our capable bodies to fit in
to a pearl-sized
box, like the home of
the ring he slides on
your finger, a reminder of
the stakes.
A mark
this pretty thing is mine
Cheers, my dears, and thank you for entertaining my foray into the elusive field of poetry. I admittedly know nothing about the medium and have never taken a poetry class or workshop of any sort, but exploring the coupling of words during bursts of raw emotion has been a worthwhile endeavor. I like the freedom poetry grants in comparison to fiction writing, where character and plot and dialogue are carefully calculated chess maneuvers. If you’re feeling up for more poetry, might I suggest this stunning poem, followed by this one? I’ll never stop loving this illustrated poem, which still makes me cry ugly tears (just reaffirmed). This short poem still feels timely, and this longer one reads like an expression of a full life.
Do you read poetry? If so, I’d love to hear suggestions for a few of your favorite poems.
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
The Gloriously Filthy Allure of Horny Groceries. Never have I ever felt so seen by such a seemingly click-baity titled essay. Exploring first the inherent sensuality of fruit, but really, something deeper: the magic that happens at small markets and specialty grocers, during those moments where you enter a store with a vague idea of what you want, allowing an impassioned shop owner or clerk to guide you, direct you, have you taste this or that.
Soares visited family in Puglia not long after first seeing the photo, and found himself in Bancroft’s position, ridden with pleasure, when a farmer handed him a fig right off a tree. It inspired him to write, in an essay, “Am I cumming or is the fig?”
Working on a Suicide Hotline Changed How I Talk to Everyone. Consider your conversations with friends and loved ones, how you enter the conversation with historical knowledge of a person. You already have a set of assumptions about who they are, and how you perceive what they are about to tell you is shaped by this knowledge. But what if there was a different, more effective way to listen? This piece explores how a suicide hotline volunteer learned to communicate in an entirely new manner through her work dealing with strangers in crisis. There is a lesson to be learned here for all of us.
Fool Me Twice: A New Photo Series by Sarah Bahbah. If you’re not following Sarah Bahbah yet, I will first say you’re welcome. Sarah is one of my favorite artists because her medium is so visually beautiful, yet utterly cutting. I’m particularly amazed at what a punch her work packs with so few words. In her new series, currently being released daily on Instagram, she explores a relationship between two lovers with different attachment styles. Following along feels like watching a rare form of still cinema.
Perhaps You Should…
Watch the Oscar-Nominated Shorts
Every year, IFC plays the Oscar-nominated live-action shorts and it is always a treat. I went this past Sunday morning and got immersed in these powerful stories—if you’re able, I highly suggest watching them (check your local indie theatre, or watch online). My favorite was Feeling Through, a heartfelt, feel-good tale. Two Distant Strangers was supremely difficult to watch but powerful and, unfortunately, increasingly relevant in our tumultuous climate of police brutality. The Present was another favorite.
**Bonus Content** (A Little Badass)
Paige Tobin is six years old. SIX! I have nothing more to say about it except that I dream of having a daughter so fearless and badass.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“Had they known at these moments to be quietly joyful? Most likely not. People mostly did not know enough when they were living life that they were living it.”
-Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.”