Hi everyone. Because I am such a procrastinator, I had the privelege of reading many of your worth while introductions before I actually did the writing part of mine. It's been nice getting to know everyone. Especially impressive were those of you who dared to bare a little soul to us strangers, which is slmost what I am about to do. Realizing that my poetry says more about me than what my favorite things are (which are the same as many as you; e.e. cummings is the man!), I decided to write a little poem.
Autobiographer
Between this stone
and its vertical garden,
I lay on shaded hammock vines,
until they break, and I fall.
For a moment I do,
every time
I am
strong as glass after
it’s been shattered, stained
glass with parts of pictures staring up
at white surfaces
asking to be touched,
I am
learning to walk through
fields, plodding along though fleeting flowers
never meet my sole,
but write letters when I’m gone,
fearing I’ll forget, which I will,
but at a strenuous pace.
These poems that I wrote previous to this assignment probably say even more about the kind of person I am.
Until Tomorrow Morning
Kitty tricked Cowardly finch
never lands On my finger
there is a scar from saving him from Kitty
played tug-of-war and bit me When i won
finch chirped, head flopping over Sideways
his vertical stair made me wail Loudly
i sang “amazing grace� in his key So high
we swung, him in my pocket Like a nest
he felt at home in My Life
held on to His Life
held on to mine.
Mom found dead skin under My fingernail
i cleaned Promptly
she marched me outside to The tree
is outside the bedroom window I had
peeled its bark off leaving A small exposed spot
, she said, was enough to kill It
twinged with Discomfort
of skin sliced It felt
betrayed By me
it stood weak in My crying embrace
held on to His crying embrace
held on to mine.
Dad found us there Tomorrow morning
he smashed finch With two rocks
in his hands, i found him Very angry
eyes glared at me like i had glared at Kitty
and i were no longer allowed to play In the front yard
tree died alone.
Unconditioned Positive Regard
During the skinny-dipping, cliff-jumping, moonfull nights,
I ripped scars I am proud of
like the word “uninhibited� I tattooed
into my unsteady body,
I ripped scars I am proud of
due to all the beer or lack of sleep.
Into my unsteady body
they slipped easily.
Due to all the beer or lack of sleep,
we fought Inhale and Exhale.
They slipped easily,
“Fuck You’s� sung in loving tones.
We fought Inhale and Exhale,
the urges suffocated only half the time.
“Fuck You’s� sung in loving tones,
we were talented if not wrong.
The urges suffocated only half the time
played out like late-night cards at Racy’s Way Too Coffeehouse.
We were talented if not wrong
while demanding indifference and unconditioned positive regard
played out like late-night cards at Racy’s Way Too Coffeehouse,
café mochas making us loudest
while demanding indifference and unconditioned positive regard,
talked out ‘til morning about how we work the world,
café mochas making us loudest.
Inhale and Exhale, necessary antagonists,
talked out ‘til morning about how we work the world.
We were perfect
Inhale and Exhale, necessary antagonists
Like the word “uninhibited� I tattooed.
We were perfect
During the skinny-dipping, cliff-jumping, moonfull nights.
What We Have in Common
before she changed her last name to Salgado
and spent all their money on an American dream,
before she calmed down and forgave herself
for the broken bowls and faces of her four daughters,
my mother was a breathless oboe player beneath
a waterfall of high splashing melody.
she was a yoga instructor, who greeted
souls with, “I bow to the God in you.�
before she was raped by two friends, waking up
half-way through, figuring it was her fault,
before she earned $2000 a night at the Vu
making married men’s pants drool,
and long before she was saved,
my oldest sister would wiggle her nose
like a bunny to make Mom laugh
and get out of chores or trouble.
she embraced strangers the same as
visiting family friends on the 4th of July.
Rival Song
If I were not in this room it would sound the same:
radio waves and city street waves,
light-buzz waves and wind on window waves,
muffled voice waves and eye-contact
waves off the dilated walls.
Since you are here, try to listen to the air
in my mouth,
Tell me, if they peeled my words off paper and threw them out
as song, would you…
shhhhhh, watch me write.
…then would you know it is you they have stolen?
They are my vulnerable perceptions
you sing in the shower when you think no one is here.
It is me you crave to beat the rhythm into your whetted skin.
I wrote the fucking waves!
Look at my face when you read this,
Baby,
the walls are merely lip-syncing.
If I Can’t Help It
You are merely a memory of the future
maybe or I’ve missed you entirely because I
stayed home or feared you and what you could be. After
touching your picture, I need to wash my hands, but there is
no picture so I go through the motions laughing
a lot more than I speak, letting men do all the work. Now I
rarely smile since I took up a camera, and I’m fucking them
only to get to you.
“Tilt your head down slightly into the reach of the bloodless sun sneaking in through the tall bedroom window. Let your left arm fall from the bed, sweeping fingers along the wood floor. Hold that pose; I’m just going to twist the sheet here between your thighs. Take the top with your free hand. Look towards the door. Don’t watch the camera as it flashes handprints on your breast.� I’m so far away. “Stand up! Come towards me, but walk slow.� Backward steps. “Hold your arms out, call out to me with your eyes and torso.� Good. “Stop. This is what I want: lower your arms, don’t let the tears fall, less wrinkles in your forehead. Try to hold this kinetic surge until my last role is finished and I am gone.�
You are possibly a premonition of the past. We’ve
probably happened already.
Either way, this picture is for you of me, or was it
the other way around, and if we have yet to meet, I will have
known who it is by that way you look at the camera that I will leave
on a table so that my hands
are free to relieve you.