Poetry, Prose and Possible Embarrassment

[Poe]

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<div style="text-align:center;"><p>Just figured I'd jump on the bandwagon and post a bit of my own poetry on here. Well, poetry/prose/random creative non-fiction that I've been musing over. So here they are: the works of a <em>loser-wannabe-should've-could've-would've-majored-in-writing</em> nobody. </p></div>


<p> I. "Untitled" Her slender legs crooked over the sink, beckoning the lamb to slaughter as if to say <em>Mrs. Robinson I think you’re trying to—</em> cigarette slung lazily at the apex of her fore and middle finger, clenched in a fist, as Marvin tries to peel back the layers of sweat soaked and makeup stained skin for <em>so long</em> but she can only give <em>so much</em> when she has herself mapped out on the bottom of empty bottles and in the space between radio static. But his fingers keep gripping and tugging and the horns blare through bone – rattling the doorknob – begging and pleading and <em>needing</em>. But no one ever teaches how it is that you can complete someone who doesn’t complete you.


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[Poe]

II. "After the Wake"


It was the most pretentious restaurant,


and my father had taught me to never


snap at a waitress, but it was goddamn near


eight and I never lost my temper—so I


opened my mouth but water came out


though my goblet was still full.


I asked her what was on the steak—


“Sirloin,” she said, “With an herbal rub,”


meant to tenderize the meat and I meant


to ask if she knew that corpses had to be


rubbed in order to embalm and position


them within a casket, but I nodded instead.


When the sirloin came I couldn’t stomach


all the juices that pooled around the meat—


the knife scraping against the plate.


I couldn’t so I turned to the potato


but it was so white and the skin peeled back


and my hands were never meant for autopsies.


So I sat watching the drinks walk by,


Carrying my father and aunt, never my uncle.


I wish they’d carry me but I spent more time


Tucked away in a corner, balling fists,


assuring people that, yes, I was little Danielle


and no, I still felt just as small.


Wishing I could speak with the authority


of a fourth glass of wine, instead of


wondering how much stain a wooden floor


could take before it began to swell


and decompose, cells rupturing—breaking


pushing straight from the inside out.


And as we finished, my uncle grabbed my hand


for the first time since I can’t remember—


and told me that this was not the time


nor the place—breakdowns were for bedrooms


and after we’ve all said our peace.


But I think—he missed the point.

 

[Dusky]

Oooohhh. I shall surely have more to say about this later. Good things, I promise.

 

[Grey]

Like Dusk, I'm going to have to return to this following a period of reflection - but it's nice to see such great work in here.

 

[Poe]

III. April 24, 2013


I will never forgive you, or myself


for not holding on longer—we were both


born with a steel grip and sharp tongue so


why is it I can’t shake that image of your lips


parting and gasping, tongue pushing forward


like the swell against a dam, as you drown yourself


from the inside out? Your hand still holding mine,


no cinematic drop, but instead just the feeling of


no longer and goodbye. Your forehead still warm


when I whispered into your skin through parted lips.


I swore I saw your chest move under your


New England Patriots fleece that you swore,


up and down, that you could never live without.


I never imagined a heart stopping would feel so


much like a hiccup—not that I ever considered what


it might feel like to hold a soul and lose it in a moment,


but I suppose I always thought of water or wind,


and it’s just a moment, swift and quick, blink and its gone.


But I didn’t know, so I held on when they lowered your bed,


adjusted the thin pillows and tucked in your blankets.


I remembered the car ride when Sean said that cold


would slow the decomposing and suddenly


I let go with an elastic snap—I have clammy hands,


And you—holding on meant losing you, but then again,


so did letting go. But you did it first.


I swear I felt you let go first.


 
IV. Through Two Black Eyes


Of all the way I could miss you,


it seems the whiskey stained smoke


that crept from your lips in


cartoon curls is at the top of the list.


A Wile E. Coyote smile, you promised


I would never have the chance,


to run away with someone


as wrong for me as you were.


So we ran as far as a quarter tank


and a package of Slim Jims could take us.


Chasing whiskey with each others breaths


but since that night I can’t remember


how to breathe myself back in.


Somewhere on that desert road—


the sun hot on our backs—our run


became your chase. And I thought


the first bomb was a joke, and the tunnels


painted onto stone slabs were just a game.


And I fear what will happen, when


the day comes that my legs give out—


but I’ll never again have the chance, to run


from anyone as wrong for me as you are.

 

[Grey]

Right then. Turns out this is mostly just appreciate commentary.


I. "Untitled" is wonderfully evocative. There's an immediate, excellent sense of context and the mood is... inescapable. Not sure how I feel about the end - but then, could it really end any other way?


II. "After the Wake" wavers between spectacular, and just barely missing that mark. I feel like something in the structure or word choice is off, but I cannot, infuriatingly, put my finger on it. The sudden switches in imagery are excellent and appropriate jarring, but I suppose it feels as if they could flow better, or be more violently disruptive - either works.


III. April 24, 2013 is one I do not, honestly, feel entirely comfortable offering critique for. It's quite lovely throughout, but I think it starts and ends very strongly with a slightly weaker middle. I may just be weary of blank verse.


IV. Through Two Black Eyes. Oof, doesn't that title just get more sinister the longer you think about it. I don't actually have anything else to say about this one; it's great.


Thanks for sharing. Looking forward to seeing more!


And if you fancy disassembling any of my work, it'd be appreciated.

 

[Poe]

Right then. Turns out this is mostly just appreciate commentary.
I. "Untitled" is wonderfully evocative. There's an immediate, excellent sense of context and the mood is... inescapable. Not sure how I feel about the end - but then, could it really end any other way?


II. "After the Wake" wavers between spectacular, and just barely missing that mark. I feel like something in the structure or word choice is off, but I cannot, infuriatingly, put my finger on it. The sudden switches in imagery are excellent and appropriate jarring, but I suppose it feels as if they could flow better, or be more violently disruptive - either works.


III. April 24, 2013 is one I do not, honestly, feel entirely comfortable offering critique for. It's quite lovely throughout, but I think it starts and ends very strongly with a slightly weaker middle. I may just be weary of blank verse.


IV. Through Two Black Eyes. Oof, doesn't that title just get more sinister the longer you think about it. I don't actually have anything else to say about this one; it's great.


Thanks for sharing. Looking forward to seeing more!


And if you fancy disassembling any of my work, it'd be appreciated.

Thank you! I really appreciate the feedback, it's been a long time since I've come out of the woodwork and let anyone read my writing. It's wonderful to hear such lovely thoughts from you!


Also, I'm so glad it's not just me who is frustrated with "After the Wake." There was always just something so small off with it that held it back and I can't for the LIFE of me figure out what it is.

 

[Dusky]

She's receptive to critique! Can we keep her, Grey?


I suspect my own thoughts will come later tonight.

 

[Poe]

She's receptive to critique! Can we keep her, Grey?
I suspect my own thoughts will come later tonight.

I look forward to it!

 

[Poe]

Flashback to the days when I dabbled in creative non-fiction. *cue booing*





The Homewrecker’s Guide to the Galaxy


1. When he shows up to your door with a crooked smile and the promise of adventure, do not follow. Bid him a good night and wish him well. Do not falter. Do not walk out that door. Do not let his hand touch yours. Do not let him pull you through the threshold. Do not let your father see you.


2. Bring up his girlfriend. Doesn’t she love this lake? Didn’t she introduce you to country music? Do not believe for a second that he hasn’t thought about her once while being with you. Think about her. Remember her name. Say it out loud.


3. Delete that picture of you two off of your camera. Stop wearing his sweatshirt, people will notice. She will notice.


4. Stop skipping math to be with him. You’ll regret it. Do not miss the lesson on isosceles triangles. You will always be the shorter edge.


5. When your father calls your name, go home.


6. Push his arms away when he tries to pull you close. Do not let him pull you closer. Do not let him smile into your hair and hold your hands.


7. When he says your hair smells nice, change shampoos.


8. The day she comes to your door, hold your tongue. Do not apologize. Do not make excuses. Do not tell her you didn’t mean to hurt her.


9. Lock the door when you cry. Let him knock, but do not let him in. When he pulls you in his arms and tells you that it feels right, tell him it felt better alone.


10. Do not believe him when he says there is no place he’d rather be.


11. Stop looking for her in the mirror. Stop putting on more eyeliner, put those heels back in your closet, put back on those old ratty graphic tees. Do not shorten your hair, do not dot your I’s with a heart. Leave your name alone.


12. When he leans in to kiss you, walk the other way.


13. Do not understand when he tells you he needs to think. Tell him that he either cares for you or he doesn’t. Do not be surprised when the phone calls stop coming. He was never yours to keep.


14. When he calls, let it go to voicemail.


15. When he knocks on your door, go back to sleep.


16. Stop crying when he tells you it has always been her, and it will always be her. Stop holding your arms and bite your tongue. Take it. Remember those words.


17. Do not interrupt him. Keep your eyes locked on his, especially when he looks to the ground, the sky but never in your eyes. Embrace the silence, let him stammer; let him try to find the right way to tell you how you weren’t enough.


18. When he talks himself in circles, just watch. Do not smile. Do not cry. Your heart will tell you to help him, but remember it was also the thing that made you want him most. You deserve this.


19. When he asks if you’ll stay, walk away.


20. Five years later when he hits on you, newly single, make sure you turn around, smile, and tell him that it’s never been him and it will never be him. When he comes back at you with sharp words and a Budweiser tongue, wish him well. Remember the way he squirmed as he begged you to stay, the way he couldn’t keep his hands out of your hair and your name off his lips.


21. Let that be enough.

 

[Poe]

V. Therapy Session #1


Tell me about your mother. My mother. I laugh.


My poor mother. I came barreling out of my mother


like a firecracker; arms outstretched, screeching


Don’t Rain on My Parade—No. He says.


No jokes, just tell me about your mother.


She bore me, I say. She was so ready when I was born


that she delved in, lassoed me with an umbilical chord and


played tug of war with—Stop. Tell me about the disease.


The what? The disease. I thought you wanted me to talk


about my mother. I do, he smiles, so tell me about how she is,


now. Now? I couldn’t tell you. Why not? He asks. I am silent.


I am thinking of the Swedish Chef, a mouth full of marbles,


bad infomercial actors, quadriplegic tap dances, babies with


cheerios all over their faces. I think of sloths and Bob Dylan


and out-of-tune pianos and infants and cigarette smoke and


hospitals and wetting the bed and bathroom linoleum and


infants and being eighteen and her lying naked on the bathroom floor


and why-the-hell-wouldn’t-you-say-something and infants and


infants and you’re a god damn fucking infant. I think about why


and how and you poor thing and wishing and children


laughing and red cheeks and punching braces through Sara’s cheek and


crying and bloody knuckles and why me and why fucking me and


this is a secret and this stays in the family and Leann Womack


and choking on syllables and health class projects and you are just


so brave. I pick at the skin around my nails and hope that it does not


peel back to reveal a mirror image of the skeleton I was born of, tore


chunks of flesh out of as I clawed my way out of a time bomb, crying


because I knew I had done her a favor but they saved her and I


have not seen my mother’s eyes in ten years. He looks at me,


eyebrows raised, awaiting the answer to his question. Danielle—


he says, why not? Just tell me about your mother.


I smiled, I’m not quite sure you’d understand the punch line.

 

[Poe]

VI. Beale Street


I shredded my poems outside of BB King’s,


the pavement cluttered with half-assed ideas


and why the fuck can’t I sing the blues but I


vomited at Silky’s until I could feel the saxophone


blaring from my bones, so I swear I’m getting there.


I’ve got some gospel in my soul, and if you would only put


your hand there just one more time I think I could manage


to pull a little rock ‘n roll from my hip bones. But you


told me that its in my blood and when I skinned my knees


the Mississippi poured out so I sat on the corner next


to the ghost of WC Handy with my head in my hands


until he disappeared with the rising sun. And though


the crowds were gone and the bars locked, I could feel


the rhythm in my hands, just begging for a bass line.

 

[Poe]

VII. From the Other Side of the Door


I pushed you away from me and towards me


all at once, promising days of sun drenched,


whiskey scented ramblings. I kissed you then—


tasting of Guinness and sweat, knowing


that I would never get enough, knowing


that I would pull you back to me, knowing


I would not wash the scent of you from my sheets


—but you stayed and I found metaphors in your eyes,


only to find myself desperately searching


for you in everyone I've ever met.


I’m sorry I chose you.

 

[Poptart]

I'm quite a fan of "Therapy Session #1". Tried to write a similar poem myself a while back, but it didn't turn out nearly as well. Are you from Memphis, by the way?

 

[Poe]

I'm quite a fan of "Therapy Session #1". Tried to write a similar poem myself a while back, but it didn't turn out nearly as well. Are you from Memphis, by the way?

Thank you! I'm from Boston originally but moved to Memphis two years ago to teach!

 

[Poe]

Teacher's lounge napkin poetry presents: a long day. I'm terrible with titles, so -- here.


VIII. "Untitled"


I will lose my mother twice.


It will be any day now.


The whole of a life lost between muttered


words, shaky lips, a tongue too quick it


gets in the way – she was aways like that, I think.


I found yearbooks, postcards, old photographs


where the bridge of her nose builds my eyes


and the curve of her lips spreads across


all fifty years like she can remember what


has been and what will always be. –


But I can’t remember the sound of her voice


without the guttural push or the fluctuation.


She yells and I wonder if she’s worried she can't


be heard or that we’ve all turned and gone away.


“Mom” I call her before I go, leaving my apartment


for pedicures with his mother, the only woman my children


will ever be able to see and call grandmother.


I’ve lived a decade without her,


I only hope that I can do it again.

 

[RZA]

Oh Poe, how I miss your wonderful words!! The Homewrecker's Guide to the Galaxy hit me right in the feels

 

[Poe]

Oh Poe, how I miss your wonderful words!! The Homewrecker's Guide to the Galaxy hit me right in the feels

Rissa! You're back!!

 

[RZA]

Rissa! You're back!!

Life has finally settled into something manageable so I decided to come back to RpN! How have you been!!

 

[Poe]

Life has finally settled into something manageable so I decided to come back to RpN! How have you been!!

I've been wonderful! Welcome back!

 

[RZA]

I've been wonderful! Welcome back!

That's good to hear!! & thank you, it's great to be back (: