28
Sep
12

a journal of an event too long to chronicle, with none of the dates right except this one

this will be way too long to be a poem, probably
can’t be bothered with the pentameter or the rhyme

five years ago
or so
on my way to see mom after her second cancer surgery
wearing green pants and red sneakers
only daughter asked
you’re not wearing those shoes with those pants are you?

be careful what you wish for
(a girl in my house,
someone to tell me
if my shoes went
with my outfit)

not what they thought it
was
but a “glio”
and then
bc#2

and mascara on husband’s pants
from crying with my head on his lap
(he said he didn’t mind)
(I believed him)

then
DVTs and oxygen

today restacking the long shelf of music
unbending the scores to stand them up against the
shelf above
reminding me of shifting mom in her bed,
nurses at corners counting one two three
while I “mind the feet”

crying in the tub as the water climbs

I am her
her disappointments and her defensiveness and the fact
that what I say is rarely what the world hears
and my attempts to order the world
just
so
without ever ending up really knowing
how I feel
about anything

****

 

just found this in my drafts box

from May 22, so not even the date is right

am not going to edit it, so here it is, in its raw form

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4 Responses to “a journal of an event too long to chronicle, with none of the dates right except this one”


  1. 1 Margy Rydzynski
    September 29, 2012 at 10:16 pm

    Love this. Thanks.

  2. September 29, 2012 at 11:13 pm

    I don’t think I’ve ever read any of your poetry that I didn’t like, That’s not because I judged the rhyme or the rhythm to be particularly fine, because I know nothing about these things. It’s because they seem to reflect the personal you in a way that I don’t see on other blogs, or even some other posts on your blog. Thinking more about this as a write (my typing and my thinking are both exceptionally slow), it’s not just the personal that I see in your poems, it’s the vulnerability, the sensitivity, the (?)softness. I feel I know you deeper from your poems than from your prose. Of course that can’t be true – you’re writing all this stuff, and so you are all this stuff, I guess . . . even the angry rants! Maybe the rants scare me but I can cope better with someone who has weaknesses and doubts.

    • September 30, 2012 at 8:47 am

      The rants scare everyone. Sometimes my husband will say “Don’t hurt me” when I really get going — not that he is actually concerned that I would, of course, but I can get pretty worked up.

      I don’t know much about rhyme or the rhythm, either; I worry that people who know how poetry is actually *supposed* to work probably cringe when they see mine. I just try to write how I feel, and have it show in the placements of lines and the words I use. I’m glad that you like it.

      I think I am both things. (I always say, I’m nothing if not conflicted.) And the fact that you see it reveals that you listen with your head and your heart, just like I thought.


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