My therapist is about twenty and still believes in romance and unicorns and thinks the world is blue cotton candy so I sit on my hands when I talk to her and chew the inside of my cheek till it’s bloody and try not to rain down my acid pain except maybe drips and droplets because I don’t want to melt her, can’t imagine making her bitter when she’s just so sweet and rounded with flowers and even her voice is honeyed and can’t possibly understand that some cherries are sour some fruit withers on the vine some people will never be happy whether they chew or swallow the pills whether they exercise or buy the prettiest blouses at H&M and feel great about paying less for more out of small hungry hands that can’t protect even themselves against the darkness that comes out and snuffs the fluorescent bulbs and she clicks her computer like hey this isn’t right and the monsters wrap round her but she doesn’t feel them though they’ve ripped up her stockings and devoured her shoes and she says, Have you read YES PLEASE by Amy Poehler because that book will seriously change your life.
Now that you’ve suffered through some of my “poetry,” maybe you want to read some real poems, huh? By real poets. (She says as if she knows what that means.) Anyway, I think these poems are good. I hope you do, too.
“Lula” by Maggie Smith (the woman who wrote “Good Bones”–the one poem you’ve ever seen take over your news feed).
“Alpha Zulu” by Gary Copeland Lilley
“Milk Drunk” by Jessica Lakritz. (This is a cool project: Skin on Sundays. Very short poems written on skin, with a bit of a back story at the bottom. I’m particularly fond of this one because, well, I get it.)
“A Dream of Trees” by Mary Oliver
“April Aubade” by Sylvia Plath
When I was in grad school, some of the poets challenged themselves to write one poem every day for the month of April, which is National Poetry Month. They called this WriPoEvDa: a nod to the more popular NaNoWriMo.
I struggle with poetry. I’ve asked poets for reading recommendations, I’ve taken poetry workshops, I’ve tried to get it–but I guess I don’t. Continue reading “National Poetry Month”
April is National Poetry Month, which means–well, nothing, really, to most of the world, but to me it means for one month a year I actually read a little poetry and thanks to my former grad school classmates, I try to write some, too. I don’t remember why–something in response to NaNoWriMo, based on the name–they decided that in April they would write a poem every day and thus designated it WriPoEvDa. Super genius, huh? Well. It’s a good idea, anyhow. And it comes at a particularly fortuitous time for me as I have recently hit a wall with my fiction. It gives me a writing assignment. Plus, working that poetical side of my brain often helps get the blood flowing in the prosaic side, too. And things work best when they’re both working at once. Like CrossFit, maybe. For your brain.
So: planning on writing a poem every day this month. Who’s with me?