Whoosh! This time of year is crazy. All of a sudden I have too many deadlines and all of the festivity stuff is beginning. I haven’t had any space to be quiet and reach down into that mucky center and really write. So I’m going to share two poems today.
One of my writing students wrote the first one during our last class yesterday. Goodness, it’s good in a goofy, perfect way. I challenged my students to write about the ugly black plastic folding chairs in our classroom and this was his answer.
One of my brother’s sent me the second poem. It perfectly sums up where I’m at when it comes to America right now.
A Concentrating Chair
It is under your legs!
It’s behind your back!
It’s from China.
The Voice of God by Mary Karr
Ninety percent of what’s wrong with you
could be cured with a hot bath,
says God from the bowels of the subway.
but we want magic, to win
the lottery we never bought a ticket for.
(Tenderly, the monks chant, embrace
the suffering.) The voice of God does not pander,
offers no five year plan, no long-term
solution, nary an edict. It is small & fond & local.
Don’t look for your initials in the geese
honking overhead or to see thru the glass even
darkly. It says the most obvious crap—
put down that gun, you need a sandwich.