Another day, another post.
Things are painfully slow at work for me right now, as Bossman is out observing the holiday. We didn't have much to do before he left, and all my manuscripts are in production, so I've got nothing to edit. Besides posting here, I'm looking at transferring the company emails from dreamhost to gmail, and reading a couple mediocre proposals. One on traveling, one on mixed martial arts. Neither things I'm going to recommend we publish.
I guess I'll spend tomorrow writing some copy. Sigh. My glamorous life.
I went to a poetry reading last night at the KGB Bar. Listened to Nicole Cooley and Kimiko Hahn, who were both pretty wonderful.
Nicole's done a lot of poems about flooding. Her last collection, Breach, was about Hurricane Katrina, and she's been working on a project called The Flood Notebooks about the flooding that happened in the Midwest this summer. I like wet poems, but sometimes listening to a person who keeps building on one thing over and over, it feels a little like they're capitalizing on disaster. And I know that's not what she was doing...she was born and raised in New Orleans, her parents stayed there while the storm hit. I can't imagine the choking terror she must have felt the whole time, not knowing if they were okay. Of course there's a lot running through her, a lot she feels the need to expel in her writing. Maybe it was just the sheer force of the pieces, the number of them that sort of overwhelmed me. I felt that way the first time I read Nick Flynn's Some Ether as well. It's a book of poems about his mother's drug problem and suicide, and after a while, I didn't feel like there was punch left in his poems. I didn't care about the subject and I wasn't interested, even though I recognized that it was horrible.
Kimiko, however, totally pushed my pleasure buttons. She's been drawing materials from the New York Times science section, really paying attention to language and exotic-sounding words. She read some poems about bugs and fungus and stars and family, and they were sweet and funny and digging. I felt good after listening to her. The final poem she read was called "Maude" and I cannot find it online. It was about teaching her daughter to go into astronomy, so she could name a planet after her mother.
Listening to them read really made me feel good about writing. I've been working on a poem of my own today, which I'll put in at the end of this post. Sometimes, when you read words on a page, you forget that poetry is aural and oral, that's somewhere in its past, poetry was song. And so when I heard those women sing out last night, I forgot all the hard parts of poetry, the struggling with syllables and line breaks, the worry of form and punctuation, and just focused on the sounds, the meaning, the big picture.
So. Here's what I've been working on:
Cycle
There are no mockingbirds in Maine,
nothing in the green to squat above and judge this scene.
The baby is slung over the cliff of my hip, his heels
digging spur-sharp into my back and belly.
My belly pitches and rolls like a seastorm
under his soft foot.
He is a weight against my bones, pulling me down
into screaming, into terror,
into love too fierce for words.
Into gasping.
I want to fold him into me.
His heat against me is like a light
an unexpected illumination. He makes me sore.
He burns like a sun. A son.
When I put him down, the storm slows,
but I can feel that plates have shifted.
The landscape doesn't look the same.
This is version 3 of this poem, and it's still in the works, but this is my poem for Sean, Tom's nephew who will be 2 in December.
There's still a lot of disconnect, a lot that I cannot put into words right now. Holding him was the sweetest thing in the world. He was heavy, sleepy, silent. He was desperate to be held, close and tight. I sang to him, and he buried his head against my throat, felt the words humming up. I swing him, hard and wild, was rewarded with laughing like bells. When he laid against me, he curled his sticky fist in my hair. He sighed and snorted like a piglet. Furrowed his eyebrows as I talked to him about all kinds of secret things. Grinned when I flipped him upside down and blew raspberries on his belly.
I didn't know, not really, that I wanted kids. I've always had fun with them, always been popular with the under 6 set. Over 6, and we get a little wary of one another, but once they hit 12 or so, we're back in sync.
That day, though, holding Sean while playing with about 9 other kids, keeping them calm in a somewhat crazy situation...I'm good with them. And maybe I have some crazy ideas about how and where I want my own kids raised, but I know now that I want them to exist. And I want to raise them myself, teach them, read to them, let them paint and sing. I want to revel in them.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Back Again
I told you I was bad at this.
Keeping up with the posting, I mean. It slipped into the back of my mind one day, and I just left it there. I need to make an effort to post daily. New goal.
It's good to have new goals during changes, I think, like this change, the change from hot to cold, from dry to wet, from summer to winter.
Other Changes In My Life:
Roommate: The Barry changed to Chris and L'abri, who then became Chris and Deb, who will soon just be Deb.
Pets: no pets at all became Lowell and Halifax
Fella: The Texan left, and then Boston strolled into my life. Well, I strolled into his. More on that in a bit.
There have been other changes...haircuts, trips home and not home, new bars, new routines. Nothing is stagnant.
When the Texan and I split up, my world focus sort of shifted. Around that time, I'd been spending time with him, AK, and her roommate, who was my beer brewing partner. We'll call him Robot, just because the picture that shows up on my phone when he calls is him in a robot head. We split up around the time his ex-girlfriend, and AK's best friend moved to the city. This wasn't officially the reason for our discontinuation, but based on events that happened afterwards, I can't believe it was completely unrelated.
Still, we've both made peace with it, and moved on to other folks, so it was for the best, whyever it happened.
But the aftermath. I had some of the whiskey poets living with me, and I spent a lot of time with them. I flew home for my brother's wedding, and spent some time with an old friend who helped me see several different lights. We spent a lot of time drunk together, laughing, reminiscing. Watching each other. We're both exceedingly skilled at eye contact.
The week before I left for the wedding, I was nosing around on this great site: beermenus.com and saw that Whole Foods was doing a Smuttynose tasting. I remembered really enjoying their spring seasonal ale, Hanami Ale, and the Shoal's Pale Ale had long since become my go-to six pack at the bodega, plus it was free. I had nothing to lose.
So a coworker and I headed up there. We had a pint in a pub, met her boyfriend, and then ducked into the grocery. That's where I met Boston.
He was standing behind a high table, higher even than his high hips, looking exceedingly distressed. His hair was too long, and curled, and tangled over his eyes, his hands like birds from bottles to tasting cups to waiting hands and back. He answered questions steadily, well rehearsed. We took our first beers, going light to dark. Letting him guide us. We were just faces in the crowd, a number to countdown until he could bolt.
Until my coworker mentioned that I brewed beer. His eyes lit up, he engaged me. He leaned, he ignored other people. We sparked.
He poured samples out to me for three hours, grinned and indulged me when I got a little tipsy and started instructing his customers, pushing his beer on them. I ducked away from him when L'Abri showed up, whispered about him with my head pushed to hers while I bought a growler of his beer, and bottles of others. He was busy when we started to leave, and in a move brought on by the boldness of alcohol and the way he trained those eyes on me, I asked if we could get a drink some time. He flipped me his card. I tucked it in my pocket, touched it like a talisman all the way home.
Home for the wedding the next week, and while I didn't forget about him, I definitely wasn't thinking about him. I was thinking about handsome my brother looked, how much like a grownup, how I wasn't going to cry (but cry I did) when my new sister-in-law walked down the aisle. Drinking and dancing and playing with my little sister took up all my time.
Back in the city though, and my coworker asked if I'd contacted him. So once again, in an uncharacteristic move, I emailed him. Scuffed my feet, said I wasn't sure he'd remember me, asked him to go out for a drink on Wednesday night to a hip little beer bar I'd never been to. He responded, cool, put me off a night because he had to work. Asked if he could pick the place. Said his friend owned it.
So Wednesday night was spent planning with Chris. He picked out my outfit, advised me on date behaviors. Told me not to put out on the first night. Told me I was in charge of what happened. Told me to put on more eyeshadow, and then smudged it properly for me.
So Thursday he sent me out the door dressed in orange snakeskin high heels, tight jeans and a skimpy tee shirt. It was hot and my hair was down, sticking to the back of my neck. The Spanish boys catcalled, tried to pick me up. I smiled and kept walking.
We met at the train station, and he apologized for being late, brought me a peace offering in the form of this. He was impressed by my shoes.
On the train, we talked (he talked) about Vermont and skiing and college. Confessed that he wasn't completely sober. We wandered the streets of Brooklyn, wound up at this little place. I let him order my beer, we snagged a table in the front of the place, and started talking.
There was some of that bullshit talking, and this man made me work. I leaned, I lingered, I watched him through half-lidded eyes. I laid my hand on his leg. He was taken aback. Shocked. Uncertain. We talked about his dad being sick, and my brother dying, where life was taking us. Our resistance to the city. Our mutual need for green and open spaces.
He went off on a tangent about something, and I was laughing, teasing him for lecturing me. He put on a serious face, and said, "Okay, Erin, one more lecture. Life's too short not to try." And then, finally, his mouth was on mine, and his hand was on my cheek, my neck, and my fingers were in his hair, and I was lost.
And found.
After that, it was like a wall fell between us. We became self-aware, aware of each other. He said he didn't know it was a date, didn't even know that I liked men. I insisted.
We stayed until the bar closed. And took a car to his place. And sat up, talked all night. He walked me home in the morning, and I didn't wear my shoes. The sun was coming up, and the glass on the sidewalk glinted like diamonds.
Keeping up with the posting, I mean. It slipped into the back of my mind one day, and I just left it there. I need to make an effort to post daily. New goal.
It's good to have new goals during changes, I think, like this change, the change from hot to cold, from dry to wet, from summer to winter.
Other Changes In My Life:
Roommate: The Barry changed to Chris and L'abri, who then became Chris and Deb, who will soon just be Deb.
Pets: no pets at all became Lowell and Halifax
Fella: The Texan left, and then Boston strolled into my life. Well, I strolled into his. More on that in a bit.
There have been other changes...haircuts, trips home and not home, new bars, new routines. Nothing is stagnant.
When the Texan and I split up, my world focus sort of shifted. Around that time, I'd been spending time with him, AK, and her roommate, who was my beer brewing partner. We'll call him Robot, just because the picture that shows up on my phone when he calls is him in a robot head. We split up around the time his ex-girlfriend, and AK's best friend moved to the city. This wasn't officially the reason for our discontinuation, but based on events that happened afterwards, I can't believe it was completely unrelated.
Still, we've both made peace with it, and moved on to other folks, so it was for the best, whyever it happened.
But the aftermath. I had some of the whiskey poets living with me, and I spent a lot of time with them. I flew home for my brother's wedding, and spent some time with an old friend who helped me see several different lights. We spent a lot of time drunk together, laughing, reminiscing. Watching each other. We're both exceedingly skilled at eye contact.
The week before I left for the wedding, I was nosing around on this great site: beermenus.com and saw that Whole Foods was doing a Smuttynose tasting. I remembered really enjoying their spring seasonal ale, Hanami Ale, and the Shoal's Pale Ale had long since become my go-to six pack at the bodega, plus it was free. I had nothing to lose.
So a coworker and I headed up there. We had a pint in a pub, met her boyfriend, and then ducked into the grocery. That's where I met Boston.
He was standing behind a high table, higher even than his high hips, looking exceedingly distressed. His hair was too long, and curled, and tangled over his eyes, his hands like birds from bottles to tasting cups to waiting hands and back. He answered questions steadily, well rehearsed. We took our first beers, going light to dark. Letting him guide us. We were just faces in the crowd, a number to countdown until he could bolt.
Until my coworker mentioned that I brewed beer. His eyes lit up, he engaged me. He leaned, he ignored other people. We sparked.
He poured samples out to me for three hours, grinned and indulged me when I got a little tipsy and started instructing his customers, pushing his beer on them. I ducked away from him when L'Abri showed up, whispered about him with my head pushed to hers while I bought a growler of his beer, and bottles of others. He was busy when we started to leave, and in a move brought on by the boldness of alcohol and the way he trained those eyes on me, I asked if we could get a drink some time. He flipped me his card. I tucked it in my pocket, touched it like a talisman all the way home.
Home for the wedding the next week, and while I didn't forget about him, I definitely wasn't thinking about him. I was thinking about handsome my brother looked, how much like a grownup, how I wasn't going to cry (but cry I did) when my new sister-in-law walked down the aisle. Drinking and dancing and playing with my little sister took up all my time.
Back in the city though, and my coworker asked if I'd contacted him. So once again, in an uncharacteristic move, I emailed him. Scuffed my feet, said I wasn't sure he'd remember me, asked him to go out for a drink on Wednesday night to a hip little beer bar I'd never been to. He responded, cool, put me off a night because he had to work. Asked if he could pick the place. Said his friend owned it.
So Wednesday night was spent planning with Chris. He picked out my outfit, advised me on date behaviors. Told me not to put out on the first night. Told me I was in charge of what happened. Told me to put on more eyeshadow, and then smudged it properly for me.
So Thursday he sent me out the door dressed in orange snakeskin high heels, tight jeans and a skimpy tee shirt. It was hot and my hair was down, sticking to the back of my neck. The Spanish boys catcalled, tried to pick me up. I smiled and kept walking.
We met at the train station, and he apologized for being late, brought me a peace offering in the form of this. He was impressed by my shoes.
On the train, we talked (he talked) about Vermont and skiing and college. Confessed that he wasn't completely sober. We wandered the streets of Brooklyn, wound up at this little place. I let him order my beer, we snagged a table in the front of the place, and started talking.
There was some of that bullshit talking, and this man made me work. I leaned, I lingered, I watched him through half-lidded eyes. I laid my hand on his leg. He was taken aback. Shocked. Uncertain. We talked about his dad being sick, and my brother dying, where life was taking us. Our resistance to the city. Our mutual need for green and open spaces.
He went off on a tangent about something, and I was laughing, teasing him for lecturing me. He put on a serious face, and said, "Okay, Erin, one more lecture. Life's too short not to try." And then, finally, his mouth was on mine, and his hand was on my cheek, my neck, and my fingers were in his hair, and I was lost.
And found.
After that, it was like a wall fell between us. We became self-aware, aware of each other. He said he didn't know it was a date, didn't even know that I liked men. I insisted.
We stayed until the bar closed. And took a car to his place. And sat up, talked all night. He walked me home in the morning, and I didn't wear my shoes. The sun was coming up, and the glass on the sidewalk glinted like diamonds.
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