Writing poetry is a fine thing,
to laze in one's garden wearing a sun hat
as a lady may do of a June afternoon.
Poetry is the Boston Marriage of the arts--
termed by some a higher devotion
and by others a harmless quirk.
The lady poet must avoid unpleasantness
and lift her literary skirts
above the puddle in the road.
Upon discovery of my desire to be a lady poet,
my father entombed me with his own manuscripts
mummified by papier-mache and shellac.
My mother tried to can me with her tomatoes
to debut at some later date
in a more malleable and acceptable guise.
Writing poetry is a fine thing,
to jump in the blood and guts wearing suspenders
and getting arrested after midnight.
Drunk on gin, turns of phrase, and love of fire
to dwell in the house of the falling crossbeams
for seven years give or take
And then to sleep with men, sleep with women,
sleep with marvels and nightmares
such as no one ever speaks of, and then to scream it.
After all of this, it will be a fine thing
to laze in the garden wearing my scars and hip-hoorahs
as a lady may do of an October afternoon
My father dead in his grave, my mother careful in hers,
and my many selves rolling over in theirs,
all for this higher devotion, this quaint quirk, this thing that I live for.
______________
For Dverse Poetics: Reimagining the Familiar hosted by Dora
and What's Going On--"Morn of Restoration" hosted by Mary
Music: Chantel Chamberland Temptation (written by Tom Waits)