Inevitably, I Am

Inevitably, I Am

I used to be a soft-spoken woman

seldom given to prosy, pointless ramblings

inevitably then, I stood painfully still

tightly controlled

only to go wild and ostensibly lawless

like all the things that used to percolate

underneath John Updike’s navy wool watch cap

I always wanted to lean forward and whisper into his ear

the narrow exploits of my bedlam

plunder his man-sized memories with a confessional poem

about a long column of obscure stretches spent

with illicit boys in books

but I was too cautious when I should have been vociferous

when I should have been writing fiction that was contingent

on how quickly I was able to undo him, open him wide

Even as a wallflower my background was storm-lit

able to draw down the lightening

one clamorous bolt at a time

a survivor of fairy-tale thorns

set adrift on the ruins of desire

and like Ezra Pound I paint my subjects as I conceive them

potent in whole areas of poetry

permissible as interpretative metaphors, rigorous in rapture

I always wanted to carry out a well-intentioned scheme to

take Ezra Weston Loomis Pound hostage

if only to quantify the implication of change rolling around

in his decorous treatise on the proportions of composition         

I used to be a mild-mannered woman

rarely extended more than a single lyric to a perfect song

inevitably then, I kept deafeningly quiet

skillfully restrained

only to out-strip the world and prompt pandemonium

like the undeserved and pure goodbyes

holstered on the meaty hips of rogue space-age cowboys

I always wanted to dig my fingers deep into       

the sweetness of living

rummage and pillage, race toward the avalanche

of the prohibited province of universal incandescence

to be bounteous and have the freedom to move

Inevitably, I Am

 ***

Phew. I finished it. This poem is almost a week old. Maybe a week and a few minutes. It started as noodles on a scrap of paper (as they often do) written with a second rate pen, during down-time, when half-asleep, on the go. It came in flashes and fits. I played happily with the format until the TAB button on my keyboard rejected me, I spaced it all out in frustration and in the end, I left it. I rather like the way it looks/feels this way and when I read it aloud I appreciated the pace. The shape. I almost charged myself with the 'rescue blues' but it worked out in the end.

I am happy the rain gave way to a bit of sunshine. To be sitting here now next to my window with a fresh cool breeze coming in and daylight waning, it's a peaceful moment. I relish it. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here in my writing room with a playlist and good work to do. Coffee would complete the tableau. I am craving a smooth cup of Joe but it's too late and I'd never be able to sleep. Additionally, my taste-buds are still MIA from this cold that continues to cling. Ten days and counting. My ears feel like they are going to explode. I am on the mend, it's just much slower than I'd like. 

Amazon and I had a pow-wow today. Time to amass a summer reading stack. I ordered 'The Year of Magical Thinking' by Joan Didion and 'A Visit From The Goon Squad' by Jennifer Egan. Adding them to a small pile sitting by my bed that I need to finish yet. 

Must read. Must fill the well.

In propinquity,

Nic