And now it is a waiting game. There are a few people looking at the rough draft, possibly ripping it to shreds. I shared five of the pieces with a family member after workshopping three of them. The family member said that my poetry is amateurish. Ouch! That's still better than the friend who said that my poetry is crap and he can't stand to read it. Which I hope explains the extremely high anxiety I am feeling right now and why I would rather forget I wrote a chapbook altogether.
After the Test Said Yes Stopped at the crossroad on 14th street, ice clean as an apple slice under my wheels, I am waiting for my turn and I don’t know yet about looking back which is why I cannot describe the color or make of what hit me, moving too fast to brake on the black, and my blue Volkswagen shoots out into oncoming lanes and once there begins to spin— and that is where time slow, like they always say, forming an opening in the day that was already thick with news. The man comes to the car window, wants to know if I’m okay, and I tell him I’m pregnant, that I just found out this morning, and he looks like he will faint, and I open the door and step out into the street, and this, I believe, is the story of conception; how my daughter used momentum and ice and velocity and impact to pierce the atmosphere and enter the world.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
In Celebration of Chapbooks
In honor of the fact that I finally completed the chapbook (To the Virgin: Manifestation), I should share a piece of my own poetry or something but I am so tired of my own voice/words that I would rather share this amazing piece by Kelly Madigan Erlandson