1994
A prose poem of belated radiance
Caught in a 3 by 5 glossy — I can’t reach her — Windex-wipe streaks off those glassy eyes — she’s a polly in someone else’s pocket — stitched up in self-defense — drunk off fireball and too many shots of inconsequence — she’s dizzy,
wondering why the world isn’t falling at her feet — like they promised her — before she stopped being sweet — back when she would squirm in her seat — tired of waiting — tired, before she even opened her eyes —
before she peeked behind her own disguise — taught to face front — conform, don’t confront — right-arm desk like a roadblock — someone’s always holding her — up, down — spin that head back around — where are her feet? — why can’t she
keep her room neat — suck in that gut — concentrate — run with wolves but keep your spine straight — lips pressed like a kiss on the picture — Stay, — I whisper — someday I’ll find her in bits and shards— like she’s just come out the other side of the stars
This poem was written in response to Michael Hall’s October Prompt: the Prose Poem. He asked us to consider a favorite topic from a different perspective. I took the opportunity to reflect on myself at age 18 ~ a tender time of self-actualization amidst mountains of self-doubt. I wrote this poem with great compassion for my young self. She was striving and…
