Sunday, October 7, 2018

AMERICAN FANTASY IN THE PARENTHESES (…) OF A SONG

 It is strange birth, this writing of a poem.  Usually the first line appears, in this case "All the rapist's children," and the work proceeds from there.  Often there's a direct link to a situation, or a reading, but in this case there's not.   However, this has been a week of vetting a Supreme Court Justice nominee, rife with allegations of sexual abuse, the machinations of power politics, outrage amped up to epic proportion, and unceasing media coverage, so the poem is informed. More often, though, it's like sighting a quark - blip/gone.  I generally build a poem from the first line, and the work is to blend words emanating from depth/intuition/inspiration into a conscious construction.

This poem came, as said, from that first line, and then in images and chunks, with a song floating through, and then shifts and adjustments that may not make sense to anyone but me (and even then, less sense than sensibility.)  Finally, a title in which I try to remove the mystery from what follows.

And, I am totally fascinated that all proceeds from a, literally, dark place, located somewhere in a gelatinous three pounds of meat between my ears...


AMERICAN FANTASY IN THE PARENTHESES (…) OF A SONG

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child
A long way from home

All the rapist’s
children
stand around
his bed

There will be no
words of wisdom

No pathetic last requests

Not even death will forgive him
and so he’ll return

Sometimes I feel like there’s no one there
Sometimes I feel like there’s no one there
Sometimes I feel like there’s no one there
A long way from home

Conception is in the darkness of the body

Gestation is life at 5 a.m.

The doctor with too much to do
and something he’s trying to remember
drops his forceps

Let ‘em lay, he says
and kicks them
under the table

His nurse is calm
and holds out another set

Fuck it, he says
waving her hands away

He pulls his mask down
spins on his heels
and boom boom whack a doom
shuffles his booties and booty
out of the room

The nurse is calm
delivers the child
no forceps necessary

I’m going to run, I’m going to run
I’m going to run to the city of refuge

A long way from my home.


RW
Seattle
Columbia City PCC
10.4.2018

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