Poem 36 Revised

Exams will be postponed due to weather

 

Or not we can peel ourselves from our sheets

Begin the day as budding adults—unlikely.

Instead, we watched the flakes suicide

Against the warm winter windows, we expected snow

But got instead a metaphor, god I hate literature,

Read it again slowly, don’t skip over the dialects.

 

If a professor holds an exam and none of us

Show up did it really happen—yes—my kid id meant well

But I haven’t cracked a spine in days,

These textbooks are the letters I never wrote to my mother

Those letters are the calls I let forward to recording.

Those recordings are still in the mailbox.

If I don’t hear them—

Yes, they’re still real.

 

I’ll remember this as the part of my life I regret

The least. I won’t remember this at all since

It’s Thursday of exam week and I haven’t slept

On my back for nightss. If I smash my nose into the crease

Of every novel it’s almost like I was reading . I wasn’t…

Planning on sleeping with you last night,

But since it was bound to happen, read me that chapter

Again, in case there isn’t enough snow to call off our finals.

—ECW

 

Poem 36 Original Poem 36 Editing

Poem 34 Final

99d9f-toes2

 

Toes in the Water

 

We play hide and seek in seats

We share with strangers.

With you hiding and me

Lost. Sought truth but

Found only book bindings.

The well is depthless where

The well informed tread water

In the wake of inspiration:

A filling cup twice its necessity.

Come find me where pages

Smell of fingertips and

Day dreamers drape drowsy

Heaped on borrowed furniture.

 

Poem 34 EditedPoem 34 Original

Poem 31 Revised

I never meant to hurt you

When I plucked you from the branch,

When I peeled you with my nails.

A tangerine would have tasted

No sweeter than the luck puckering

Our lips. I never meant to pick you

Prior your prime, but upon my fingers

You felt fresh and who could blame

A novice eye for trying. Don’t trust me

When I tell you I’m sorry, darling,

Now that you finally see how easy

Green-picking can be. Now that you know

How slow the heart-fruit grows.

—ECW

 

Poem 31 Original – Poem 31 Edited

Poem 30 Revised

Fever begins in the mouth—a tongue press’d

On the teeth, sand caked to the gums—your thumbs

Way-in-the-back crushing your molars to dust.

//In the eye—fever vows lies, that others are sweating

Others are pale, the man there beside you has let loose a wail,

//Coughs comforts from deep-deep in the throat,

These, not from a fever—no—not on your lips,

The lady beside you has covered her chips

//In the mind, a refuge of faith, not sick contagious,

Please hand me a tissue, hay fever or vent dust

List yourself issues. See, nothing at all, lean on the guard rail

Rest by the wall, this isn’t a fever, you’re not really ill

If it were your neighbor, board windows—take action!

But since it’s your fever you hope for compassion.

—ECW

 

Poem 30 EditingPoem 30 Original

Poem 25 Revised

Siren Solace

It was the ocean who came to me
In a dream dreading unhappiness
With her own wide tides to blame
For our less than easy sailing.
We dipped our toes over the mast
And cast our hair to the waves
Like fish nets or marionettes
Where it trailed below and spoke no more.
From there we tumbled overboard
Crashed through the surface,
//purge me of breath//
Postponed—the ocean and I—in perfect awe
Dangle timeless, belong to the sea.
—ECW

Poem 25 EditedPoem 25 Original

Poem 23 Revised

When it meant something to have an ivy covered house, home

Was the yellow corners of my father’s family album

Worn down with recounting the birth of the youngest, at one a.m.

The death of their smallest, twelve minutes alive,

It was a memoir I hoped to write down in departure

traveling away from here, traveling anywhere

 

When it meant something to have an ancient surname, my house

held the left hand of my mother, the guiding light held tight

Through rooms I knew from her stories, in houses that belonged

to other people now; would see as we were passing through.

Here is where the chair sat that belonged to your grandmother

My mother was forever with her hand in mine, unwinding our family-lore.

 

I filed the grooves in my house key down to the gloss,

Lost the scent of my window boxes and potted flowers.

In the towers casting hand shadows in a window haze

In the crooked cobblestone margins where it meant something

To have an ivy covered house home

Is a moving target.

—ECW

Poem 23 Edited – Poem 23 Original

Poem 20 Revised

Curtain Cat-Calls

 

Play players play

Romance me with a chest lead

Left stage in a heart-beat

I can see the zipper—from here.

 

Evoke a trope so troublesome

I’ll shrug at strangers and laugh—wildly.

Come! Defile me with your imitation

Is that how I sound when I ruse?

 

Collapse your curtain like a floor bound robe

Let’s be naked together, stage

Play dirty thespian tricks while I’m not watching

And laugh wildly—laugh wildly at me.

—ECW

Poem 20 EditedPoem 20 Original