I tried writing down every thought. I thought it would be a poem. It was fourteen pages long. I've got to work at the fourteen pages to find the poem—like finding order in the chaos in nature. Finding math. Figuring out ferns. But the poem might not be there. Or it has to be there somewhere, but I might not ever go in there to find it.
I've been trying all day to put words to a scary bleak dream. I was at a version of the house where I grew up. Everything in the yard was dead. My mom was gone, and my dad telling what I needed to know about the house before he left. He was standing in the yard watering the dead things with a hose. And sometimes my dad was not my dad. He was my friend who just moved away.
I'm supposed to spend more time alone and get things done, but is there something sad about getting done that you're meant to do? Balance. Only temporarily have I ever achieved that.
Do you think that you should get paid to do what you want to do, get money from the state and be a poet? Maybe we shouldn't all have to be teachers? My housemate thinks that if that's the case, then he should get paid to be a sailor. I say Yes. But he believes in work. They're both work. Poems can turn others into poets, and that's for the good of society. Can anyone prove this empirically with a longitudinal study?
What if we each spent all day on the basics instead of being extreme specialists? Healthwise, isn't that what they're saying we're supposed to do?
- Claire Becker
- My full-length book, Where We Think It Should Go, can be yours via Octopus Books, Small Press Distribution, or Amazon. We better celebrate these hard copies while we can. When I'm not writing poetry, I teach amazing young people who are blind. I believe in a healthier future.