National Poetry Writing Month, Day 2

[jakebe]

I actually had written most of "Commute" in my head on March 31st, and tried to remember it so I could write it down yesterday. The ending was the trickiest part; I had this idea on how to take the observation and tie it into a 'statement' a bit more eloquently, but I forgot that part. So it came off kind of preachy and lame. "Look at you sheeple. You laugh because I'm different. I laugh because you're all the same!" Ugh.

If I can remember it the first thing I'll do is change the feel of the poem. I think I might have a better handle on it once it's been in a drawer for the rest of the spring.

Anyway, here's "The Unfinished Meal":



It's the lack of clarity that condemns me:
how will I know how many words I need
when I have no idea what I ought to say?
The message is in my head, half-formed,
a partially digested fish that I ate several years ago.

I can still remember that dinner:
sitting on the porch at the side of our house
with newspaper over tablecloth over that rickety cable spool,
so much, so many, we never thought we'd get through.
It took us a while but we did, and I remember
the smell of rain in the air, the way the leaves bent
to the wind, how I felt even though there
were no words to describe it.

And now, all these years later:
the taste, the scent, the colors of my memory
only somewhat dissolved, a big chunk sitting heavy
that should not be there.
I am a tiny man inside my own head,
with a hopelessly inadequate chisel,
always working, always worrying
those words off that mountainous experience,
speaking them as they slip from the surface,
hoping to find the deep dark cave into its heart.