My heart is toward you
Who hummmMmm noises hoping others will hear & nod to you
a——b elonging.
Who think of a (most definite) thing,
then hide it all like hot trash, or bleach it all like laundry.
You who are the silent tragedy of a house pet;
the standardized neglect of a gut-purr.
You who are the late clap in a playhouse;
feeling most deeply, ashamed to be heard.
Did you know
that “Dear God”
was another dude's
dream?
That “Our song,”
… was a waitress's
hard night?
That thieves lifted
your garbage & gray-water feelings
in the air,
spit-to-clean,
caught “
The
Light”?
There's your brilliance,
Still stored like baggage.
Your truth,
On a shelf.
Twist your rusty, untuned throat loose,
Screech something honest,
And clap for yourself.
Just looking at the title I think of Foster’s How To Read Literature Like a Professor and his common mention and focus on the fact that all stories and literature is the same but told differently, whether it be through a strange narrator or trying to reflect a different image, all stories are the same, or rather all branch from the same basic structures. In the fall I was inspired by this idea of repetition in the arts and literature, so I decided to explore it in my AP portfolio, more specifically the reception and influence of ancient myths and folklore in modern society and how they have deviated or stayed the same over centuries. This poem seeks to uncover this same truth, that the stories we hear, read, and even see in our own lives are all the same, just told over and over again with different features. I find it fascinating picturing all of our ‘diverse’ experiences and ‘unique’ walks of life as our truth’s “Still stored like baggage … on a shelf” because I visualize it as canned goods lined up going so far back on an endless shelf, the front can being the newest instance that just covers up the previous one like it hadn’t existed before. Going through the college application process and needing to highlight and embellish all of the unique parts about me when I knew there would be other students just like me out there in the applicant pool was extremely heartbreaking because it felt like the work I had done and the person I had become was all for nothing but something to compare to others. Although the reality that our stories are all the same is disheartening, there is something comforting about being in a community of those with similar experiences and thoughts as you, and after reading the poem, I can see the call to action and cry for release, because there is no other way our stories can be told and therefore can be differentiated.
ReplyDelete