Equilibrium Shift

Epistolary poems, eh? That’s what I wanted? That’s what I wanted? Why?

Yes, this is a familiar place for me: choosing a form for April … and immediately regretting my choice because the form presents challenges. Yeah, sounds about par for the course.

I got lucky yesterday. Luck … and reading the lyrics to Leonard Cohen’s “The Famous Blue Raincoat” are what got me through that poem. Today, I’ve already hit a wall. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with an epistolary poem. Am I talking to younger me? Am I just reminiscing? I am just painting pictures of the past? I’m stuck before I even start.

Needless to say, I’m not thrilled with tonight’s attempt. My fingers are crossed for some growth and change for tomorrow.


Equilibrium Shift
Nine years old, Troy

You’re not going to love it here,
but it’ll be okay.
You’ll be here two years.
You can hold on for two years.
And you’ll be smart here — you’ll trust fear.
You’ll recognize danger
and steer yourself wide, away.
You’ll be bullied here
but remember — it’s just for two years.

It won’t be all bad.
You’ll learn to climb trees.
You’ll meet a crazy, kind old woman
who’ll treat you with care.
(How you knew she was a safe place …
I still can’t fathom.)
You’ll have your first for-real best friend.
You’ll rediscover the power of words,
wielding them deftly, both shield and lance.
They will build you an arsenal
a fortress
freedom.

It won’t be all bad,
but it will be bad.

One day your mom will miss your signals.
She’ll agree to a playdate you want her to refuse.
That will be a bad day,
a choose-your-words-carefully scary day.
You’ll feel the shift in your equilibrium,
a strange internal shudder,
and it will tell you —
the people smiling into your face intend to harm you. Yes.
But you’ll come through.

Why write you now?
If everything’s fine, why focus here?
There’s something you know, something about you,
something I need to accept, to protect.
I should have advice, helpful things to tell you,
instead, I look at you with surprise.
You’re such a puzzle to me —
who are you?
Nearly 50 years later and more worldly wise,
I’ve yet to process the secrets you’re holding.
I can tell you which choices I’d make differently now
as if you might care what path I’d choose.
I can tell you again that it won’t all be bad …

In the end, I want to tell you I see you,
take you back to that day when you saved your own life.
I want your hand in mine as we walk down the street,
your hand in mine all the way across town
back toward Burdett Avenue — your house, your family,
toward as much safety as that town could allow.
I know it works out. I know they don’t hurt you.
I know you get home. I know that you’re fine.
Still,
I offer my fangs, my claws —
you needed a lioness that day, and I want to be her.


It’s National Poetry Month!

As I have done for the last forever, I’ve chosen a poetic form, and I’m going to try to write a poem in that form every day for the month of April. I don’t always succeed, but I always give it my best shot. This year, the form I’ve chosen is the epistolary poem — poems written in the form of an epistle or letter. They are also called verse letters and letter poems. I’ve also chosen a theme for the month. Each “letter” is going to be written to a younger me: 12-year-old me on the first day of junior high, 5-year-old me navigating the overt racism of her kindergarten class, etc.

National-Poetry-Month-2020

4 thoughts on “Equilibrium Shift

  1. Have you heard P!nk’s “Conversations With My Thirteen Year Old Self”? If not, YouTube it. Your letter to yourself here reminds me of it. Your honesty is poignant, but necessary. Beautifully done.

    Like

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