My computer, it seems, has become a hotbed of history and memory, and sometimes it's just hard to swallow. Some of it, however, makes me wonder why I got so old, so young. My poetry precedes me, in all things. I'm not sure why I stopped writing, but it happened when I moved to Connecticut. I have breakthrough spurts of emotion and lines, but they're fleeting. That poetry used to be my therapy, especially when I slammed, standing in front of a crowd made silent by rhymes of death, the Holocaust, and being Jewish, and hollering, hooting, over lines about my figure and the words "you could be the first fat miss America."
Here's something old, something from September 9, 2001. It's weird, because, well, two days later it happened. I'd never connected it before, actually, but sometimes, I see these things coming.
Apocolyptic Atmosphere
Someday
the stars
will fall from the sky
and land on your head
and the
moon will fall into your hands
and melt before your eyes
with star dust crawling across your skin
and fireflies and dragonflies will buzz beneath ur chin
all before the world comes crashing in.
3 comments:
om nom nom. i ate that poem up.
i love the celestial imagery.
wow
How eerie - to write such a poem on such a date! But truth be told, it's a powerful poem regardless of when it was written. I love it when a poem manages to pack so much strength into so few lines.
I just discovered your blog while meandering through Jewish blogland, and look forward to some interesting reading...
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