I have calmed down since this morning about my daughter missing her dance lesson today. I just spoke with her dance instructor, and she assured me how great my daughter is doing on learning her solo dance. Her teacher said she got chills watching my daughter dance. That's enough to put me in a really good mood for the rest of the night. I know my daughter will be home tonight. I'm happy.
I did write a new poem today. It was sort of inspired by a poem I once heard Sharon Olds read. It was an ode to a tampon. It was full of the normal Sharon Olds subject material--the body, menstrual blood, great lyrical leaps. I loved it. My poem is about a subject with which I have a little experience: sewage. Being the son and brother of many master plumbers, I know a little bit about this subject. Therefore, I decided to write an ode about it.
Below is the video that inspired my new poem:
Saint Marty isn't going crazy. He's just having a little fun.
Ode to Sewage
Most people don't think about it,
Where it all goes once the toilet flushes,
Tiny Charybdis in a bowl.
The water swirls, disappears,
Carries away all we find offensive,
Shameful. I know, have seen it
In pools, moats, great floods
Of urine and menses, feces,
Effluvium of the body.
It is us and not us.
It's what we create in private,
Then add to the communal river,
Billions of people, oceans of offal.
We don't want to claim it
As a part of ourselves,
Necessary as blood or breath.
Instead, we pretend it doesn't exist,
Like AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa
Or bellies bloated with famine in Somalia.
We mask its smell. Lilac. Green apple.
Ocean salt in mango grove. Pine.
We strain it. Sift it. Settle it.
We purify, turn it into water,
Sweet as wine. Fertilizer.
Something useful again. Heeded.
It's above us, below us,
Around us, inside us.
It is the movement of the world
Through the universe, the trail
We leave behind to prove we lived
Here on this cosmic ball
Of water and dirt and shit.
No comments:
Post a Comment