Whelp, I promised to show the poems I came up with for my assignment. Though I'm not particularly pleased with either.
My first memory of you is you
lying on a couch with your curly
gray hair going every which way
and a homemade Afghan around your
brittle body to keep warmth.
Every window of your home was open.
Your hands were wrinkled as prunes.
The dry lips that stayed young,
like the look in your eyes, stretched into
a toothy opening much grander than
a smile as you told me to find the
grapes in your fridge, voice as soft
as pussy willows, as feathers,
as flour. I sat on the cool surface
of your tile table. Your words escape me
now, but not the bow of your stubborn
face, the bend of your benevolent brow,
or the curl of your sheer lash. Not your steady
peacock blue eyes or your velvet touch.
The ripe grapes popped in our mouths
like a hesitant pull of a trigger, the skin
taut. The tip of my nose was cold. My
toes and fingers, cold. And you
laughed as we plucked the vine
clean, until you faded into
only a first and only memory.
Who loves to cuddle, but
doesn’t always think of sex.
Car is not more important than me.
When it rains, willing to dance away
my worries within its wet grasp and know water is
for laughter and the sheer joy of breathing
in the fresh clean Earth.
Not hung over on some other girl.
Doesn’t make fun of my singing in the shower,
car or any other place I choose my own stage,
even if I’m off key or don’t know the
But not more than loving me.
Is devastatingly romantic, plays an instrument,
and writes something that has my name
Sense of humor.
And makes puns in order to hear me laugh
just for the hell of it.
Likes ice cream and looking at the stars.
And can’t live without music.
The first poem is about my Great-Grandmother Verna. It was kind of difficult to write in a sense, and after that poem, I couldn't very well write something else as meaningful. So, the idea of those ads in the newspaper to find someone... Basically, I wrote out of my ass to just get that idea out of the way.
I'm writing another ending for my Verna poem. I find it important to add a little more for some reason, so I'm going to talk to my teacher about it because I don't want too much, but perhaps what I'll have could be the piece that's perfect. I don't want to give too much promise for writing it, or anything it may be about, because you don't need to "unwrite" what wasn't written, if you catch my drift.
Otherwise, to keep in mind is that I can't put the Quick Ads poem in the format I want it, but note that the underlined items aren't just underlined, but they are also supposed to be centered in the page.
Whatever. I have to finish writing a response to myself. More later.
Random Fact: The Chinese ideogram for 'trouble' depicts two women living under one roof.