Solid Quarter

Blood Jet Poetry Series in New Orleans, weekly poetry and music as well as open mic performances

Visit Trembling Pillow Press for poetry books, broadsides, chapbooks, and Solid Quarter Magazine.

Megan Burns' Poeticsofbone&city project on Tumblr

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Error: A Seasonal Poem on Breaking


“Error
 And its emotions.
 On the brink of error is a condition of fear.”
 -Anne Carson, “Essay on What I Think About Most”


I.
sometimes an error occurs
because of the way the world is fed to us
like X-mas eve, putting together toys for 3 little dreamers
and you looked at me frustrated and called me a “slut”
& I sat in the space of that breaking
knowing how I wifed against a border of neglect
but you led a different life beyond the fencing of home
gingerbreaded, a snow dropping
if you say so, you can make believe

II.
as if a vow could be a way of altering
you double: live your life & write it out
it meters enough edge to trim the lies

III.
failure is just before you begin again
it precedes where you see how you
put yourself back together
I forgot the smell of you
I forgot the taste of you
I forgot any way home realizing survival
is how we maintained this artfulness

IV.
this essay of splinters
supple like causation
wide open, you watch for an all clear sign
the heart, safe for handling
to be hereditary to it is not a choice
that poem backs out, a deep spill
now too, I could not arrange the words
in better orders

V.
a half-finished sentence
I spent a lot of time saying
I love you as a way of warding
a parting

VI.
each little girl I see tears a fresh hole
in me, is this
what love is?
what is not quite
what is false that we can hold
what is made peace with a stalling
Carson says the language of the unsaid
is a two-way traffic
sometimes you travel both

VII.
he said, were you with you someone who made you
happy so little, and I stopped him
and said, I was with someone
who never made me happy
but these errors too
are a type of retelling
we don’t always have to be who we were

VIII.
I lost my life in you, not love
not nothing that was never there
a field where no one meets you
a lover is a smashing process where pieces
of you disintegrate
you don’t recognize disappearance for what it is
what do we mean by necessity?       not enough
is what we mean      not enough
a film burning where the sun
touched it





No comments: