I'm going abroad for the first time in my life in a few months, completely alone. I hope I don't get mugged, among other things, but words can't explain how excited I am to soak in a different culture and gain perspective.
On a different note, I'd like to complain about the fact that I don't like when art work accompanies words, especially poetry. The words should speak and paint a picture for themselves. Images on post-secret are fun to browse, however.
To give a few words their glory, this is a poem by Carrie Fountain I really enjoy. It's slightly morbid, honest and I love it.
Burn Lake 2
Carrie Fountain
We found a duck, a mallard, dead
on the shore, head split, eyes loose,
yet when someone poked it with a stick
it shuddered suddenly
and stood up, then collapsed again
and died for real, which to me
explained a lot.
For a while I’d had a vague idea
I could kill myself by holding my breath.
Yet when I locked myself in my room
and tried it, I fainted, fell face-first
into the closet, and came to in a panic,
thinking for a moment that
I’d done it, and death
was just my little blue room
at the back of the house,
my brother’s stereo thumping in the bathroom
while he labored over his pornography.
I was shocked then
by my body, its plain intention to continue
with or without me.
Every day now I feel myself
pressed harder into this life.
Sometimes it’s so near and docile
I can feel my hand take hold of it.
Other times it’s that old, alarming
grief, that animal scrambling
to its feet, desperate
to be living. Because it’s
mine, I wait for it to die.
Then I bury it.
Carrie Fountain is a poet and a Creative writing professor at my University. I use her work as an inspiration for the creative outlet I love most- my writing. Now that I'm not in a course that requires me to blog por le grade, I can write freely and post however I want. We'll see how much I take advantage of this... bear with me as I explore the possibilities. -J
