When I show people old photos of myself
No one says You look the same
Woe is me
β
I do not do affirmations
I do not do yoga
I could
But I am not that kind of person
β
I made my undergraduates read
Mansfield Park
So we could hate Fanny together
β
I watch a fly
Whirling in the kitchen
As if aware of the abyss
The older I get
As if more spiritual too
β
Giving my best
As (George) Eliot would say
Diseased participation
I stand around at the party
Wondering why
No one likes writers
β
After dinner over digestifs
They talk about race (why not?)
Claudia Rankine wrote
About sitting around such a table
And wanting to flip it over
Wanting to be asked to leave
Otherwise why would they say such things
β
The older I get
The more I dislike white people
Especially in large groups
Things like this I must never say aloud
β
I wonder if I would have married a white person
If I were choosing now
My therapist waits with bated breath
The one thing I wouldn’t be able to stand
I say
Is someone like me
Badly paraphrasing Claudia Rankine
β
The spiritual idea that appeals to me
Is the Buddhist idea
That you are nothing regarding the nothing that is and the nothing that isn’t
Very (Wallace) Stevens but I also take it to mean
I am the beggar on the street
Begging please
β
Sometimes I feel as if I want to make a friend
But I don’t call the ones
I have and love
All I would say is
Lol
β
Rising naked from a white sheet
And trailing about the house
Scaring my cats
I decide I don’t want to be like Emily
(Dickinson)
And wait for my sister-in-law to publish
My treasure trove after I die
My sisters-in-law are the athletic type
β
Looking at an old photo of myself
I am surprised
I ever looked that way
Looking in the mirror
I am surprised
I ever looked that way
Is that what living is