Sunday, April 06, 2008

Summer Storms

Last year
I thought more about the politics
of global warming and Muslim women
in their scarves and their Jilbabs.
How they must feel like
they're living through one long summer night
of laying in front of a fan,
wishing for a sudden storm.

And brevity.
I thought alot about briefness,
about living out fewer plans,
of saying everything in smaller words.
I love you. I hear you. I'm sorry.
How everyone I touched seemed to be ticking.
but whether it was a clock or a bomb,
I can't tell you and maybe there's no difference.

But less.
Less about passing scenery,the men
who made me cry twenty-five years ago, the size
I left behind with each son's birth,
and less of thinlipped drop-ins who touched down
on my sofa, between laundry
cats, and library books
about building storm shelters.

So this year
I'm thinking about writing
small poems about women in jilbabs, global
bombs and clocks and warming books,
and leaving scenery to the drop-ins
who need to learn what it is to wait
in the dark for change.


Anonymous said...

I enjoyed reading your poem, Mary.
I don't know of you read/have read much Arabic poetry in translation, but your poem has an 'arabic' feel to it in terms of its tone and style. Thanks for posting it.

Scotty said...

Nice one, Mary - why aren't you in NaPo like the rest of us masochists?


Mary Paddock said...

Thanks David. I'll have to do some studying on Arabic poetry.

Scotty--Thank you very much. Fear of commitment I guess. :) Reading all the Napo stuff has been inspiring.

After a year and a half of editing and rewriting I'd totally lost touch with my right brain and consequently some of my confidence. Since poetry is a right brained process turned scrabble game, turned algebraic equation, and is all about saying what you came to say and saying it well, I thought I'd start there.