“Dead Zone”
NYC (But not actually Park Avenue but Empire State Building seen from Hudson)
Dead Zone
His name still on my cellphone, cool air
on flexed wrist, Park Avenue bordering
on indigo eventide; press
key that rings up just
my mom now.
Helmsley Palace (ahead) wears
lit stories like a
tiara. Hi sweetie,
she says as brightly, then launches (after and how
are you) into the letter she got today from
guess who.
Happiness pairs with despair as I wonder who actually
got down to write her as I had meant to, who else would know
his birthday (the first he’s ever missed). An irritatingly-
organized cousin comes
to mind.
The President, she gloats (so, not cousin)–siren
morphs to moan a few blocks distant–you know I’ve
never gotten a letter from a president before, not
in my whole life.
Curb shapes huge cobbles–my father
in two wars–picture
a foamed stein with
floating sun–dawn hike in Czechlosovakia,
issued for breakfast, later, beer, each
with raw egg–
Deep step onto tar, and
even as I know, this being NYC, that all the shadows
wearing black are not
in mourning: he wants
you to send him some money, I tell
her.
Yes, she laughs, it said
‘do not bend,’ right on the envelope.
I know she hasn’t forgotten this date, just today’s–
so many red finned limos, trucks, I have to cross
in angles.
I want to whisper, Mom, you know it’s April 25th, then
imagine her voice scraping the top of something
or bottom, once she remembers, and how, after
she has descended into sadness, I
would comfort her; how, after making her
feel bad, I’d make her
feel better—the Metlife passage huge with
sheen and shine, blocks of transluscent
air/glass/linoleum–
Deep into that gloss, a warble
of politics and donations,
I’ll probably lose you soon, I say,
just as I always do when I get to about that spot–
**************************************************
Twenty-fith draft poem of sorts for National Poetry Month. Agh. My initial posting of it a bit confusing, but I’ve edited it now. (So I hope it reads better.)
I am linking this one to Real Toads, which had an “Ella’s Edge” prompt about writing an “Inside Outside Poem” one that moves in concentric circles. I’m not sure that I quite understood the prompt – but there you have it. This poem was also inspired by the very different and much more uplifting poem of Lady Nyo’s about the anniversary of the birth of her father’s birthday.
Explore posts in the same categories: UncategorizedTags: birthday of lost loved one, cell phone on Park, in memory on Park Ave, manicddaily, mother-daughter poem, poem about loss of parent
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ManicDDaily 
April 26, 2012 at 7:48 am
A poem that slowly reveals the story, and the emotions. There’s a turn of emotions near the end that is striking, when it feels like a disappointment is coming because one realizes, it isn’t what she thinks it is.
A bit affected by it because of the familiarity of the some of the lines there to the kind of thoughts I have, about my own mother.
April 26, 2012 at 7:51 am
Thanks– maybe it reveals too slowly–you know was working late last night. Thanks much. K>
April 26, 2012 at 9:16 am
This is painful in some ways Karin–and tender in others. How we love to make people feel bad so we can be the ones to comfort them, and ourselves in a shared grief. The metaphor of a dead zone is profound–that place between even those closest where communication is just not possible. AFA the prompt, I had no clue either, but I think mixing outer and inner here happens very smoothly and to purpose. ( Four more days. ;_) )
April 26, 2012 at 10:47 am
Yes! I have done this for the last two Aprils, but no one was visiting my blog much back then, so I wasn’t also involved in commenting – and my work life may have been a bit less demanding–I can’t actually remember! I do tend to post daily anyway, but may stick to pictures of little elephants for a while. (Ha!) K.
April 26, 2012 at 12:24 pm
I’m looking forward to getting away with a music you tube. 😉
April 26, 2012 at 1:05 pm
If you sing, dance or play the tuba on it, you will get a lot of hits! K.
April 26, 2012 at 2:12 pm
Ha! The only kind of hits I’d get if I sang or played would be from flung objects.
April 26, 2012 at 9:51 am
wow, i really like this a lot. i feel it, i see it, i feel like i am right there, in that conversation. good one.
April 26, 2012 at 10:50 am
Marian – if you see this can you send me your URL?! Thanks so much for your kind comment. K.
April 26, 2012 at 5:43 pm
sure thing, please come visit me: http://www.runawaysentence.com
and i’m sure i’ll be back, i love this poem.
April 26, 2012 at 10:21 am
oy, this one stings a bit at the thought of losing a parent you know…knowing that time is coming, and sometimes even reminding them of that aand comforting them, to make them feel better, to make us…really nice progression in this, still easy to follow with all the extra touches, the donations to presidents…oy that is an animal itself…nice write…
April 26, 2012 at 10:32 am
Thanks, Brian.
April 26, 2012 at 10:34 am
Oh yes, your mother on the one hand, the city on the other — perfect inside/outside. A well-crafted emotional response to the prompt. I like it a lot.
K
April 26, 2012 at 10:52 am
I keep coming back to your poem. It speaks volumes.
K
April 26, 2012 at 11:27 am
It was personal and private and a dance we all will encounter.
I see you connect the lines of inner and outer so well~ I love that you started us off with Dead Zone and took us in and out of the connected thought~ Powerful and well done~
Sorry you and others were confused about the prompt. Bottom line it is about capturing what is going inside you with what attracts you in your real world…. You did a great job!
April 26, 2012 at 11:59 am
Hi Ella, I thought it was a good prompt – I think it printed a bit oddly on your columns, but it was very helpful as a source of inspiration, thanks. K.
April 26, 2012 at 12:04 pm
This unfolds beautifully, delicately. Tremendous write.
April 26, 2012 at 12:20 pm
I cant think of a better example of inside/outside than this – the outer conversation, and descriptions of sights and sounds, the inner reflections. Fantastically good.
April 26, 2012 at 12:22 pm
Thanks so much. k.
April 26, 2012 at 4:09 pm
I so agree with Sherry…you have blended the inner and outer thoughts and sounds to perfection
April 26, 2012 at 11:30 pm
You having this conversation, while noticing the city around you, is so familiar. The pain and the thoughts all tangle up in this thing called life. Very well crafted!
April 27, 2012 at 4:05 pm
K. this sucked me right in….bypassed any confusion, and right to the heart.
it is so hard when someone dies…because you are not only dealing with your memories and thoughts and passion about the dead one, but all the demands of others: their grief, their demands, their memories…and yes…their anger at ‘being deserted’.
It’s been 22 years since my dear father died, and my mother and I still can’t talk about it. But then again, we can’t talk about much.
It was very hard…took years, for me to claim my territory of grief without her intrusion.
Your poem is poignant, real, and I feel the grief. That you haven’t delayed it, speaks volumes for your own emotional health.
Truely a beautiful and well layered poem, but with a message that goes deep.
Lady Nyo
April 27, 2012 at 8:04 pm
Thanks, lady nyo.
May 12, 2012 at 9:04 pm
This is profound, my dude. Make sure you scoop my brain up and take it to the places your’s goes.
May 12, 2012 at 9:09 pm
Thanks so much, Eddie. K