So that's Mom.
So now I'm going to read some newer work.
Throughout this period, I have also been writing poems.
I'm happy to say they're not all death poems--
in response to my relationship with my husband,
and I like to call him my lover.
We've been together for 25 years,
and I can still call him that, so to call his energy here
tonight.
They're all in pairs, and the first pair poem
is titled "Necessity," and the second poem, "Invention,"
because I feel those are two things that marriage,
that relationship, that love relationship calls forth in me.
And as you might guess, I have a certain relationship to form.
And for me, finding the organic form of the piece
is the way that the content can actually start to move.
So the form for these, the "Necessity" poems
are, it begins with a four sentence first stanza,
then a three sentence stanza, two sentence stanza,
one sentence stanza.
And then the "Invention" poem is the reverse
because sometimes you have to begin with virtually nothing,
right.
And usually the first sentence of the invention poem
is very short, two sentence, three sentence, and then four.
So I'll just read one pair of these.
I'm having eyeball trouble.
I just sort of did some revision of this,
but I think it can be read pencil marks.
I kept my old comb because its teeth
are bent to the shape of both our scalps.
Fermented liquor of your listening.
Empty cup of my vowels.
All sailors in our intricate sentence, but no captain.
I showcase for you, but only in a shoebox.
Satisfaction grows just outside whatever our minds
build to cultivate it.
Winter months, the cigarette unlit,
ambivalent, but without the least hedge of confusion.
We start from any, even the vilest word.
This is a study of what strands us.
"Inventions" There's sanctity in the jay's bark,
but no sanctuary.
They, the dangerous ideas, are following me again,
they're subtle and then they're unsubtle, pointing.
As they keep themselves uninventoried,
disinterested in my scrutiny.
My ears are ringing as I look down.
The height I've tossed my body this time is too high,
and still you climb.
Each hand or foothold can only be found
after the last one is released.
Climbing includes leaning with, and against, the guide wires.
A little wind this morning whittled down from wanton.
There's a watch wren outside our window, chirping loud,
which describes the world.