So I'm going to read one more poem that's
not a part of The Stuff of Hollywood,
and then I'll get to The Stuff of Hollywood.
and I'm going to do something that I never do,
which is to read a brand new poem that's in draft form.
And what you need to know is I love the prose poem.
And I've started writing a series of prose poems.
It wasn't on purpose, it just happened.
So they're documentary in nature.
Each of the prose poems ends with some type of language
that I've heard that sticks with me.
Some of the language is really interesting and sonically
lovely, and other parts of the language that I collect
is really ordinary.
I often use third person in my poems,
and so that's what is in this poem instead of first person.
This draft has no title, but it was written on January 20, 2025.
The morning of, the phone was lost.
Last seen on the nightstand in the bedroom on the second floor.
Next the morning of, there was one car, her car,
submerged under several feet of snow.
Feet can mean a certain number of inches,
or that which rests underneath a piece of furniture
to provide stability, or the limbs attached
to the ankle joints, or--
The morning of, once the vehicle was cleared,
the spine of the right windshield wiper broke in half.
It was the morning of the phone still AWOL,
the windshield wiper broken.
A day to reflect on four words: I have a dream.
Though not everyone was allowed to reflect, which is to say,
the morning of she had to teach students,
who on this particular morning of should
have been somewhere reflecting.
On the board, she couldn't remember the word
for two feet, two feet of poetry.
She would have looked it up on her phone,
but it would have been unfindable for several more
hours, its body somehow keeping company
under the canopy of a plastic microwave
cover several miles away.
The morning of was no longer that, meaning it was now noon.
The students stared.
She stared.
Whatever dismay they walked in with deepened.
In the parking lot, unbeknownst to her,
four car doors frozen shut.
Outside, a new king.
This is a reminder to dress appropriately
for the conditions.
Central Dauphin School District.
[APPLAUSE]