poetry

poem-ing a day

about a month ago I decided to restart my poem-a-day project. I felt the poetry muscle atrophy & wanted to flex some creativity again, even in just some small way. being in the desert makes me think about the world, & art, & appreciate the little things – like the way the creosote sways in the wind or how the ravens call to each other to warn of coyotes – so I wanted to try again to find an outlet for that.

find the poems here or follow my instagram.

on being seen

12:18 - 53rd street - MoMA

what does it mean to be seen but not SEEN? maybe its the difference between observation & objectification? photographs are about seeing yes, but they’re also a way of erasing the viewer or the maker of the photographer. they’re like windows with one way glass. we can see in but they can’t see out. in fact, they don’t even know we’re looking at them. I guess that’s pure voyeurism.

sometimes they do know I suppose. it’s a different kind of feeling. more about being on display for a purpose. if you can even call it being on display at all.

everything becomes a performance OR it already was one.

to be seen

an eye immobilized
against grey. a
mystery–
that’s solving itself
& never revealing
its answers.

 

ashes

breathing in the ash of 34000 dead

& the soot tastes like selfishness
hot & salt-tinged the way
the scent of death lingers
in the cloudline—
a faint grey smoke.

fires burning through the night
like train engines & still
not enough flame
for each of us—
pleading for warmth

we find instead refrigerator trucks
their jaws agape like flytraps
long steel throats opening—

waiting for prey.


earlier this week I learned that los angeles has temporarily suspended the air quality regulations that restrict the number of cremations that can happen in a day. there are so many dead from covid-19 mortuaries have not been able to keep up. the image of the air around us full of the ash of the dead has haunted me this week, so I wrote a poem about it.

untitled fire poem

my poem-a-month newsletter went out last week. since the beginning of the climate fires here on the west coast I’ve been trying to write a poem about the weird light, the gritty air, & the scent of doom. mostly I’ve failed. I sent my latest attempt out in the newsletter. read it here & subscribe to get a poem & a poetic exercise in your inbox each month.

untitled fire poem

I want to write a poem about the fires
about the ash floating in the air
like the scent of summer jasmine.
the smokers teeth sky pressing low—
so much lower than I remember.

I want to write a poem about the burn
pressed into my eyes the rough sleeps
the feeling of fine sand in my throat.
I want to write it but the flames—
are never quite far enough away.

powered by TinyLetter