Billy Collins poem #2

Inspired by "My Number" on page 15.

Inevitabilites

things that are guaranteed to happen
to every person in the world
are rarely things that most people
like to sit and stew over.

things that will come and get you
in the end (and i mean the end)
aren't things most normal people
bring up at parties.

and by things i guess
i should just say the thing.
yes, that's better.
the thing that is guaranteed to happen.

why is it such an avoided topic?
after all, it is the one
and only thing everyone in the world
has in common.

i supposed it is because
it is sad, and it is
the basis of a lot of arguments
like what happens after it.

but still. how would it be if
at parties, instead of asking
about the kids or about school
people said things like this:

"how are you feeling about
death lately? scared? ready?"
what if people were frank and
honest with each other?

i think it would make for yes,
some awkwardness, a few
more somber parties than most
people would like to have.

but i also think it would be
interesting to hear. it would
be interesting to see what
everyone thinks about this

one sure thing in life.
this one inevitability.
before it is too late
and we never know what they thought.

or how they felt about it.

collins poem #1

Hate To Break It To You, But…

does it ever do any good to
sugar-coat things for children?
does it ever do any good to
hide the truth from them?

i don’t know.

but sometimes I wonder if
maybe we were honest with
them right from the get-go,

there wouldn’t be so many
messed up kids
with shattered dreams
and broken hearts.

maybe if we told them that
they can’t do anything they set their mind to
they can’t change the world
they can’t all become doctors and lawyers

they wouldn’t grow up to be so bitter.
and hate the ones who told them
they could do what they wanted.

because that’s life, isn’t it?
realizing you can’t do everything you want to
and some of your dreams will never
come true.

(Inspired by The History Teacher, page 38.)

Sestina for a Newly Single Expectant Mother

She looks out the window into the world

that she now feels she has no place

in. He is gone, her heart

is in a million pieces on the floor.

When her mother calls, she will tell a lie

and say he merely went on a business trip.

She will have to think of a good reason for a trip

so close to the time for their baby to come into the world,

and she does not like to lie

to her mother. He's put her in an awkward place

with no signs of his existence except muddy footprints on the floor

and bloody handprints on her heart.

She puts her hand on her belly to feel her baby's heart

and is careful not to trip

on the stair he always said he'd fix- the floor

is no place for a pregnant woman whose world

has just been shaken out of place

by a man always ready with a lie.

She groans as she tries to lie

down in a comfortable position, trying to get to the heart

of the matter as she furrows a little place

into her bed; the business trip

seems real as she feels his empty space in her world

and sees his slippers on the floor.

If life is a room and happiness is the ceiling, this is the floor

she thinks to herself, avoiding the thought of the lie

she tries not to remember. It is the three-word lie the world

tells to get every young girl's heart

ready and vulnerable to trip

into a trap of bitterness in happiness's place.

There is a stone in the place

of my heart, she whispers to the floor.

Pretty soon we'll take a trip

to the doctor, and I will tell him a lie.

I will say my husband did not break my heart

and all is right with the world.

You will soon have a place in the world

she tells her baby's beating heart and the floor.

And I will lie and say he's just on a trip.

poem due thursday, february 18

I will admit nothing about the waters around me.

I.

1. March 1970. New country. New state. New city. New house. New life.
2. My grandmother had moved from England, her home.
3. The unfamiliar sights and sounds of Huntington Beach surrounded her.
4. She had two daughters.
5. Would they remember England as their home?
6. Or would the crowded beaches and shopping malls of this state be home to them?
7. This change had been necessary, but not necessarily easy.
8. No one likes to lose their home.

II.

1. August 2009. College. Real life. Are you excited? Yes! (no).
2. A room where a house used to be. A campus where a town used to be.
3. At first, nervous, but hopeful. Mostly.
4. Later, the discomfort sets in. The unfamiliar is not exciting anymore.
5. The unknown magnifies loneliness to an alarming degree.
6. How is college going for you? It’s good. (why am I lying?)
7. Slowly, the acceptance. And then, reluctantly, happiness peeks through the clouds.
8. Change isn’t easy. But it is real.

erotic poem, due tuesday, february 16

a cellist and jonathan rhys meyers.

i imagine that
this position of
your arms completely
wrapped around me
our bodies as close as
they can be
would be the most
secure
comforting
amazing
position to be lying in
to wake up to

i imagine that it would give me that
chest-constricting
hard-to-breathe
so-happy-it's-crazy
feeling
that i would love to share
with you
with your arms
wrapped around me

(i don't do erotic. so this is as erotic as it's gonna get.)

inspired by failing in the presence of ants by gary soto

being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up

sometimes
when I think back to the summers
of my childhood
to barefoot basketball on an asphalt driveway
making our feet black and earning
a scolding and a wet washcloth from my mother
to ticks found in between toes and in our hair
after too much time spent
in the bog and among the willows that guarded
the edge of our endless backyard
to the cicada’s loud call
to softball and croquet and simply sitting in the
overgrown summer grass
to the far-off melody of an ice cream truck
to going to bed sunburned, bruised, and exhausted
only after waiting for the twinkling of fireflies
and the sparkling of stars to embellish
the beautiful, warm nights
all that I can do is
sigh
and know that the most magical part of my life
is over

family poem

what a funny pair they are
my mother and father
my dad was born in harvey, illinois
he grew up on the south side of chicago
moved to new york
then california
illinois again somewhere in there

his dad was a drunk; a lush; a good-for-nothing
alcoholic
who wasted his God-given artistic talent
on drinks.
he wasted his money on
beer
paying off things he never should have bought:
a camper, a motorcyle, waterskis
paying off countless car accidents
that happened while under the influence
it's a miracle he never killed anyone
that's what my dad always says

my grandma didn't go to college
but she worked hard
she made the best of an unfortunate marriage
an unfortunate marriage that produced
five children. one of which was
extremely badly behaved;
my father.

my mother, on the other hand.
born in england.
england; God save the queen.
moved to huntington beach, right near the beach
when she was a kid.
her mom a beautiful, proper englishwoman.
her dad a removed, cold man from
new zealand of all places.

my mother had two brothers
one half-sister
her younger brother david died
when he was 23
when i was just 1 or 2.
my mom's mother also worked hard
in a marriage to a man named Steele
and he was just as cold, unfeeling, and unbendable as steel
it's a fitting name.

the only few things my parents have in common:
intelligence
the ability work incredibly hard
selflessness
an absent father

they met playing
trivial pursuit
my father the college grad
three of the kids in his family
made it to college
which is quite remarkable, really

he, fresh out of college
an engineer
my mom also fresh out of college
a teacher

she thought he was funny
he thought she was nice.
and pretty.

their differences:
he loves bruce springsteen
she loves billy joel and classical
he loves the White Sox, the Jets, the Lakers
she hates all sports
he loves math.
she loves english.

on and on.
point being.
opposites really do attract.
and i'm glad they do.