Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Morning Poem

The Poetics of Survival

by Erica Mazzeo

the poetics of survival
are not trite.
Nor are they deep seeded,
or inflated feats involving
courage, rope, muscles and

The poetics of survival
make their way to my
kitchen table some days -
like an old friend,
they appear
to sit and sip coffee with.

We don't talk politics,
"there is really nothing less
related to survival"
the poetics insist.

I giggle at this notion.

"Then what is the true poetry of survival?" I ask.
Selfishly thrusting out the most
obvious of curiosities.

"I'm not 100 percent sure but I know
it involves table manners" the poetics
I shrug
take my napkin off my lap
to place it
back on
table top.

It's funny each time we meet I
feel I have learned less and
less about
how to exist,
how to hold my breath under water,
to survive pirate attacks,
cooking mishaps,
family wars -

how to cope.

I makes me wonder if all
I've really indulged in
is the poetics' own lessons
on their survival,
how they experience their
but i'm not really surprised.

Relieved when they don't come
around for days at a time.
I'm forced to draw my own conclusions,
keep the
fortress under control and
be the inner
in inner sanctuary,
the ex
in extrovert.

I nod and laugh again to myself,
pick up a slice of toast
with both hands and take a bite.
All the while knowing the
poetics will be back in a day or so,
and I will listen and nod
and pour us both
a glass of juice.

1 comment:

Joyce said...

Very nice- I like the poem!