Remember that first poetry workshop, Dearest Reader? The one in which there was always that one girl cowering in the corner, scribbling furiously in her notebook when she was able to take a break from screaming and sobbing and renting her garments (who happened to be me, by the way, but that is of no import here!)? The ones in which you were instructed to imitate a fashionably famous poet’s fashionably famous poem?
Well, I always had difficulty with that. I could never do it! To attempt to write like Emily Dickinson, William Carlos Williams, Anne Sexton — just thinking about it nearly gave me anxiety attacks! And even now, my heart is beating faster!
[this being the portion of the poemlogue in which Dearest Zelda walks outside to take a cigarette break in order to quell her anxieties and also in order to procrastinate writing aforementioned poemlogue]
But lately, fashionably famous poems by fashionably famous poets have been floating around in my head. Perhaps it’s because of the incredible intensity of the NaPoWriMo. Perhaps it’s because I’m floundering just after the fifty yard line.
So. When you read the poem below, Dear Reader, and you think, “OMGWTF?! Is she, like, trying to write like James Wright or something? Whatev!” — well, you will be wrong, Dear Reader! You will be wrong, wrong, WRONG! I was actually thinking of Pearl Jam’s “Elderly Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town.”
So there!
I know the solemnity of the honeysuckle permeating the early morning this time of year.
I sing the litany of green
[la la la, rest-of-poem is skipping through the hyacinths now.]
Posted by zeldafitzgerald 
Posted by viviennehaighwood 