I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender.

Dearest, Most Fashionable Reader: this poemlogue will be woefully short.

Before constructing the poem below, Zelda had a convee with her Most Fashionable and Talented Friend JT, and they both agreed that they are both drawn to poems that punch them in their respective faces. Zelda has been thinking about Matthea Harvey and how she has not yet read Sad Little Breathing Machine ever since Matt posted about his purchase of Sad Little Breathing Machine on his Most Fashionable Blog. So Zelda decided to pick a Matthea Harvey poem to work with this evening. So she opened up Pity the Bathtub Its Forced Embrace of the Human Form to this poem. And yes, Most Fashionable Reader, it punched her in the face. Goddammit.

So, Most Fashionable Reader, Zelda has had a fairly good Sunday except for a) having a dog pee on her leg while she was at the beach, and b) having a poem punch her in the face. Ah, well. Could be worse.

For this evening’s poem, Zelda again followed Fashionable Poem Prompt / Poem Prompt of Fashion Number 5 by cutting the number of words in Harvey’s poem “Letting Go” by half. Zelda also found an Oulipian term for this: Double Curtailing. Zelda does not feel she improved Harvey’s poem like she improved a Tony Hoagland poem earlier, but she does feel she personalized Harvey’s poem for her very own self. Goddammit.

Letting Go

The first time he saw a full somersault
against the sky, he saw clouds. His eyes
were open. The geese, the pond, the plants
reflected his new perspective. At a slant,
the daisies were partly covered. Their yellow
centers shone like fog. It made sense to him
the first time. He was told the Lord would
listen. He wasn’t paying any attention.
Discipline required for beginner’s lessons
in the tower. This didn’t hurt him. What did
was letting go when he wanted to hang on.