jillypoet: mom trying to write

Each day I wish I had invented waterproof sticky notes (for shower inspiration) or pen-friendly diapers to get down all my quirky thoughts that I am sure are relevant and publishable. And so God (actually another writer-mommy) sent me The Blog.

Friday, November 02, 2007

Thanks Day 2, Poem, Day 2

Since tonight's poem continues the slightly off-beat & out-of-character train I've been riding of late, I think I will start with the blessing first.

Today, my second dayof thanks, I am thankful for way more than 1 thing.

  • a coffee date with my long lost poetry pal, wherein she reminded me how nice it is to have friends who love you
  • watching a silly, scary movie with the whole family, all four of us sprawled on the couch.
  • my daughter telling me five times in a row how much she missed me, and i was just on the phone in another room for a little while
  • a little while being an almost one hour conversation with my mom, my best friend

OK. On to the poem. I know I vowed to unearth the poems lying in wait in my many, many yellow legal pads and fancy beaded journals, but my muse has been so interesting lately, so sassy, I just couldn't help myself from giving her another random short prompt and seeing where she'd go.

Tonight I opened "Buz," my son's funny book about a mosquito who gets eaten along with the cornflakes. I opened to this line, ""Surrender," they commanded." And I was off and running. If anyone can make heads or tails of this, I would appreciate interpretation. Of course, sometimes I guess poems don't have to mean.


There Is No Evil in This Kitchen

“Surrender!” they commanded.
I did my best, trained my eyes
on the door, shuffled my bound feet
toward the voices.
Voices, always voices.
The pot, calling the kettle bad names.
The ladle, crying out for stroking,
for stirring conversation.
Tied by my apron strings,
I stumbled to the sink,
tightenend the tap,
lest my secrets eek out
with last minute’s hot water.
When they finally release me,
please tell my family,
the tea bags on my eyes
steam the evil out.
The carrots protruding from my ears
root the evil deep beneath maternal soil.
The mashed potatoes foaming from my mouth,
they are the better to eat you with.

5 Comments:

Blogger polka dot witch said...

i like the interplay with your new muse ... but i think your old one was sassy, too. :)

what does this mean? mean? i don't know but here's what i get out of it ....

(of course, i'm morbid) it talks to me about giving in to death and preparing the body for viewing ... what people will see. and i don't just mean dying-dying, i mean the death of anything ... like identity or self or ... that's what i found in it.

i like what i found. what did everyone else see?

10:17 PM  
Blogger January said...

I love giving life to household items. The whole poem is about rebellion for me. Domesticity is overrated. But you're right, Jill--a poem can just be.

1:04 AM  
Blogger Dennis said...

The poem was fun, but here's my favorite part of your post:
"my daughter telling me five times in a row how much she missed me, and i was just on the phone in another room for a little while"

Kids are wonderful, aren't they?
D

10:04 AM  
Blogger Crafty Green Poet said...

I like the secret lives of kitchen utensils here.

1:04 PM  
Blogger KrisUnderwood said...

hey- your 'other' link under Some Days I Get Lucky header isn't working. Says page not found.

1:56 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home