For full text of poem:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Z82UPfiV54yyk8pLDj3ESrs1YBjbMnltOybEPltbJuA/edit?usp=sharing
A Poet’s Costume
wait, are you saying these
naturopathic pants don't fit me
and they've never looked good on me
and no one said anything until now
well actually they did
but i was so perplexed i couldn't see it
but now it's beginning to come clear
what if i'm not meant to be a caregiver
to anyone that wants to pay me $560
what if i could just
love and adore
and take care of
my family and friends
and that was it
what if i spent my time
creating works and performing them
and what if people wanted to come and sit with me
and talk about their lives
and i might have a cup of tea with them
and we hash out their ideas
and i add a few
what if i wrote books
like the kinds i like to read
with the pretty covers
in a cute handheld size
what if my lifelong love of learning
got turned around on me
and i saw
that i was someone
with something to offer
something of value
something people would want to read
i hear the dismal moans and guffawing
at the prospect
of wrestling myself
into a poet's costume
cigarette pants
black flats
a morose anorexic in the city
looking down her nose at the low arts
and savoring her clove cigarettes
that job sounds carcinogenic
do i think it's a waste of time
for others to make books and music?
do i trivialize their musings?
hell no!
i worship in the grand library
of creativity on any subject
i might desire to explore
i love the anticipation
of picking up a new book
holding it like a mirror
to see me what i look like in it.
showing me reflections
of my own heart and mind
in their ideas
and recognizing myself more fully
so deep and juicy the satisfaction
of that interchange
i love the written word
for its power to inspire
to make me laugh out loud
a private oracle consulted in bed
to affirm me and my place in the world
the coffee clutch of naysayers
i can hear them now as they cackle
what a
frivolous
bougie
self-indulgent
impractical
unhelpful
pointless
waste of time
energy
and effort
and yet the brain children
of millions of other artists
make life worth living for us all
and are some of their works
have stood in for me
over the years as
dear friends
helpful nisses
supporters
encouragers
why shouldn’t i be able
to be one of those artists?
the only thing i want to do
is sit here
legs warm under my blanket
with long stretches of time alone
and a nice pen and coffee
and see what wants to emerge
it's not a creation but a discovery
not making a thing up
but making out its image
slowly at first from afar
and then getting closer to it
it's outline is clearer
and you say
hallelujah, it's a baby!
that's pretty much
the hottest game in town
as far as i'm concerned
from inside the walls of my brain
i know every inch
of the boring geography
but this other writing
is not from around these parts
it beams in from another universe
i've not visited
and so it's all new
and the air is so clean
you want to gulp it in
and your eyes are so wide open
you want to take in everything
and the clarity is crystal sparkling magic
like when you first take mushrooms
and you can't get over
the beauty and perfection
i
