Humming Along

The update from the writers' workshop is everyone is improving. There is a humming atmosphere, which is good, because I can't sing. Everyone agreed Naoko's poem was wow, and if you get a chance, check out Mike's blog. He has added quite a few poems, is getting ready to submit MFA apps, and I'm sure would appreciate feedback. I submitted a revision of a found text poem I gleaned from one of my court transcriptions, and Naoko said it was her favorite poem of mine so far. I laughed long and hard. Apparently I do a lot better finding poems than making them up on my own. While David is having fun erasing, I'm digging stuff out of transcript bins. I've printed this piece before on my blog, but this time I worked on the line breaks. It has an interesting story behind it, which I'll print later so it doesn't ruin the poem for you.

Punch List

Uneasy.
They were moving
to different states.
Uprooting things.
No job, no plan.
Your job is
your livelihood.
That’s how you live.
The house was cold.
I remember it
being very, very cold.
Like you could see
your breath cold.
It struck me as odd.
Maybe he kept it cold
so the smells didn’t
permeate the house.
He assured me
he did maintain the rugs.
I was in all the livable
rooms of the house.
The rugs were clean
and it’s cold in there.
There were dogs
and a rabbit.
I was never in the attic.
There were stains
on the ceiling
of the master bedroom.
There were comments
about the noises
and the smells.
There was a screen
missing.
My kids were like,
this house is strange.
I heard scratching.
It was loudest
at the upstairs window.
We heard some things,
like light, light noises,
but I didn’t put a name
to it until the scratching
episode became loud.
There was a string
and I pulled it,
but no light came on.
It’s the kind of smell
that goes from your nose
to your stomach.
Did you ever smell
something like that?
I was in nose reach
of this smell.

We cut down the tree.
It was a hot summer.
We stayed
in that vacated state
a long time.