Friday, May 15, 2009

Xtreme Vulnerability

In the midst of this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad-ish week, has come happy-dance inducing news--a poem I wrote over a year ago, which I didn't think was ever going to find a proper home, is being published in a book that's coming out in the Fall. Dance party!

I'm always happy when my little hard-to-place ditties find a niche, but this one is especially meaningful to me. It's an unusual piece for me; it's a long poem, and it covers a lot of territory. It's called "A Prayer for Reclamation", and I wrote it as a canticle for healing. I keep typing and deleting here; trying to describe how I feel about this poem. It's early, I've had a hell of week, and words are not holding together well right now. It's one of the most deeply personal things I've written, and it's called a prayer because, in a very real sense, it is a prayer rather than a poem (although a poem is often a prayer). I meant every word of it. I still do. And I hope that whoever reads it will find a shred of hope, or self-forgiveness, or redemption. I've been very protective of this one, and I'm happy it's finally going out into the world in a good vehicle for it.

They're also going to publish an essay I wrote several years ago, which is making me a little nervous, because it involves a real life thing that happened some time ago that I really don't like talking about much. Also, I have this paranoid fear now that I didn't disguise things enough and some of the people involved are going to recognize the story and possibly not react so well to my interpretation of events; and I don't know what they're capable of. I've never put anything out there that personal before--I guess didn't think they were really going to publish it. However, I feel stubborn about not withdrawing the piece. This whole thing feels very strange, right now. Like I am about to peel myself open to one and all and say, here--look inside. In some way, I feel like I do that all the time when I write. But something about this feels very, scarily real.

Being a poet, it's hard to remember sometimes that words are more than just toys. You say it, you own it--no matter the cost.

1 comment:

Dana said...