for Daniel Owen
why is it so different to hear you describe to me
rather than to experience on my own
young girls possessed by the spirits of the structure
the marriage between the old woman and the fairy
it happened but nobody really wonders why
they just watch the possession take place
and say it’s over when it’s over
the way they treat the poets is the same way
they treat the forest
get it out of here, exports, expunged
the way she talks to the cleaning woman
I need to turn into a cicada
let the cat play with me on the floor
confused by my shell and unwillingness to die
how I learned not to believe
in choice as it had been presented to me
freedom or chance too are more blurry
we need more words or less
I have a shadow imagination just
below this one, I’ll show you
the cat can jump out of the window
but isn’t strong enough to get back in
we let her in, begin again
either you love me or you love me or
don’t let me in, the structure falls apart
one scattered rock you describe
as a witness to its own wreckage
the structure seeking its revenge
for having been ignored or misunderstood
just like I am confused by my aliveness
as it exists in the valley between volcanoes
as it exists beside you on the porch
volcanoes are like time in that way
I need a break from thinking I am just one being
we like your other theory more
the one where the seasons are
a place that language invented for us
and the word class came from
the word tower which came from a
physical reality of which, we pause to reflect,
is it all just power seeking power?
I’m just glad to be here to hear you say it
the structure is a flower upside down
the structure holds three cups and a bowl
a snake with so many faces and
what does the structure use
the snake for what do any of us
do in the face of writing I was a school
I made my bed, I walked out
I believed we could create our own
ideas of what has value
we could admit we live in the world, yes,
but we could turn it on its head too
couldn’t we?
it’s hard not to notice
the girl we call shy cat
is a reference to a story
people tell when they want
to remember their histories
I can tell just by looking
the earth will traumatize the people
with its massive movements
shifting in its shape just a little
is every stir, every rise and fall
a kind of revenge
for having been too long ignored?
for having been thought immobile?
I like living in the question
I don’t believe in days or years
perhaps revenge is simply a surfacing
of what was always there
how is your day? as if it were mine
the complexity a reciprocity
do you know that word?
shy cat laughs
she likes to smile, they say pointing
at me, I’ve learned a lot
from joy and contentment
I would tell you if I knew
how to keep going
a remarkable sound coming
from just outside the door
I am still trying to identify
what was the low hanging fruit?
can I show you? what a weapon is
red and white candy stripes
against a blue rusted gate
the low hanging fruit is confused
for the birds, the birds are
confused for the sky, the sky
is confused for the structure
a flower falls from my head, my hair
is it okay? to jump into the fire
to imagine there is something salvageable
to rescue it and then throw it back in
to read you this poem
you shouldn’t listen to me
is it okay to read you this poem
***
Anna Gurton-Wachter is a writer, editor and archivist. Her first full length book, Utopia Pipe Dream Memory, was published recently by Ugly Duckling Presse. She is the author of six chapbooks including Mother of All (above/ground press), Spring Bomb (dancing girl press), and The Abundance Chamber Works Alone (essay press). Recent work is available or forthcoming from peach magazine, a) glimpse) of), social text, verse, and the poetry society of america. Anna is 1/3 of doublecross press, a small poetry chapbook micropress, she puts people’s poems online at counterpoetry dot com and she has been a curator for the Segue Reading Series in NY. For more info visit annagw.com / @anna.as.metaphor
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