Encore

I was thinking about poetry today. I start the poetry section in my English 102 class soon. I teach poetry on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I read poetry at least weekly. And I write poetry, although not so much lately. There's one poem that I wrote a couple years ago that I love. I know we're not supposed to love our own work. How arrogant!!! But I do love it. I don't even always believe I wrote it, I like it that much. My friend James calls this poem my "Freebird." You know, how every time Lynard Skynard played in concert they would play Freebird and it was like their anthem. Shoot, it was everyone's anthem. I read this poem every time I do a reading. Get your Bic lighters ready......


Current

I jump in. The water covers me. I am being
born. The water is air. I start to swim. I start to cry.
I keep swimming. Some things die but mostly
things grow. Marigolds at the side of the house,
puppies from the hunting dog that lives
in the back yard. When I hurt, my mother says
I have growing pains. I’m not popular
but I’m not the outcast. I’m not smart but I’m not
the idiot. I’m not even swimming really. I’m doing
the dog paddle. I stay afloat. In the sixth grade
I have knobby knees and long hair. I’m embarrassed
most of the time in a general way. I sit outside
at night and watch Venus rise. I go to Dairy Queen
with my mom and dad. I keep swimming.
Things are still dying or growing. I go to movies.
I try a sip of bourbon. I get
my high school pictures back. I shake the water
out of my eyes. People swim
along side me sometimes but mostly
they don’t. The water flows so fast. I choke
on air. I love moving. Sometimes I’m so tired,
I don’t move at all. Some days I go back,
some days I go forward. But I keep swimming.
I write letters. I like the taste of stamps.
I miss my mom and dad but I live far away
and don’t call. I’m in a big place.
I worry about freeway shootings.
I swim away. I live where things are covered
in fog. I can’t tell the difference between the growing
and the dying. I play pool or shop for post cards.
I may still be having growing pains. I may
be drowning. I may just be plain and average.
I move to a small place. I never drink champagne.
I date sad men. I like addicts.
I read books. I practice blowing out
birthday candles. One day
I grow legs. I walk on land. I am still not popular
but I am still not the outcast. Once in a while
I have sex appeal. I watch my parents get old. I talk
to them every day. I become patient. I understand
the importance of photographs. I grow vegetables
in the backyard. I keep walking. Sometimes I close
my eyes when I eat. I chuckle
when I’m by myself. I find people to walk with. I dance
in the living room. I have a child. He is swimming.