What she was wearing

I heard this poem earlier this week on The Writer's Almanac, and really liked it. I also thought Keillor read it very nicely.

What She Was Wearing

by Denver Butson

this is my suicide dress
she told him
I only wear it on days
when I'm afraid
I might kill myself
if I don't wear it

you've been wearing it
every day since we met
he said

and these are my arson gloves

so you don't set fire to something?
he asked

exactly

and this is my terrorism lipstick
my assault and battery eyeliner
my armed robbery boots

I'd like to undress you he said
but would that make me an accomplice?

and today she said I'm wearing
my infidelity underwear
so don't get any ideas

and she put on her nervous breakdown hat
and walked out the door

"What She Was Wearing" by Denver Butson from Illegible Address. © Luquer Street Press, 2004. (buy it from Amazon)

I've never had a suicide dress. Closest I've ever come is a PMS dress, some interview underwear, and a pair of lucky socks. How about you?

I'm definitely checking out more works by this poet.

Anti-Schlock Steering

So to make up for that last post, I offer you my all-time favorite Robert Frost poem. I do not remember the title.

Where my imaginary line
Bends square in woods an iron spine
And pile of real rocks have been founded.
And off this corner in the wild,
Where these are driven in and piled,
One tree, by being deeply wounded,
Has been impressed as Witness Tree
And made commit to memory
My proof of being not unbounded.
Thus truth's established and borne out,
Though circumstanced with dark and doubt
Though by a world of doubt surrounded.

Subconcious schlock

So I guess I've been dreaming a lot lately. I don't remember any of the dreams to tell you. But, I've woken up two days this week with something running through my head.

Exhibit A:


Which I (of course) had to sing pedaling to work that day, and hum under my breath for the next 36 hours.

Exhibit B:
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.

And this? This is inextricably tied in my head to Ponyboy, and the young Matt Dillon and Emilio Estevez, and all the budding ESL students I ever taught "The Outsiders".... What a crowd to wake up to! Sheesh.

Conclusion?
My word, is my head really that full of schlock?