Found.

Another innocent tree has died because of me. You see, I had a ridiculous inane absurd challenging burst of inspiration: compose a poem by utilizing the search terms that lead people to my blog. A found poem. It seemed like a great idea at first but it’s difficult to attempt a finely wrought creation with phrases like “girls gone wild”, “wild and freaky spring break”, and “sex statistics 2011″. It’s interesting to observe how people stumble upon my blog. I’ve written here before about blog stats, traffic, and the way these relate to sex  but it never ceases to amaze me that apparently, the majority of traffic to my blog comes from sex fiends and perverts. Not you, though. Of course not you.

So back to the sacrificial tree. I wrote and crumpled about 50 sheets of paper, but instead of alleyooping the crinkled-chip legal pad sheets straight into the purgatory of the recycling bin, I decided to uncrumple a few of the ideas and share some of my failed attempts with you (actual search terms are in italics)…

The most solid attempt was the poem about the older couple at the movies: they’re waiting to see Midnight in Paris, shoulders touching, her hair is smooth and gray (cat gray, pebble gray), she holds the tub of popcorn with the potholder of her cold palm; all of it– the hair, the wrinkled hands in the tub of buttery popcorn, the touching, his frequent need to get up and pee– all of it, a celebration of surviving. Found poem, strike 1.

Next attempt was the poem about a young couple divorcing: the husband leaves to go fishing for the first time while she tends to their young son who is sick with a sinus infection for five days, the bactrim isn’t helping, her life feels like a zoo frenzy but what do you pack for a day at the zoo she wonders (the first aid kit is useless with injury of the body and of the heart), no answers in reply to questions, the couple is apart, scared, and angry, standing on opposite sides of the fault line. Clearly, this is strike 2.

I had some fun with the poem about  the couple that meets on spring break: she has sex with various men (Chuck, Charles, Stanley) and then one night she meets Frank. There’s a dark moon, a deep sea, and she’s prettier without her glasses. She tries to help him with the condom and he yells calm down, I f’in got this. A wild and freaky spring break indeed. Strike 3 for me, for Frank, and for the girl who is prettier without her glasses (she came home from Spring Break with an STD).

It’s easy to see that found poetry is not my forte. So why am I playing with the found poem this week? Because I’m a little bit lost. A little dried out. A little unsure and a little doubtful. I need to take a couple of weeks to uncrumple myself and smooth my creases. I  have some projects at home to take care of, some doctors appointments, and some decisions to make. I will also be strengthening my poetry muscle in a workshop with a poet, Kim Addonizio, who I have long loved. I received an email from Kim on July 4th weekend letting me know I had been accepted to join her workshop. I have read her work, appreciated it, studied it (especially this book of poems); and there I was, exchanging emails with Kim like no big thing. The holiday’s zoom snap crack of fireworks matched my buzzing heart.

I’ll be back here in a few weeks, as soon as my “wild and freaky” summer break ends. In the meantime I hope you find delight in the most unexpected places and treasures in your trash heaps; I hope you stumble your way to unplanned adventures and fill your pockets with stories to tell.

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Today’s Poem is for the many nights we’ve lain here like this.

The Numbers by Kim Addonizio

How many nights have I lain here like this,  feverish with plans,

with fears, with the last sentence someone spoke, still trying to finish…

In case something bad happens.

S and I have very different ways of dealing with disasters, real or imaginary possible.  In his obsessive endearing way, he researches endlessly trying to foresee every possible scenario. S hopes for the best, prepares for the worst, but manages to stay cool and calm when the worst (usually a medical disaster) happens. Meanwhile, I ignore the possibility of anything going wrong and then freak when the shit goes flying. This is usually about the same time that I begin to appreciate that at least one of us is calm, collected, and full of useful information.

Lately, S has been focusing his research on the most effective methods of surviving a natural disaster. This is our “California is falling apart” kit:

For reasons that I don’t comprehend, it gives S and the angel a strange pleasure to go through and take stock of the contents. They like to unpack it every so often to relish the treasures within and imagine the different uses for each item. My daughter has been playing with the ropes, pretending to climb mountains, rapel, and spelunk. She has also asked us to call her the Fierce Feminine Survivalist.

Another reason I don’t prepare for possible disaster is because as long as my father is near, I know I’ll be safe. MacGyver was based on my dad. My dad worked his way to Africa as an oil rigger and he wears shorts in the snow. Why talk about feelings when you could be chopping trees is the question he asks himself daily. The best compliment I ever gave him was when I told him he’d make a good homeless person. He could survive apocalypse with a pencil nub, a blade, and a banana. So we’re good; no worries.

But I did get into the act just a little bit and made a contribution to our emergency preparedness by buying this:

It’s light (easy to carry in our pack) and it has numerous servings so it’ll keep us nourished for a few days. All we need is purified water, which we’ll have because of our hand cranked water purifier and iodine tablets. I also bought this:

My elementary school nurse taught me that throat lozenges make everything all better. Now I feel prepared; now I’m one step closer to ready for anything. Right?

Are you the prepared sort of person, or are you in the we’re so screwed and now it’s time to freak out boat? What would you make sure to have with you in an emergency, other than my father?

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Today’s Poem: (click link to read entire poem)

The End and The Beginning by Wislawa Szymborska

After every war

someone has to clean up…