Poetry from Julie Jordan Scott: (Sometimes I Hate Writing Poetry)

I started writing a version of this poem a month or so ago. The other night I found notes I had written, sort of nudging me to write it. I didn't.

This is one of those topics I really would rather not write about at all yet thankfully, the universe has this conspiracy method she uses to dare me to create, anyway. Thank you (or not!) to Amy McGrath, one of the prompters at OctPoWriMo.com, and World Mental Health Day. Apologies to my sister, who may not even remember these moments. A nod to Bakersfield Poet, Anna Stewart, whose words from a critique group a couple years ago came into my head and brought me to make some last minute edits. The different tenses are purposeful. Those of you who are really uptight about such things, just let it be known... sometimes in art we make choices that don't fit convention. Thank goodness.

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She was in preschool on that day.

I open the cabinet where the pills and the coffee and the mugs are kept.

I close the cabinet door, quickly, because the urge is instant, strong and loud.

I gather her up. I gather her and her baby brother up.

We have to leave. Go anywhere. Get out.

She was in preschool on that day.

We leave the house. I drive us to that Bible study.

I take them to their places. I go to mine.

I sit and listen. I say a phrase or two. I smile. I sing.

I gather them up at the end. I go home. I face the cabinet door.

She was in preschool on that day.

That weekend my sister and her husband and their daughter arrive.

They arrive at my front door. I hug them. Force my arms around them.

We eat pizza. “You’re doing reconnaissance for Mom, aren’t you.” A statement. Not a question. She is.

My sister chews her pizza. Her husband talks about peanut butter.

She is in preschool on that day. My Mom comes soon after.

She cleans my house. She never talks about the day.

The day the cabinet door opened and the

urge was instant, strong and loud.

She was in preschool on that day.

I don’t want to write about this anymore.

The urge to not write this is instant, strong and loud.

She is a senior in high school on this day.

She follows through on that long ago shout from the cabinet.

We go to the hospital on that other day.

She is fine, they say, none of us - except for her - knowing.

She opens the door to the cabinet.

She wasn’t in preschool anymore.

She reaches in. Opens. Swallows. Closes. Panics.

This week. Sadness. Descent. Today. Giggles. Turkey Vultures.

Pumpkins. SATs. Tomorrows. Breathe in, out.

She was in preschool on that day.

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Julie Jordan Scott is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy and mixed-media artist whose Writing Camps and Writing Playgrounds permanently transform people's creative lives. Watch for the announcement of new programs coming Fall and Winter, 2014 and beyond.

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Comments

Thanks for sharing the story. As a side note I sometimes come across old poems and can't believe I felt a certain way. Everyday is a step closer to getting better.

Posted by: Fida | October 10, 2014 at 10:01 AM

This set my heart pounding. The repeated phrase was a grounding point through the poem. I thought that worked well. I liked the instant, strong, loud phrase that repeated...both because it's a great line and also because when it's introduced it applies both to the call and potentially the coffee. And the content...wow...did I mention heart pounding? I'm not sure I gathered all the pieces to the story or even the right pieces...my brain went to attempted either self-medication or suicide from the speaker and a potential repeat from the speaker's child...thankfully with happy endings for both...and it was powerfully done. Heart pounding? And if anything I ever said contributed in even the smallest way to this poem...I consider it a compliment of the highest order. This was really powerful...painful but powerful.

Posted by: Anna Stewart | October 10, 2014 at 10:06 AM