her guts dive bomb into the clay soil of her Bakersfield
front yard
fruitless, it was, the attempt to avoid camouflage wearing paratroopers
who she could see were aiming their weapons straight for her most fragile spaces
she responds like she did long ago sitting
on the bleachers for the away side
north arlington was getting close to the
goal line and could end up winning
hands over her ears. eye wrinkled tightly shut.
maroon and white proudly worn over
her shoulders
a book she read long ago and hated mumbled “instinctual
nucleaus articulated as a nondisjunction”
she mumble-shouts, “Oh, really, Julia Kristeva?”
the invisible author stares back, glasses balanced
just above the upturned curve of her nose
she frowns at herself, writing a poem with
neither punctuation nor capitals must
mean that bloated author was righter
smarter and probably funnier and sexier
than she
she took cover under a blanket of words
as usual
a place where neither the clay soil
nor the paratroopers nor
the pretentious writer
had any power
over her
for now
This is my first poem for the 365 poem challenge. I am starting at 9/365 so it doesn't get confusing. I look forward to getting to know the other poets and getting my poetic lifestyle moving and grooving again.
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© 2013 by Julie Jordan Scott
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