Paula's Barntique for the Twitter Bargainista
What My Life is Like Now that I'm in Grad School

When it really isn't about you, even though you think it is!

It's Sunday afternoon, and I am way behind on lesson planning; but, I just had to share this poem today with my readers because I miss my writing, and it's not really about you. In fact, most of the time it is never about anyone in particular, but more about the general mood or tone of my life as I perceive it daily. And while divorce is good, I am currently without one, even though other kinds of formal documents are a consistent pest. In other words, be careful about how you interpret any poem...simply said, you bring your own reality into the framework and words of any artwork. The situation is unavoidable. You should never apply any reality to obvious fantasy.

I can remember reading something from the notes of John Steinbeck about how the people that hated him were angry if they thought he characterized them in his novels, but how they hated him even more if they suspected they were completely ignored. The people that hate me can go ahead and take their hate to the next level because, clearly, I could care less about their feelings come what may. 

But maybe this isn't really about you after all, and maybe it's still not absolute fiction. It's very possible that you are deeply loved by me, and, of course, you would never appear in any of my more negative suppositions. I am hoping that is the stance you prefer to take, whatever you are reading---the high road of poetry analysis.



My Protest

 

I object to your shaming technique.

My demonstration consists of my

movement away from you.

 

I’ve lost your all-consuming clutter.

The myriad of your trash, stacked

behind and before, below and beneath,

our shared space.

 

I’ve lost my sympathy for you,

                my desire

                                to help you

                                to understand you

                                to support you

 

My patience has abandoned me, along

with my antipathy.

                I have lost all feeling for you.

 

I’ve gained a flower of blue, calm attitude

blooming in a garden of peace,

a fresh space overlooking an emerald garden,

a recovery from your divisive, hateful, dramatic

approach.

 

I hold my perfect square of sunshine

between my fingers.

 

My protest is over…

Our divorce is complete.

 

Now think about this...the average reader would assume that I have just obtained my last middle aged right of passage---the divorce! Some other readers of this poem might think I have done the unthinkable---tossed my teenager out into the street!

I am not about to do that anytime in the near future. His behavior is impeccable! He is even neat...So, what could this poem be about? What inspired me to write this horrible little bit of anti-art? Okay, I will tell you. 

Something that truly offended and shocked me inspired this piece of angry junk. And if you were ever offended by something, then you know how it can stick in your mind forever until you cleanse it by writing it away. What I have seen over the years will without a doubt make it into some kind of a permanent record; but until then, please, be patient with me. My anti-art is simply my way of dealing with the present, while recording it for the future. 

Honestly, it is NOT about you :)

 

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