Here are two poems I shared today in the final meeting of an informal writing class I have been taking. What an awesome class it was.
CHRISTMAS
When I was a wee girl,
and then a young girl,
and then a not-so-young-but-not-so-grown girl,
I thought that Christmas was about me.
I wanted ordinary things,
and I wanted extraordinary things,
and one time I wanted a basketball SO BAD –
I believed in what might be under the tree.
When I became a woman,
and I met a certain man,
and that man became my husband,
I thought that Christmas was about him.
I tried to get perfect gifts,
and I tried to get manly gifts,
and because I wanted to please him SO MUCH,
some gifts even included an orgasm.
Since reaching maturity,
and worrying about doing good,
and worrying about being good,
I’ve thought that Christmas is about everyone.
I have bought presents for friends,
and I have bought presents for strangers,
and I have even MADE presents for my siblings;
many would agree this is the true meaning of the season.
Now I am in a new place,
and I’m finding my voice in the stillness,
and I’m finding my bliss in the emptiness,
and I think that Christmas is about God.
God is here:
He can sit and have a coffee,
He can play Cribbage,
He can try out the new Guitar Hero game –
and before He never could.
When I Am Famous
I will not act famous.
I will try to remain anonymous.
I will publish under my real name, then ask everyone who knows me to call me Angel.
I will not have much money.
I will live outside a small town.
I will not read reviews or correspondence from admirers.
I will try hard to take care of the earth.
I will say amazing things to my friends.
I will make up things about my past.
I will have a small, brilliant publishing firm.
I will not have to do book signings.
I will not lose my faith.
I will still be a devoted, ironic mother.
I will not meet with the other famous people who want very much to meet me.
I will sell out an entire show of paintings without attending the opening.
I will send my daughter to negotiate with the museum about the purchase of my work.
I will use a lot of the money I make to help immigrant families.
I will be wise and kind.
I will have my heart broken more than once.
I will still be able to laugh a lot about a lot of things.
I will work hard to be a great hostess.
I will give occasional public readings of new work without giving my name or talking to anyone afterward.
I will not take a lover.
I will forgive people who hurt me.
I will have a cool best friend named Turk and he will live beside me.
I will do some kind of menial labor.
I will ride a three-wheeled motorcycle that Turk builds for me.
I will reveal myself at the Pulitzer Prize ceremony, but I will arrive late unintentionally and create a scene.
I will speak once a year and say life-changing things.
I will be very holy.
I will cry, but not in front of anyone.
I will be sad when other people are in pain.
I will read multiple books simultaneously.
I will help younger artists.
I will run on a path through the woods.
I will not kill insects.
I will not dye my hair and might even stop shaving my legs.
I will have tattoos that no one can see.
