Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Flash of the Phoenix
Phoned by many a lady in a poetic fugue, wanting, seemingly to end it all, I was somehow getting into a funk myself. When the computer stole the poem I had been working on for years, I contemplated hanging myself. Just before I looked for the rope, however, I realized that I had, just before my depression, pressed Find.
And what do you know? I didn't have to kill myself, even if an editor had remarked, looking over an earlier draft, "You do not entirely avoid self pity."
Blame it on all my self-pitying ladies. Osmosis. I think it's catching.
Anyway, here's the poem:
At first they tried to starve the phoenix.
Cut off his income. Take away his wife.
The Phoenix went from field to barren field, picking plucking, thinking.
They finally tethered the phoenix
Force-fed him pebbles, gruel
Called him a French Canadian.
Gruel for you. And peasoup.
You are de woodpecker, no? Bash de face against de tree.
The Phoenix became spavined. It molted.
Till one day a flash.