Dean Young (41)

Ok, we’re going to switch back to sharing work by some of my favorite poets. This poem is by Dean Young. For this post, I’ll just put up the poem. Next I’ll highlight some of my favorite parts.

Private Waterfall

by Dean Young

You must be careful eating thorns
not to eat the maudlin fruit.
I find it completely impossible to fear my death
when I’m nauseous
so planes in turbulence, boats in high seas—
no problemo.
But spring drizzle,
a bird mispronouncing my name,
I dive for the shadows
that only have a passing relationship
to what casts them.
Oh no they don’t, little chirrup,
it is shadows that cast the material world.
So okay, maybe they slept together once
when one was very sad and drunk.
You have to be very careful
when you’re sad and drunk
and the river wants you to star in its cabaret
and the artificial flavor factory is concentrating on almond.
You have to be careful
when you’re absently tearing apart a plastic cup
that when you move on to yourself
it’s easier, deckles at the edges
like expensive handmade paper
on which you feel mighty hesitant writing a thing.
Or you could use little scissors to make snowflakes
or a line of deformities holding hands.
I know you were punished when you were young
and that punishment took more and more complex forms
like a single-celled slap in the face
becoming mammalian humiliation
by the same force that led you from finger-painting
to tax evasion.
But remember how it felt to paint a flower,
how a flower was the basic building block of all things:
a hand, a house, a horse, the sun
mommy, daddy, baby, you,
a bandage, a valentine, a flame.
It still is.

Also, my lovely friend Michelle is putting up updates on YouTube about the Blog-a-thon!! So check out her page:

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