I don't have much talent
with anything,
really,
but I was thinkin', in the shower -
right after I made up some bad poems in my head about shower water and feelings -
that I'd never throw away
that tiny miniscule flimsy lame amount of talent I had
by sticking my head in an oven.
Sorry, Sylvia,
I know you thought it was a good idea
...at the time.
I wonder what was running through your head
Maybe nothing,
or maybe you were
wondering if you could asphyxiate through that jar you were in
or maybe you forgot about the jar,
forgot about every damn thing you ever wrote
forgot about
all those painfully gorgeous words
that you threw together like a last minute meal
that somehow turned out to be pretty tasty.
Were you thinking about
how high to turn up the oven?
Or maybe that your stagnant husband
in the other room wouldn't miss you,
or would he? Or would your children?
Did your life flash before your beleaguered eyes in a frenzy of images,
or did you just see remnants of last night's dinner?
Would people remember your
virtues; hair; poems; prose; turmoil;
aching; insanity; husband; children;
beautiful mind; terrible afflictions;
wouldtheyrememberyou?
And then your soul disappeared
like a plume of smoke. |
Submission Name: sylvia
