The Weight of Trees

A note to begin

This is the final poem in The Starbucks Poetry Project blog. I have been writing twice a week for 6 months and have loved the challenge, the discipline, and the resulting work. I’ve also loved hearing from readers; it’s a great privilege to know my art has had an impact. I’m hoping to extend my reach by getting this collection into print… and into a coffee shop near you. Stay tuned, and thanks so much for sharing this space with me.

Overheard: Discussion between two people in their 20s who used to date:

Her: Is she your girlfriend?

Him: Um, I guess. I mean she lives in a different country, but yes.

Where it took me: I used a writing exercise that asks the writer to juxtapose two very different objects. There are lots of ways to find your objects, but I took ‘long-distance relationship’ from the overheard line and, after a long walk in my neighbourhood, the recent ice storm in Toronto as the other object. I used one of my favourite techniques, the scramble, to write the story before pairing all the first lines, second lines, and third lines. As I had hoped, breaking apart the lines this way forced the similarities between the ice storm and relationships to the fore in a very satisfying way.

The poem

The Weight of Trees

I walk the valley

in search of destruction:

branches in pieces,

power lines sailor-knotted.

Cub-scout badges

against the storm.

Eight days now.

Neatly trimmed and bundled,

life by the curb, changed completely.

I thought I wanted

the weight of trees.

White towels whip from sagging wires:

caution, or surrender.

I resist the pull.

A train wreck, but I’m struck.

How we remain connected.

How intricately we are strung.

What We Need

Overheard: The older you get, the more you need it.

Where it took me: This is a line spoken by one of a group of 60-ish women. I have no idea what they were actually talking about, but I started by free-writing what others expect women to do to maintain themselves as they age (the late Nora Ephron wrote note-perfectly about maintenance in I Feel Bad About My Neck). The technique is from Pat Schneider: use the phrase ‘this is not about’ to deny a subject about which you are, in fact, writing.

The Newlyweds

Overheard: You’re not part of this conversation.

Where it took me: I used this line in conjunction with an exercise to imagine talking to one’s parents at the age they conceived you. That’s a conversation we are not part of, whatever choice they end up making.

The poem

The Newlyweds

They have this conversation by the shore in Maine

the summer that the cities burn.

It’s a bit of a beach, no pull for tourists.

Its north end is violent rock,

stone and ocean flung over and over.

Toward the south the rocks flatten.

A patch of sand the size of a picnic blanket

dries when the tide retreats.

To get there, they pick their way across the boulders.

She complies to shoes for the climb,

dismisses them the moment her toes touch sand;

the tug of history primal beneath her feet.

He keeps his laces tied.

They come here to taste the salt that proves

how small a decision it is

whether to bring a child into this inflamed world.

Their talk ebbs and flows.

Words skip across the surface, bounce and sink.

Her toes dig holes where she sits,

touch one intact shell, 

its details miniscule and complete.

Scared

Overheard: I hate being scared.

Where it took me: I’ve had this line for a while. and didn’t know what to do with it. I opened one of my poetry guides to a random page. The exercise was to write a multiple-choice poem. (In hypertext, this could turn into a choose-your-own-adventure poem… and I might just give that a try.) Given how many things we fear, this exercise seemed like a perfect fit for a poem about being scared. Interestingly, at my New York launch last month, I asked my guests to do exactly what I describe at the beginning of the poem. The three answers come directly from them. I particularly like how, when I am searching for a way to get started with a poem, different threads from my life come together at what appears to be just the right moment.

On the Menu

Overheard: Everything bagel! Cup of ice!

Where it took me: I’m always amused by the things people order, even more so when I realize that some orders sound like personality traits. Since I’m a writer, I get to make things up anyway, so even if I’m guessing at those traits, that’s part of my job. And it’s Hallowe’en, a good day for considering the costumes in which we present ourselves to the world.

The poem

On the Menu

If we could order up people

like we order coffee:

Tall decaf. Blueberry scone.

Tall, not too excitable.

Blueberry; can be both wild and cultivated.

Scone; has some history. Sweet, but not cloying.

Everything bagel.

Overeager. Wants it all.

Bottled frapuccino and a pumpkin muffin.

Doesn’t care to wait. Gourd-shaped.

Grande caramel macchiato.

Open to possibility.  Pushes boundaries.

Tall banana latte.

Blonde. Unconventional.

Iced venti latte.

Cold, direct. Needs a lot of coffee.

Cup of ice.

Sexually frustrated.

Viennese coffee.

European, arty, distinguished.

In here, people don’t look like their dogs.

They resemble their drink orders.

Lowering the Bar

Overheard: I made broccoli yesterday and I didn’t forget to turn off the pot.

Where it took me: Another exception to the usual process; this line was a line a friend said to me in response to a conversation she’d overheard. She may have felt a tiny bit inadequate about her own cooking; though she should not, especially given that she spends her days bringing compassion to people at the hardest time of their life. We set the priorities that let us be content in the world. When I am content, I am a better person, friend, partner, and parent. Anything I can do to achieve that works for me.

Safeway, 17th and R Street

Overheard: (Woman on cell phone) I changed the text inside and I changed the picture to make it more modest.

Where it took me: I heard this in the grocery store and just had to write it down. She could have been anywhere having this conversation, for instance, at home rather than in public. I used the scramble technique to write down the story; then put all the first lines, second lines, and third lines together before editing to make some sense out of them. Taking apart the story this way allowed me to move back and forth between the physical fact of the woman in the store, and the curiosity I had about her conversation.

Name

Overheard:

Barista: Can I get your name, please, for your coffee?

Customer: What do you need my name for? I’m standing right here!

Where it took me: Giving the barista your name at Starbucks has spawned a culture of its own, with fake names, hilarious misspelling and mis-hearings, ongoing jokes between customers and baristas, and more. Obviously, this woman just needed her coffee. The prompt got me thinking about the power of naming; how names have the power to make something exist. I tried a scramble poem (writing the scene then reordering the lines) but ended up liking the scene itself.

The poem

Name

Why do you need my name?

I’m standing right here.

The old woman refuses

to unhand the only power

she still holds, this name

her parents gave, the one scripted

on the marriage licence,

inked on the papers that proved

her babies alive;

the one who did not survive.

The name her husband still murmurs

in the safe cave of their bedroom.

In fair weather she rides the back

of his Vespa, imagines through her helmet

the stir of the sky in her hair,

wishes to be reckless though she won’t,

yearns to know

how the breeze really feels.

My Apologies, Professor

Overheard: What’s the worst that could happen?

Where it took me: Everything that came to me right away was too obvious with this prompt. So I used one of my poetry guides for a challenge to help me shape this extremely open line into something more focused. The challenge that seemed to fit was to write an outrageous excuse for being late for class. What’s the worst that could happen?