I love this. I love it so much. It's so versatile in the sense that it can be interpreted as saying many things, and that's a certain kind of perfection I hardly see. I love this. I love you.
The crocuses are made of plastic,
I can see the seam that runs along each spine.
The pink petals are faded on one side —
only half have ever been blessed by the sun.
He prays in gold and saffron,
and I count the pins on the chair
knot my fingers
tap out the clunking seconds in pairs
one two one two
my feet making tracks in the snow.
Enlightenment, he says, and then
Happiness. His blue eyes
are shot red and I’m bored
and the monkey scratches away
and I think
the snow in my hair was the greatest feeling—
flakes clumping on eyelashes,
the taste of winter cold and fresh
that make the skin in my lungs ache and split.
please stop
everything asked at one, but then later
don’t,
keep going. you can move forever
this can go on and on it does not have to end.
It was the first thing we ever did together that worked.
In tandem,
flesh and spirit in sync.
His voice has a single tone
and his soft laugh sounds mocking;
I am the child.
Next week?
He smiles and I smile
but the bun in my hair is still damp
from the shower I had before I arrived
and behind me the clock keeps ticking
one two one two
and I swear I can still feel the adrenaline,
my heart trip up over itself.
When I step outside, it’s still snowing.
I love this. I love it so much. It's so versatile in the sense that it can be interpreted as saying many things, and that's a certain kind of perfection I hardly see. I love this. I love you.
It feels like it's been a long time since I read a poem as subtle, genuine, and layered as this poem is. At first I thought it was about one thing -- I remember lots of fake flowers around the church (well especially the graveyard) when I was younger, and matching with the title of convert, I thought it was something about religion.
And I think it still is something about religion, but not as specific as the scene between a girl and a pastor like I originally thought. Maybe there are shades of different characters in everyone.
I had kept up the illusion of a girl finding religion in the snow rather than the church up until, of course, the "please stop", at which point the second, sexual narrative seemed to enter. I was confused. How could this go from a girl with a pastor to a girl with a sexual partner.
The reason I say it's a girl and not a woman (which would then mean haha, sure, it would seem more okay for the pastor to ALSO be a sexual partner), is because it seems like this is the first time -- "the first thing we ever did that worked". If it's meant to be a woman character -- somebody a little older, and the first is just referring to the first of THEIR relationship, we'll need a hint about her age somewhere.
Anyway, even without clearly defining the two male characters, I feel like I can gently slip through this poem.
I feel like the last stanzas are weaker, though. After such strong image-building, to just rehash them feels like taking the easy way out. I think the revisiting of the snow is fine, but even that can be written as though it's a new object because it's not the same snow that fell on her when she went in, right?
I hope these thoughts are helpful to you! Lemme know if you have questions or comments, please.
Good luck and keep writing!
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