they're already talking about this week's wildfires
like they happened last summer; i pinch
sun-bleached linen between my fingers, trying
to summon back some sense of the present.
i've been here before, i tell the yellow stoplights.
to the red i say, i did not make it out.
when i die i think it's going to happen
in an empty room. sunlight stains the walls
of this one; i spend all week scraping it off.
the days i don't work on the incomplete list
of the people i'd want at my funeral are beautiful.
one of them was yesterday: when describing myself
i didn't use a single word synonymous with ghost
or that implied i'm a tourist in my own skin.
someone should be proud of me, i think,
but the days are getting too short for that.
maybe this is what your twenties are about—
thinking everything is a knife in the dark, then
dressing yourself like a wound in the mornings.
what doesn't die is sure to rot. i take out my ribcage
and bury it to give my heart a chance to beat freely
but come back to find it scattered over still-smoking grass.
if you claw hard enough, you can carry home with you,
lodged under your fingernails. if you reach for the matches,
you can burn out every last trace of it too.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
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Original Text:
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125,024 Literary Works • 672,762 Reviews
oh wow <3
!!!! EEK HI STAR <3
hey! :]
I haven't reviewed in a few months, forgive me if I seem out of practice ;-;
First thing, I think that the narrator's inability to hold onto the present--e.g.
"trying / to summon back some sense of the present"--was what I caught onto early. It feels like a reflection on this societal, collective dissociation in the face of ongoing catastrophes, especially with the wildfire metaphor. People have to make the choice between themselves and others, and it reveals a lot about someone. It’s striking how the poem collapses private and public disaster without stating it outright as well; there’s an implied intimacy between the narrator's mental state--like their fear of growing up / being in their twenties--and the world *literally* burning around them.
What stands out to me is how the poem personifies inanimate things: stoplights, rooms, ribs. I perceived these as functioning as something to hold the narrator's confessions while they are too emotional to genuinely confront what is wrong. That energy furthers in the middle stanza, e.g. the list of funeral invitees. It's mundane, but that mundanity boils over when you're too afraid or uncomfortable to make strides to let go of certain things. Someone should be proud of the narrator, but the world’s contraction--"the days are getting too short for that"--swallows even that gesture. They're just alone; that loneliness radiates throughout the whole narrative.
I would've loved to see this lean a little more into the specificity of the "home" and "wildfires." They are central to the theme of the poem, but they feel like a distant antagonist rather than a fully fleshed out metaphor. The poem’s atmosphere is visceral, but I think it is often abstract. There could be a smell, a childhood object, a color associated with the grass before it burned, etc. That could be some anchor into the narrator's world; why do they keep clinging to this place that very clearly doesn't want them? It *absolutely* means something, but that is unclear since we are so far removed from the narrator as a genuine person rather than a narrative device to move the poem along. I want to know them!
I hope this helps you!
lina
Hello! It's your friend CATS here to drop by and review this wonderfully-written poetry using my CATS Opinion method! Let's dive in.
FLASH OF GLOWING EYES
The title itself speaks to me in a very special way. It describes what's mainly inside this poem! It's short and sweet, and doesn't bore the reader. Reading on!
SOFT FUR
Okay, my cat has been shredding me due to not including her in my reviews. So, here's your chance, kitty.
She meows that her favorite parts are the first stanza and the second last stanza because it is so descriptive, the fire, the smoke, knives, it really impacts the reader. Well done here! MEOW!
WARM PURR
MY TURN KITTY. Okay, the parts done really well are the last stanza and the first. Mostly the last stanza, really concludes the poem in a way that sinks deep into the reader. It tells of how you can mess up, from what I see.
SHARP CLAWS
I DEMAND taking over this part. There is nothing wrong with the poem. Maybe separate longer stanzas so that they are the same length? That's not important and it's up to you!
CONCLUDING MEOW
My stubborn cat's turn. She loved reading this with me and I also did. MEOW. Fine it's your part. She thinks this is very descriptive and fun to read, and she can't wait for more!
Happy EVERYTHING!
Love,
CATS (MROW!) UGHH AND MY CAT.