box-woman

Hi chemmy! This is also my first review in, like, good while, so excuse me if I'm not up to standard yet, but anyway, let me jump in and do my best.


I like your new style of poetry here; which is more stream-of-consciousness and in the moment, which i remember you talking about earlier. It is a little hard to follow as a result, but I think it adds to the spontaneity and dialogue of the poem.


I see this as either about loss or love and maybe both, because it's something you've explored before. What I really like about your poem is that it has dueling trains of thought, you have the italicized lines, which I feel represent more fanciful thinking, and the sections, which I see as someone trying to ground themselves. The commas tapering off make me assume it's a thought that ends midway as the narrator tries to reason with themselves. On style, you used a lot more imagery this time, and also harkened back to the other poem you wrote a few weeks ago, bringing back the madwoman idea to emphasize your hurt at

carry the pieces of him in every ring box will never be."

It's a brilliant line, the idea that you broke someone whom you loved so deeply that you "carry them" and are reminded of them for the rest of your life everywhere you go. I can see the dread creeping in. And then the next one is

the leaves were dragged down the the road... stuck to you

That line, I feel like, really resonates as you're referring back to the person again. the narrator is thinking everything is going wrong with the rain pouring and using the leaves as metaphors for their thoughts. Then finally, the poem concludes with the title of the "

box-woman... kept in a crate lock under and key.

It's a powerful emotion you're showing here. It's like someone who always feels like they're stuck in a place, and they can't move forward, and keep going back over the same thoughts over and over again, which also calls back your "far too long" and "carry the pieces".

Overall, your poem shows a ton of emotion with just a few lines. I hope that you'll continue to refine your new style to be a little more accessible to people who don't always read avant-garde poetry. And I guess I'm biased because, you know, you had me read it first, but it definitely improved a lot compared to the first draft, and I'm looking forward to reading your next one, assuming we're still friends at that point.

Hai :3

Yayyy, poetry!! I thought that there’s such a claustrophobic ache to this poem, like everything is being packed away, sealed, buried, kept in some kind of emotional storage where it can rot but never fully disappear. I love how the voice feels both fragmented and controlled ~~ Like the speaker is on the edge of becoming undone, but she keeps folding herself smaller and smaller to survive. The repetition of containment here is SO strong: notebook, thoughts locked, heart stolen, ring-box, crate, plastic, wood, glass. It all makes the poem feel like a life lived inside compartments. That’s such a powerful emotional landscape!!

Forgive my quotes since I had to use the text version... Sorry, formatting!! >.>

i forget my notebook, i let it rot, , ,
let this be your final warning. for far too long this
has gone on, far too long. keep your thoughts
locked and your heart
stolen.

LOVE this opening!!

The forgotten notebook is such a good first image because it immediately suggests neglect, memory, decay, and silence. A notebook is supposed to hold thoughts, but here it’s rotting, which makes it feel like the speaker’s inner world has been abandoned somewhere damp and private. The “final warning” is so striking because it shifts the poem from confession into command, almost like the speaker is talking to herself, or maybe to someone who has hurt her, or maybe to every version of herself that kept enduring this.

“keep your thoughts / locked and your heart / stolen” is brutal in such a clean way, too. I love that the heart is not locked; to the speaker, it is stolen. The thoughts are controlled internally, but the heart has already been taken by something outside of her. That distinction is sooo good, even if it is subtle!!

tell me it's not true, tell me,
oh, dear, it always is. he's gone. carry the pieces
of him in every ring-box that never will be.

This is SUCH an aching moment. The “oh, dear” is almost tender, but also so resigned. It sounds like someone comforting a child with terrible news, which makes the grief feel even more intimate and sad. “he’s gone” being so short after that is perfect. It lands plainly, without ornament, and because the rest of the poem is so image-heavy, that plainness hurts more.

And the ring-box image!! Ugh!! “every ring-box that never will be” is one of my favorite parts of the poem. It suggests futures that were imagined so clearly they became objects, even though they never actually existed. That is such a devastating idea: mourning not just the person, but the entire architecture of a life that almost happened. The ring-box becomes a coffin for possibility, contrary to how that image is often interpreted by society. Looooove that!!

how does one not become a m a d w o m a n
in these circumstances?

This line is fantastic!! The spacing in “m a d w o m a n” makes the word feel like it’s being pulled apart, which mirrors the speaker’s own fragmentation. It also slows the reader down, forcing us to sit with the label rather than rush past it ~~ There’s something gendered and historical here too, like the speaker is aware of the way grief, rage, and confinement can get turned into “madness” when they belong to a woman. It feels very “I am not irrational; the circumstances are irrational,” and I adore that!! It reminds me deeply of hysteria, how that label was imposed on women who were dealing with mental illness/even possibly fine.

I also love the lines following “madwoman.” Like, the answer lies in breath-holding and bargaining with the universe, even if it feels impossible. That feels painfully real!! I love “some universe” because it keeps hope alive, but only at a distance. It’s not saying things are alright here. It’s saying maybe somewhere else, some alternate self gets to be okay. That’s such a lonely kind of hope.

the leaves are dragged down
the side of the road, they are soaked. stuck
to the heavy concrete, stuck
to you.

This image is sooo good!! The leaves being “dragged down” makes nature feel exhausted, not graceful. They aren’t falling beautifully. Instead, they’re soaked, flattened, stuck. It’s such a strong continuation of the poem’s emotional narrative because everything here is weighed down. Even the leaves can’t move freely, somewhat mimicking the restraint of the speaker. “stuck / to you” is a great turn, too. At first, I thought the leaves were just stuck to the concrete, but then suddenly the “you” enters and the whole image becomes relational. The speaker is describing attachment as something wet, heavy, and almost humiliating. Like, grief clings to the body the way dead leaves cling to pavement.

box-woman, that is all i am.
kept like a crate under lock and key. living
in plastic, in wood, in glass.
i wish to break the ceiling.

!!!! BOX-WOMAN

This is such a strong phrase ~~ It feels mythic and objectified at the same time. “Box-woman” sounds like a creature from a fable, but also like someone reduced to storage, to function, to being handled by others. I love how the materials build too: plastic, wood, glass, etc. Each one has a different kind of containment. Plastic suffocates, wood hides, glass displays. That last one especially hurts because glass means she can be seen but still not reached. Or maybe seen but not freed!!

“I wish to break the ceiling” works really well, too, because it shifts from boxes to vertical space. The speaker wants upward AND out at the same time. She wants to escape the limit imposed above her. I think that’s such a satisfying motion after all the imagery of being kept under lock and key.

i'm not sure that you will.

WOW. Cruel ending. I mean that positively!!

This final line is so cold and effective, and it undercuts the wish instantly, which makes the poem feel even more trapped. I love that it doesn’t end with triumph. It's so hopeless and dreadful, and I enjoyed that this ends with doubt; that doubt feels like a voice the speaker has internalized. Maybe it’s the world saying it, or maybe it’s the person who confined her. Maybe it’s herself?? That ambiguity is what makes it sting, especially as a fellow woman.

^^^ One thought: I wonder if you could make the speaker’s relationship to that final voice a little more distinct earlier in the poem. There are a few different voices happening: warning voice, grief voice, “oh dear” voice, box-woman voice, and this final doubtful voice. I actually love that fragmentation, but if you want the ending to hit even harder, you could seed that colder voice earlier so it feels like it has been haunting the poem all along!!

Ugh!! Overall, this is such a beautiful, suffocating poem!! The imagery is cohesive and sharp, especially with the boxes and the attachment to femininity. It’s delicate, but not fragile; it has this quiet fury under it that I really, really love. As always, amazing work!! ^_^

- Payton