Jennifer Gurevich
Vowel Heredity PerfectionReassurance
On a discussion with Lucille Clifton
What happens to a
body when it makes
the decision
to abandon all use
of the first
person singular
(declarative of course)
or any word in
which said sound exists?
The shortened
(heard: lengthened)
form would be permissible, for
that’s how it works.
It would not impact me, initially,
or you, for that matter.
(And what would it mean, Lucille,
to matter?)
We needs not worry:
It is only this being of un-self
(ishly)-distinguished gender.
This being—I.
back to top
Please don’t touch me
I smile at you
But not as much
inside
Inside
I cringe as your mouth
opens to spit out those new
and improvements to my
body image to my
face
I look at my face
No, I don’t: the strings pull me
away. If I look
the last rope will
break and the curtain will
fall and I won’t
be able to
I can’t
breathe
I could blame society, Victoria’s secret
is safe with me
How else could she look like that?
I could blame Abercrombie and Fitch
the witch with the Spears
the witch with the cheers
Would you like a towel?
A towel to cover up, to hide all
your secrets
are safe with me,
but mine should be thrown to the world.
To the doctors, to the lawyers, to the
plastic surgeons who perform nose jobs
on witches like me.
I won’t share with you.
I can’t help you.
I refuse to carry in the groceries.
I regret to inform you that it is your fault.
Do you still think that my eyes are beautiful?
That the green specks of
spinach stuck in my teeth
bring out the green in my eyes?
Witch, you try to bequeath
your secrets to me. If that is your
goal
then
you win.
9.26.03
back to top
(only in the mountains)
Can you feel the dome of the heavens
crashing down
like the cup entrapping the fly?
“Look, do you see Jupiter?
There’s the Red Spot.”
I see only the cow.
Do you know John Lilly?
He can tell you of the senses.
For he invented it, of course.
He invented the sea—the middle
of the sea.
No noise. No sky. Just sea. And me.
The eye of the storm is supposedly calm.
But never the sea.
And never me.
I try so hard.
But then again,
so did Lilly.
“Do you see Jupiter?
Do you see the red spot?”
I see only the cow.
I see only the sea.
I am the red spot.
I am only me.
1.12.02
back to top
Last night, when I
let my head fall to my bed—
ear next to blanket—
for thirty seconds after silently
reading
most of “Burnt Norton” aloud,
I felt fear dress my body
like a snake forcing itself
back into its discarded skin.
The fear fit loosely and coolly,
like very fine chain mail,
only less protective, as fear
tends to be.
Instead of yielding to the strength of that fear,
I leapt from bed—
less a snake than its prey.
Really, I would have preferred your tactful arms
around my head, dusting the fear away,
more than I wanted the dull
pressure of headphones blasting
my ears. But I needed the senselessness
to remind me of the fear I will not wear.
The flattery you have written on my mirror
of more than one-
hundred words
is going to stay there a long time.
They inform me every day
that fear just doesn’t fit anymore.
~9.30.04
back to top