Last week on Next Line, Please the notoriously clever David Lehman proposed two of Anna Kamienska’s aphorisms—“Sleep is what I’ll miss most when I die,” and “I walk around disguised as an overweight old lady”—as possible springboards for poems, and the contributors of Next Line, Please did wonders with this tasty piece of bait.
“What I’ll miss most when I die” inspired Patricia Wallace’s “Homage to Kamienska,” which won plaudits and praise from some of our most discerning readers:
When I am dead I’ll miss the fox
who took up residence in my skull and listened
for the scurry of mouse feet under the many
layers of snow on my heart, and the owl asking “who,”
perched on the stones of my spine. I’ll miss
the hummingbirds migrating between my ribs,
their small hearts beating so fast I thought that mine
had stopped. I’ll miss the fish swimming my body’s waters
searching a way to the sea, the hare unrepentently
nibbling my pelvic meadows, the fireflies lighting
candles in the chambers of my ears, the chameleon lizards
lazily sunning themselves on the stations of my shoulder
blades. How surprised they will be, these small creatures,
for whom time moves more slowly, to find the doors
closing and all trace of inhabitants gone.
“Tourist Trap” by Ed Keller responds to the second side of the prompt—“I walk around disguised as an overweight old lady.”
I walk around disguised as a tourist
even though I’m from here
Wardrobe pieced together
from airport to downtown souvenir shop
I carry a bag from one of these places
as though I just came from there
I suppose it increases
my chances of being
targeted by people who look
for someone to take advantage of
In fact I know it does
Little do they know,
until the bag is opened,
that this is not simply a fashion statement
or an unconscious reflection
of my own mediocrity
This is the look of a villain killer
For I am living bait.
And next, a personal favorite, a poem offered by a poet who goes by Byron:
I walk around disguised as a fat man
with a club foot, or a bag lady in
the lift going down, or a bag man
delivering hundred dollar bills in
an old-fashioned medical bag to
the future mayor of Los Angeles.
Only in my sleep do I walk around
undisguised, naked, twenty years old.
And last but not least, springing from Kamienska “sleep” epigraph, David Lehman’s poem “The Dark Horse” which was made better by the poetic think tank that is NLP:
Chances are, I will miss nothing.
Death like good fortune comes
when you’re least ready or you’ve given up on it.My definition of Zen is
you get what you want when you no longer want it.Death comes as an even greater surprise than
risking fifty thousand bucks on the dark horse
in the Belmont and winning.And if the long shot comes through
and there’s an afterlife, I would like to hear
“But Not For Me” with Vic Damone’s voice.
Visit the American Scholar's page to read the full post! And look out for a new prompt coming soon.
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