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ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY Michael Meyerhofer
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Let's say your mother smokes just one or two Pall Malls because they've showed movies in science class taking in cinders like stray kittens, but she smiles, says though not from cancer like your aunt, which changes which reminds you of that other day when you learned other stars here, previous tenants in the same rented lot and you imagine floating in a room with all those the agency of memory, and they're quaking like
__ Many times, my poems start out because a particular memory is nagging at me, but I have no idea why. So writing the poem is probably my attempt at psychoanalyzing whatever weird leaps my brain is making. Somewhere along the line, though, I try to step out of my own head, my own perspective, and polish a [very] rough draft into something that might actually resonate with the reader. In other words, for me, writing is kind of like inviting a detective to investigate a crime scene, waiting until they reach a few conclusions, then asking them express those conclusions through interpretative dance. |