This post was originally published when I was thrilled to have a new poem up at Nine Muses Poetry. This poem was written about my occasional time spent writing poetry at Magpie’s and named, appropriately, “Tuesday Afternoon at Magpie’s Grill.” The journal is long-since out of business, but before that happened the editor, Annest Gwilym, nominated this poem for Best of the Net.
I decided to open my book Rooted and Winged with the poem because it fit so well my theme of the tension between the metaphorical desire to fly and our earth-bound lives.
Since the poem can no longer be found at the site of the journal, here it is:
Tuesday Afternoon at Magpie’s Grill
Flickering afternoon light slatted and parsed.
At 3PM, the booths empty except for me
and my notebook.
Would I notice if not for my companion,
my need to recognize and remember?
Without a record, will I hear the ice crashing
into the sink, the Dodger talk at the bar
at the end of the room under the Miller Lite
neon confident and beckoning?
My mother used to say about me,
In one ear and out the other, as if the words
flowed through me without stopping,
without truly entering me, leaving little
effect, as if I had no memory
of all the little parental transgressions.
Why am I not under the sycamore I spot
through the blinds in this Tuesday sunshine
listening to the very song with the shady tree?
What have I done with my life? When
I should have written a poem, I didn’t.
When I did, I didn’t get it quite right.
How can a poem do so many things:
wishing for the shade and thirsty for a beer,
feeling an urge to move my pen and noting
the tiny feet and brush of cuticle,
the solitary fly on my bare arm, while
imagining the chattering of the birds that swoop
from sycamore to jacaranda as if the parking lot
and dumpsters and broken bottles don’t exist.
No matter what I notice,
no matter what I record, I will never
capture the ease of wind-filled wings,
tail feathers a translucent backlit fan,
as my hollow bones jettison the detritus
to fly upward against the source.
I loved this, Luanne! Congratulations!
Jill, thank you soooooooooo much! XO
I sometimes see and hear myself in your poems – this is one of those.
That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about my poetry, Pauline! WOOT! XOXO
So much to savour and identify with in your poem, Luanne, like this –
“What have I done with my life? When
I should have written a poem, I didn’t.
When I did, I didn’t get it quite right.”
and then the wonderful final 5 lines. You make self-doubt a beautiful thing – but contrary to your words, I believe you also captured the ease.
I love the poem, Luanne. Congratulations!
Enjoyed it very much! Congratulations!
Loved this one, too, Luanne! And congrats on another published work!!
Congratulations, Luanne. I really like this one–I can imagine myself in this place and with these thoughts swirling through my head.
Like so many others, I identify with this poem. These lines especially: “Would I notice if not for my companion,
my need to recognize and remember?” Writing is my way of remembering not just facts but feelings, moods. And the last few lines just go to show that you do “get it right.” 🙂❤️
Big congrats, Luanne, glad to hear you’ve received some recognition!
Thank you, Theresa!
I love this poem so much, Luanne! Certainly, it is one of your best. Shivers/gooseflesh at the end! Congratulations.
Oh wow! Thank you, Carla!
This one is so relatable, Luanne. How can I notice/think/remember/soar if I don’t write it down? Loved it!
Thanks, Eilene. I think it might be the same motivation as taking photos. Yes?
Possibly so! I’m partial to the pictures that your words paint, though.
I miss having somewhere to go and write watching people I don’t know inspire. Love the poem.
Thank you, Marlene. I don’t do it any more unfortunately.
So nice! The world we create by what we notice and what we don’t.
Yes, indeedy!!!