Carol papered her walls with poems,
there are thousands.
It was her great dilemma, deciding
whose and which and where
and, after creating a careful
composition of women poets
that began in the kitchen
in a tight mass
then spilled out
and poured into the sunroom,
Carol was so exhausted
she gave up
trying to make a coherent
statement,
trying to please
all the poets and her own
sensibilities, so
Bukowski is pasted
next to Whitman who’s by
Jorie Graham above
Pablo Neruda
beside
Wordsworth
then
cummings
and so on.
Happy accidents abound.
Ironic ones, too:
Plath by Hughes...
Strange configurations develop
at parties, odd high traffic areas
emerge
and Carol has had to decorate
with stepstools and small ladders
to accomodate
her guests , who all tend to stand
with their faces turned to the walls.
When people come over for tea at four
they find they cannot leave
until they read
just.
one.
more.
Now special status attaches
to a group composed
only of those who’ve read it all, the canon
of Carol’s walls.
--Zann Carter 04.14.09 (for Carol Narigon, who wrote the Facebook remark that inspired)
I. LOVE. IT!!!!!
ReplyDeleteI want to be this Carol.
I want pictures! Nice mention of Hughes and Plath- I read this morning that their son Nicholas just killed himself.
ReplyDeleteI may just do this in a room someday.
An absolutely brilliant read. I love it.
ReplyDelete