back in LA -- staying at this crazy fancy corporate housing place in Marina del Rey, right by the ocean, with my own kitchen and a pool and laundry in the building (yeah, it doesn't take much.) excess makes me nervous, but I love the ability to actually cook my own vegetables, and the energy here is radically different from Beverly Hills -- a little too laid-back, spring-break, for me, but a definite improvement; I can't complain.

the NYC/Urban Word teen slam team is coming over for a BBQ/rehearsal tonight -- yay! figure I should make the most of this setup while I'm here, try to make sure they have a good time in LA despite the competition.

the addition of Beau and Mayda has brought excellent new/NYC energy to the group -- I'm thrilled. makes it harder to keep my NYC smack-talker self in check, but I'm working on it. somebody told me last night that we take ourselves too seriously. as if I haven't heard THAT before.

speaking of which, I've been reading and re-reading Kimiko Hahn's book "Mosquito & Ant" and trying to figure out how she does it. the bulk of the poems in the book are series poems, a correspondence with "L." about her life -- so of course the next poem that pops out of me is in this form, but as GK pointed out it doesn't merit the form, feels too free-written, talky -- I think. maybe it'd work as these do, in a group of such poems. but maybe not. so I'm saving all versions, fascinated to see what happens. it's pared down now, and I'm considering trying it as a pantoum or villanelle (unrhymed, though), because I haven't done form in forever and the poems so rarely call for it.

back to Kimiko Hahn: the book is so devastatingly authentic. she weaves her own story -- or rather, the speaker's story -- with the stories of ancient Chinese women who corresponded with one another in this way (nu shu, or mosquito and ant), and the overlap is always surprising and yet right. not the obvious "look, this has always happened" but a simultaneous speaking to L, to herself, and to and about these women. gorgeous and she makes it look easy. I think the multi-layeredness is what my attempt at it was missing, hence the need to cut away and find the actual poem.

here's one I love:

Garnet
by Kimiko Hahn

i.
X wanted to present a gift
the husband would not detect
as inclination. Book bag.
Rhyming dictionary. Hand mirror.
I copied poems from The Orchid Boat for him.

ii.
You are the Empress Wu Tsu-T'ien
requesting her lover
examine her pomegranate dress.
I am as delighted as you.

iii.
Eating a bowl of raspberries
I imagine X sucking
on the beads of my garnet necklace --

iv.
She began as concubine to Emporer T'ai then to his son,
Emporer Kai, until he replaced his Empress with her. She ruled
China from that moment. After his death and into old age she
kept a male harem, concubines and courtier lovers. How do you
feel about this?

v.
nipples the color of garnet

vi.
You advise, why dull a sharp point?
why flatten the crests? why
rinse out color? why douse what
the gut claims from the heart --

vii.
the he residing in the she

viii.
garnet hard as nipples --

***

so here's my attempt at it, and the revision:

burn all the letters

I can write like this. his hands,
your hands, I have a lover and something
like a husband, you, our names on the checks,
the mailbox, your voice on the machine, both
our names, leave a message

-

I wanted this we so long I got over
the wanting and there you were / no roses
in hand, but a cactus / OK.

don't ask me about his mouth. most days
this job has me at the wrong ocean, missing
Brooklyn, our slanted kitchen, your ankles

-

at the Bristol Farms register I realize
I've bought green apples, lime popsicles
zucchini and chicken. not everything fits
but a pattern's a pattern. there's a subway card
in the other pocket

-

when she says the thing is, you can't fuck with either of us
and stay in good with him and the us is me
and her and the him is (you) her ex-great love
and my current __________ I think of how shit
grows the most glorious roses / how you and she
were they when you and I collided
in a year of lies and how could we / how
did we inhabit versions of ourselves that could carry
such mouths / explosion and the long silence
after

-

the way you have to let soda go flat
to drink it when you're sick

-

to write this down – what if somebody reads it. J says
you write it all? why not just remember? never
trust a poet. so much blood. today is green.
ginger ale. leaving. remember to send the rent check.

-

a period drama. costumes, hair. nothing documented,
a historical fiction. I write it down
because I don't remember my dreams. the body
remembers, and pictures. purple hair, a stain
on your wall, that's how S found out.

even then you didn't tell everything. years
before it all came out, if it weren't
for metaphor we'd never write anything.

-

J says your confessions are overwhelming.
we've never been a good idea. but joy will out.
I don't believe in the inevitable. this is me talking
this time.

could I make all this up? maybe I invented you. if so,
I want the keys back. I'll be home in two weeks.
take the trash out. change the sheets. your hair,
it's on everything.

***

and the latest version:

burn all the letters

don't ask me about his mouth. most days
this job has me at the wrong ocean, missing
Brooklyn, our slanted kitchen, your ankles.

at the register: green apples, lime popsicles
zucchini and chicken. not everything fits
but a pattern's a pattern. there's a subway card
in the other pocket.

I can write this. our names on the checks,
the mailbox. his mouth, the ocean. your voice
on the machine, both our names, leave a message.

so much blood. today is green. ginger ale. leaving. remember
to send the rent check. if it weren't for metaphor
we'd never write anything.

I have a lover and something like a husband.
J says your confessions are overwhelming.
we've never been a good idea.

to write this down – he says you write it all?
never trust a poet. so much blood.

I wanted this we so long I got over
the wanting and there you were / no roses
/ cactus / a pattern's a pattern / write it.

maybe I invented you. if so, I want the keys back.
take the trash out. change the sheets. your hair,
it's on everything.

***

it's slightly wrong how much I love this process. what little allegiance I feel to facts. I love my job.