Capsule

by | Apr 24, 2021 | Wendy Day 2 - Group B | 8 comments

When I say you, I mean anybody but. I want
to generalize my way out from under this. As
in: by the time you read this, I will be long
gone. But how can I be believed? Paradox
is one of those words. A trash can diagnosis.
Throw the DSM at it and give it a pill. Any
body can be a body, and it’s in its forensics
that we know its recent history. The cashew-
shaped cavern in the memory foam, now bereft
of fetal position. Plain gold ring on the dresser,
Nina Simone style. Materialism has its place,
you know. When I say you, I mean chances.
Last thing I want is for you to be lonely. Give
me some credit for the bravery of my mind. To
say the only way through is through the mouth
that says care and the mouth that swallows
the capsule and not for you. Don’t use it against
me. My body is also strong and doesn’t like to
wait, and still memory tastes like a bruise
yellowing toward an unknowable tomorrow.

8 Comments

  1. David O'Connor

    Sara, what a powerful, insightful piece, feels done, and well done. Love the switching “you.” Love the extended cashew cavern memory foam into Nina Simone… not only does it sound good, but it makes perfect sense to me, and keeps urgency, and says something about us all today. I thought about unknown tomorrow for the last line, you probably did too, but I think unknowable adds that extra syllable and steers clear of cliche. I wonder if you need, “But how can I be believed?” Feels like it lightens the punch. This is an excellent poem, thank you!!

  2. Benjamin Niespodziany

    When I say you, I mean anybody but.
    When I say you, I mean chances.

    This is a great poem! Love that final image of “memory tastes like a bruise”. So many strong examples of describing and maneuvering through and understanding the body. I love how it begins in the physical and ends in the mental. Strong poem!

  3. Jan Elman Stout

    Terrific poem, Sara. Very powerful. You say A LOT in a few words. I love the shifting of “you” in the piece, for example when you turn it into, “When I say you, I mean chances.” Ooohh, and these lines: “The cashew-shaped cavern in the memory foam, now bereft of fetal position. Plain gold ring on the dresser, Nina Simone style.” And what a killer ending: “…and still memory tastes like a bruise
    yellowing toward an unknowable tomorrow.” You give me chills with this one.

  4. Randal Houle

    My eyes are watering truth right now. This poetic prose form just really punched me in the gut. Seriously no notes. Home run.

  5. Suzanne van de Velde

    Sara — the furious power of this has blown me sideways. I love your terseness, your refusal to turn away, how you insist to yourself that you must see.

    So many beautiful beautiful images:
    “still memory tastes like a bruise
    yellowing toward an unknowable tomorrow.”

    Thank you for this. It was great to spend time with you again —

  6. Judy Bates

    A very powerful poem with strong images, “memory tastes like a bruise”. The compact visual form of your poem seems to fit the shape of a capsule.

  7. Federico Escobar

    Hi, Sara. Powerful poem! I felt carried along by the pace and the probing. I particularly liked the repetition of “When I say you, I mean”—the second time around felt familiar and evocative. This line I also liked a lot: “memory tastes like a bruise.” It does sometimes, doesn’t it? You can almost feel the bruise itself being tasted, vampirically perhaps, or as a healer would. Enjoyed reading this! Thanks for sharing!

    Best,
    Federico

  8. Wendy Oleson

    Sara, I really appreciate how cerebral your work is, how I can return to the lines again and again, each time deepening my understanding of how they create form that supports content. This opening—the honesty and vulnerability—I’m so grateful you took the “you” in this direction:

    When I say you, I mean anybody but. I want
    to generalize my way out from under this. As
    in: by the time you read this, I will be long
    gone.

    The work is cerebral while staying close to the body, reminding us of the body through metaphor, forensics, the memory in foam, the gold ring bereft of finger. I love this line:

    Materialism has its place,
    you know.

    And we do—oh, how we do. We are grateful for the speakers strength–

    and still memory tastes like a bruise
    yellowing toward an unknowable tomorrow.

    It’s beautiful.
    The tight shape of the poem – those even lines – adds to that strength between form and content. You’ve packed so much into this small, dense space.

    Thank you for sharing your mind and writing with us!

    My best,
    Wendy

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