language

Sign/Signified

/ dowdicus / Leave a comment 
I’ve been thinking,
Lately–
I never wrote you a poem.
It’s strange to me.
I usually write my lovers poems.
But I’ll admit
I kept you at arm’s length.

I think being friends with you
Has made me feel closer to you.
And I feel the kind of love I want to feel:
Not the terrifying, heart-palpitating
Need
Of a new relationship,
But I admire you.
I think you are everything I want to be.

It’s challenging,
Writing a poem for someone.
You may love some tiny, offhand detail about their person,
And they’ll say, “that’s not me.”
And then you must reconcile [them] with them.
And I’ll always wonder
If I love [you] or you.

And now I’ve written a poem for you—
Or maybe for [you]—
And though I'm not sure the difference is clear,
I’ve forgotten what I intended to say,
Having gotten lost in sweet memories
Of happy smiles on your face.


Sometimes

/ dowdicus / Leave a comment 
I finished reading and slipped to the back of the crowd.
“I didn’t know you wrote poetry.”
We were both surprised.
I thought everyone wrote poetry.

Years ago, a friend and I floated down a river in Missouri,
love taking shape in the air between us—
“I’ve noticed you don’t speak with proper grammar,” she observed, approvingly.
“John Dryden can go fuck himself,” I replied,
“The way people speak is what is magical about language.”

I ain't worried too much about grammar—
But I spell as good as I can.
Grammar’s like color theory:
useful, sure, but not the thing itself.
It helps you tell the difference between
"I liked what she said"
and
"Her words caught me,
held me up in the light of her living."

My brother, when we were kids, would irritate our mother
Saying “I gots a new basketball,” looking her right in the eye.
I never cared much for the word myself—
But I wouldn’t have punished him for speaking his truth.
She wanted us to bear the markers
of civilized society,
But–
As Ross might have said,
I gots no time for that.

I’d be shocked
To find anyone
who never sang in place of speaking.