he slit a zoo full of animals

something really special happened today.

i was reading arda collins' book on the metro north this morning. it was picked by louise glück (swoon) for the yale series of younger poets prize. as i was reading the book, i realized i really can't read exciting poetry in public anymore because i just want to jump up and down/punch myself in the knee/clap and make other weird noises. another thing i really want to do is grab people and say, "please let me read you this one poem!!!!!!!" on second thought, maybe i should just go ahead and grab the stranger and force him to hear the poem. maybe then people will stop with all this "i don't understand poetry" business. that would make a great documentary actually. me, reading strangers poems in public places, punching myself in the face because the poems are so good, and trying to redeem their poor souls. i'll be like one of those jesus guys on the subway. yeah!

but anyway... back to arda. i'd never read this book before, and let me tell you i was loving it. as i was reading it i kept thinking that i felt some connection to her, like we have a lot in common. then i got to a poem, and one part of it seriously blew my mind. she put a sandwich in her poem. BUT NOT JUST ANY SANDWICH. my staple, go to sandwich that i always get in delis when i can't get down with an egg and cheese. and i quote,

"I could move away

I could get in the car right now

and drive all night,

if I had a sandwich.

Turkey, tomato, mayo,

Swiss, lettuce. It was exciting."

exciting indeed!!!!!! i was freaking out. i bounced up and down in my seat. i'm sure it was really embarrassing, but i didn't really notice. do you know that i love sandwiches? of course you do, because 1) everyone who reads this blog is probably my best friend, and 2) who doesn't love sandwiches!?!?!?! i have entire relationships built on the appreciation of the sandwich, as many of you know and have experienced first hand. and there it was. my preferred sandwich. in poetry form. look at how she pairs the sound of the "tomato" and the "mayo" and then also the the "swiss" and the "lettuce." from now on i will always order the sandwich by listing its components in the most poetic form i can think of. it was too much. it was all too much. other things arda and i have in common are that she is scared of her microwave and she hates showering (there i said it.) i am going to write to her and let her know that i love her book and i love her sandwich.

here's a poem.

It Is Daylight

by Arda Collins

I called my house from a pay phone

down the street before I went home.

I needed to check on the empty situation.

It was daylight,

still here.

My shadow looked large and unschooled.

The sidewalk was yellow in the sun.

I was thinking that I wasn't anyone

and that my future would be a trajectory

leading further away.

The lilacs were out. They looked like a detail

from a bucolic story or tableau

where people are naked, eating picnics,

grapes, kissing, and drinking wine

while playing musical instruments. It seems made up,

but it's not. It must be based on a world

something like the one that's here while I'm walking.

Many houses are abutted by hedges.

I don't like this, but I wouldn't take them away.

The hedges are often surrounded by beds of woodchips.

The sight of them is a silent story about the dead.

I was filled with yearning

to sit against the side of the house

between two hedges.

I don't know how to pray but I would try.

I felt somber and excited about to go into my house.

Some people come down the street.

They're very dressed up.

I can see them from my bedroom window.

My house is quiet,

as though it isn't mine

but was given to me

by something other than myself.

The dressed up people cross the street

and walk under the lilac trees.

They look very nice and awful. The young woman

wears a peach dress with cream-colored heels.

She's with a young man wearing a dark blue suit

and a turquoise shirt. How unfortunate

that they have to go out in the daylight

and see themselves

out among trees, streets, and open sounds.

Walking through my house, I love the doors

best. Waking up the other day I went downstairs

and banged my face into the doorframe

of a closet. It hurt. It was an accident,

but I ended up in tears.

Now with this bump on my forehead,

I'm grateful.

I wash the dishes, clean the bathroom, vacuum.

Over the course of several days

I feel satisfied that my apologies have run themselves out.

I don't know when it's time to stop

but eventually I do, and I do other things.