A POETIC CRISIS

University of Arizona

I’m back at square one and I feel as pale as when I realized that there is no reason why psychics are usually women. My pupils wonder at the words painted cherry vanilla perfect, I swear they are. Therefore, I don’t know where to find my poems. Two years ago, I thought myself to be on par with my classmates’ expectations but now reading my pages turns me brutal beet-red. It’s not that I’m expecting to be Frank O’Hara. But I’m definitely comparing my two-foot writing to his deep-end swimming pool deluxe. I just didn’t realize poetry weaves, not just strings words together like a kite. So maybe call this ‘crisis’ and let me off for sounding pretentious. I don’t like poems about poetry either.